The Feral Alpha's Captive

Chapter 27: His Touch

🦋 ALTHEA

I forced air into my aching lungs, gulp by agonizing gulp, as I continued to writhe on the surface they’d managed to lay me on.

The faces hovering around me had lost all detail, the pain blurring their features into smudges I couldn’t decipher through the tears streaming down my face.

My spine arched as high as the searing pressure would allow, twisting farther than I thought possible.

"Please, make... it... stop," my voice fractured, barely recognizable as my own.

"What’s happening to her?" One of the deltas offered, though I couldn’t focus enough to be sure. "Is it the mark? The one on her shoulder?"

"The brand," the crone ’s voice, tight with fury I’d never heard from her before. "Someone’s activating it from a distance. Pulling on the soul-bond."

"Can you stop it?" Thorne demanded, and I felt the bed dip as he moved closer.

A pause. Too long. Too heavy.

"I don’t know how," the crone admitted, and the helplessness in her voice was somehow worse than the pain. "This magic—it’s not pack magic. It’s something older. Darker. I’ve never seen a soul-brand activated like this before. Only witches should be able to do this."

Another wave of agony crashed through me, and I screamed, my back bowing off the bed. My fingers clawed at the sheets, tearing through fabric, searching desperately for something—anything—to anchor me against the fire consuming me from the inside.

"There has to be something," Thorne snarled, and there was no comfort in his voice—only cold, calculating fury.

"The connection has to be cut off," the crone said suddenly. "Interrupted. Severed from its source—like the witches do when they break curse bonds."

"How?" Thorne demanded.

"Another bond has to be activated," she said quickly, her hands already moving to roll me onto my stomach. The movement sent fresh agony through me, and I bit down on a scream. "Something stronger. Something that can override his claim."

A pause. Heavy with implication.

"The mate bond," one of the deltas breathed.

"No." Thorne’s voice was flat. Absolute.

"Alpha—"

"I said no. We don’t even know if it is a true mate bond or some trick of the Labyrinth. I’m not binding myself to—"

Another wave of agony crashed through me, and I screamed—raw and desperate and broken. My spine arched so far I felt something pop, and darkness crowded at the edges of my vision.

"She’s dying," the crone said, and her voice carried a note I’d never heard before. Not pleading. But close. "If we don’t interrupt the connection now, there won’t be anything left to save."

Silence. I could feel Thorne’s presence nearby, could sense his hesitation even through the haze of pain.

"What do I have to do?" he asked finally, and his tone made it clear this was a tactical decision, not an emotional one.

"Press your hand directly to the brand. Channel the mate bond through skin contact. Let your claim override his."

"And if it doesn’t work?"

"Then we’ll know the bond isn’t real, and she’ll die anyway."

Cold. Clinical. But honest.

I felt the bed dip as Thorne moved closer, felt the heat of his palm hovering over my exposed shoulder blade. He didn’t touch me yet—waiting, maybe, for one last confirmation that this was necessary.

"Do it," the crone said quietly.

His hand pressed flat against the brand.

The pain exploded—worse than anything before, worse than I thought possible—and for one terrible moment I was sure he’d killed me, that whatever he’d done had shattered something vital—

Then the pressure broke.

Not gone. Not healed. But suddenly, blessedly less. Like a hand that had been crushing my throat had loosened just enough to let me breathe.

I gasped, my entire body going slack against the bed, tears still streaming down my face but the screams finally, finally stopping.

"It’s working," the crone said, and I could hear the relief in her voice. "The mate bond is forcing him back."

Thorne said nothing. His hand remained pressed to the brand, his touch neither gentle nor harsh—purely functional. I could feel something flowing through the connection, something that pushed against the High Alpha’s presence like a wall between us.

The burning eased further. Not gone—still there, still aching—but no longer consuming. No longer killing.

"He’s retreating," the crone murmured. "For now."

"How long will it hold?" Thorne asked, his voice carefully neutral.

"I don’t know. Hours, maybe. A day if we’re lucky. But he’ll try again."

"Then we need a permanent solution."

"There isn’t one," the crone said quietly. "Not without breaking the brand entirely. And that—"

"Could kill her," Thorne finished. "You’ve said."

A pause.

"Can you remove your hand now, or does contact need to be maintained?" he asked, and the question was clinical. Practical. Nothing more.

"The bond should hold for a while without direct contact. But staying close will help."

Thorne removed his hand immediately, and I felt the loss of it like a physical thing—not because I wanted his touch, but because the brand ached in its absence, the burning starting to creep back in at the edges.

"Get her cleaned up," Thorne ordered, already moving away. "Post guards outside. No one enters without my permission." He paused at the door. "And the crone —figure out who the fuck is powerful enough to activate a soul-brand from hundreds of miles away. Because whoever wants her that badly won’t stop at torture."

The door closed behind him with a sharp click.

I lay there in the sudden silence, still trembling, still crying, the brand on my shoulder blade throbbing with residual pain.

He’d saved me.

But not because he cared—far from it.

Because I was his problem now. His responsibility. His complication.

And I had no idea if that was better or worse than belonging to the High Alpha.

"Child." the crone ’s voice was softer now, gentler than the clinical tone she’d used with Thorne. Her weathered hand touched my arm—carefully, as if I might shatter. "Can you speak? Are you coherent?"

I managed a small nod against the sheets, though even that movement made the brand pulse with renewed heat.

"Good." She helped me roll onto my side, propping pillows behind me so I wasn’t lying directly on the brand. The relief was immediate, and I let out a shaky breath. "The deltas will stay with you while I research. We need to understand what we’re dealing with—"

"I know what it is," I whispered, my voice raw and broken from screaming.

The crone went still. "What?"

"The brand." I forced the words out past the tightness in my throat. "It’s... it’s pressed into all the tributes. Everyone given to the High Alpha. They are marked before they enter the Labyrinth."

The silence that followed was absolute.

"All of them?" Another delta asked.

"Yes." The word hurt almost as much as the brand itself. "

"It’s a soul-brand," the crone said slowly, and I could hear her mind working through the implications. "A binding. He doesn’t just mark the tributes—he claims them. Owns them. Even in death. It has to be broken. Completely."

—

🔹️THORNE

I’d barely made it three steps down the corridor when Garrett appeared, moving faster than I’d seen him move in months. His expression was carefully neutral, but I could read the tension in his shoulders, the way his eyes kept flicking toward the entrance.

"Alpha," he said, falling into step beside me. "We have a... situation." 𝐟𝗿𝐞𝚎𝚠𝐞𝚋𝕟𝐨𝚟𝐞𝕝.𝕔𝕠𝚖

Of course we did.

What now? I thought, fighting the urge to snarl. First the infiltrators. Then the tribute’s soul-brand activating. Now this.

"Define situation," I said, my voice flat.

"It’s easier if you see it yourself," Garrett replied, which was never a good sign. "Outside. The perimeter."

I followed him through the fortress, my mind still half-occupied with the scene I’d just left. The omega—Althea—writhing in agony on that bed. The brand burning through her like she was being consumed from the inside. The way activating the mate bond had worked, had actually pushed back whatever twisted magic was torturing her.

Which meant the bond was real.

Which meant I was well and truly fucked.

We emerged into the cold night air, and I stopped dead.

"What the—"

The fortress was surrounded.

Not by enemies. Not by wolves or warriors or anything that made tactical sense.

By animals.

Dozens of them. Maybe hundreds. They ringed the perimeter in a loose circle that extended as far as I could see into the darkness. Wolves—wild ones, not pack—sat in perfect stillness, their eyes reflecting the torchlight. Bears, massive and hulking, stood among them without aggression. Deer and elk, creatures that should have fled at the first scent of predator, waited alongside their natural enemies.

And above—

"Moon’s blood," I breathed.

The sky was black with birds. Ravens and crows, hawks and owls, all of them circling in a pattern that felt too organized, too purposeful to be natural. Their wings made no sound. They simply flew, round and round, like they were keeping vigil.

"They started arriving about ten minutes ago," Garrett said quietly. "Right around when—"

"When she started screaming," I finished, my mind connecting the pieces even as I rejected the impossibility of it. "When the brand activated."

"Yes, Alpha."

I stared at the circle of animals, my tactical mind cataloging threats, weaknesses, patterns—and finding nothing that made sense. They weren’t attacking. Weren’t even approaching. They just... waited.

Like they were standing guard.

"Have any of them tried to breach the walls?" I asked.

"No, Alpha. They’re just watching. The wolves tried to communicate with the wild ones, but—" Garrett hesitated. "They’re not responding to pack hierarchy. It’s like they’re not even aware we’re here."

Because they weren’t here for us.

"Nyx," I called, and my second materialized from the shadows like she’d been waiting for the summons. Probably had been. "You’re seeing this?"

"Hard to miss, Alpha." Her scarred face was thoughtful as she studied the gathered creatures. "I’ve never seen anything like it. Wild animals don’t gather like this. Don’t mix like this. Predator and prey, standing side by side without conflict—it’s unnatural."

"Everything about tonight has been unnatural," I said grimly. "What’s your assessment?"

Nyx was quiet for a long moment, her sharp eyes tracking the movements of the animals, the pattern of the birds overhead. Then: "They’re responding to her."

I’d already known that. Had felt the truth of it the moment I’d stepped outside. But hearing it said aloud made it real in a way I wasn’t ready for.

"The prisoner," I said carefully. "Althea."

"Yes." Nyx turned to look at me, and her expression was unreadable. "The animals must have come when she screamed. When she was in agony. They’re not here to attack, Alpha. They’re here to protect." She paused. "Or to mourn."

To mourn.

As if they thought she was dying. As if they could feel her pain from inside the fortress walls and had come to bear witness.

What the fuck kind of omega could do that?

"She has animal communion," I said slowly, remembering the moths from the Labyrinth. The way they’d swarmed around her like a living shield. "We knew that. But this—"

"This is different," Nyx agreed. "Animal communion is one thing. Calling every creature within miles to stand vigil while you suffer? That’s something else entirely." Her voice dropped. "That’s power, Alpha. Real power. The kind that doesn’t come from wolf blood alone."