She jumped 7

I was chained to a stone altar, silver restraints burning against my wrists and ankles. The chamber was dark except for flickering torchlight that cast dancing shadows on the walls.

“You ran from me.” Hector’s voice came from the darkness, rough with barely contained fury.

I tried to speak, but my throat felt raw, damaged.

He stepped into the light, and my breath caught. He was shirtless, his powerful chest scarred and gleaming with sweat. His eyes burned silver fire, wild and desperate.

“Did you think you could hide? That I wouldn’t find you?” He moved closer, and I could see the madness lurking behind his beauty. “You’re mine, Lyssira. You’ve been mine since the moment you broke into that tower.”

“Please,” I managed to whisper.

“Please what?” His hand traced down my bare thigh, leaving trails of fire. “To let you go? To stop wanting you so badly it’s killing me?” His laugh was broken, twisted. “It’s too late for that, little wolf. Too late for both of us.”

His mouth crashed down on mine, violent and desperate.

I could taste blood—his or mine, I couldn’t tell. His hands roamed my body with bruising intensity, claiming every inch of skin.

“You don’t get to leave me,” he growled against my throat. “Not when you’re the only thing keeping me sane. Not when I’ve already lost everything else.”

“Hector, stop—”

“No.” His teeth scraped against my pulse point. “You wanted the monster, didn’t you? The dangerous Silent Heir everyone whispers about? Well, here I am.”

His hand fisted in my hair, pulling my head back to expose my throat. “I’m going to mark you. Claim you. Fuck you until you forget your own name and remember only mine.”

“I don’t want this—”

“Liar.” His free hand found my center, stroking through wetness I couldn’t deny. “Your body knows what it wants, even if your mind fights it. You’re soaked for me, little wolf. Desperate for me.”

“No—”

“Yes.” His fingers circled my clit with maddening precision. “Say my name. Beg me to take you.”

“Never.”

His eyes flashed with rage and something darker. “Then I’ll make you.”

I woke up gasping, my body drenched in sweat and trembling with need despite the horror of the dream. My core ached with unfulfilled desire, and shame burned through me at my body’s betrayal.

The dream felt too real, too vivid. As if somewhere in the darkness, Hector Veylor was dreaming the same twisted fantasy.

And the most terrifying part wasn’t the violence or the claiming.

It was how much I had wanted it.

* * *

The Physical Bonding Trial was a nightmare dressed up as a ceremony.

The arena had been transformed into something that looked like a twisted wedding altar.

Twenty ornate pedestals arranged in a circle, each topped with silver restraints that gleamed menacingly in the torchlight. The she-wolves stood beside their assigned platforms, faces ranging from terrified to resigned to absolutely furious.

I fell firmly into the furious category.

“Ladies, please take your positions,” the Trial Master announced with sickening cheerfulness.

He was a portly man with dead eyes who spoke about forced bonding like it was a tea party. “Remember, this is a sacred ritual. You are here to serve your future Alphas.”

“Serve my ass,” muttered Cressa from the platform next to mine.

She’d been one of the giggly ones earlier, but the reality of the situation had sobered her quickly.

“Literally, probably,” I replied under my breath, earning a sharp look from one of the attendants.

The remaining contenders entered the arena like conquering warriors.

Darius Blackthorne swaggered in first, his chest puffed out with arrogance. Marcus Sonwood followed, looking calculating and cold. Two others I barely recognized brought up the rear.

And then Hector walked in.

My breath caught despite everything. He moved like a liquid shadow, silent and predatory. His silver eyes swept the arena, taking in the setup with obvious disgust.

When his gaze found mine, something flickered across his face—anger, determination, something else I couldn’t name.

“Gentlemen!” The Trial Master clapped his hands together. “Today you have the opportunity to claim your chosen mate through the sacred bond. Each lady will be secured to her platform. You will then have thirty minutes to trigger the mate bond through touch, scent, or dominance. Success means immediate claiming and withdrawal from the Games as a bonded pair.”

My stomach turned. Around the circle, other she-wolves were already being fitted with the silver restraints. The metal would burn against shifter skin, keeping us weak and compliant.

“This is barbaric,” I said loudly enough for everyone to hear.

The Trial Master’s smile never wavered. “Miss Fowler, please take your position.”

“No.”

The word rang through the arena like a bell. Conversations stopped. Heads turned. The Trial Master’s expression darkened.

“I beg your pardon?”

“I said no. I’m not getting chained up like livestock for your entertainment.”

“The rules clearly state—”

“The rules are shit.” I crossed my arms, planted my feet. “You want to test bonds? Fine. Test them without turning us into helpless cattle.”

Murmurs rippled through the crowd. Some approving, others scandalous. I could see several other she-wolves straightening, emboldened by my defiance.

“I like her spirit.” Darius stepped forward, his eyes gleaming with interest. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll break you in gently.”

The casual cruelty in his voice made my skin crawl. “Touch me and lose the hand, Blackthorne.”

“Feisty,” he laughed, rich and condescending. “That’s alright, I do enjoy a challenge.”

“This isn’t a challenge,” Hector’s voice cut through the arena like a blade. “It’s an assault with official sanction.”

Every eye turned to him. The Silent Heir rarely spoke, and when he did, people listened. His silver gaze was fixed on the Trial Master with unmistakable contempt.

“The tradition has stood for centuries—” the Trial Master began.

“Tradition built on fear and control.” Hector’s voice remained calm, but I could see the tension in his shoulders. “Not exactly sacred, is it?”

“Lord Veylor, if you’re uncomfortable with the proceedings, you’re welcome to withdraw—”

“I’m not withdrawing.” Hector’s eyes found mine across the arena. “But I won’t participate in rape disguised as ritual.”