Chapter 1: Commanded by the Alpha

My bare feet pressed silently against the cold flagstone floor, each step deliberate and ghost-like as I crept through the shadowed corridors of Thornwood Manor.

This was the third night this week I had surrendered to the vile pull dragging me toward the forbidden basement.

My heart slammed against my ribs like a caged beast desperate to break free, blood roaring in my ears, while slick already gathered between my thighs in shameful anticipation.

The grand estate lay heavy with the silence of 2 a.m., my mother, Lady Isolde, lost in her medicated lunar sleep upstairs.

But I was wide awake, burning, my inner she-wolf howling for the one male who should be utterly untouchable.

I reached the reinforced oak door that sealed off Lord Cassian Drake’s private dominion.

Cassian—forty-seven years old, the ruthless Alpha of the Thornwood Pack, a towering wall of muscle and dominance who looked every bit the villain in the ancient pack legends no sane wolf dared cross.

My mother had mated him eight years ago when I was twelve. Now, at twenty, I still remembered the day he had claimed us both.

He had taken me in as his own daughter, raised me under his protection, showered me with wealth and status that transformed our lives.

The perfect Alpha. The perfect provider. The devoted stepfather who bought me my first luxury car, paid for every whim without hesitation, named me his next of kin, and loved me with a public affection that masked the monster beneath.

To the pack, he was untouchable nobility. The truth I had clawed out in secret was far darker: Lord Cassian Drake wasn’t merely the Alpha.

He was the shadowy director of the most exclusive primal claiming rituals for Britain’s elite werewolves—filming raw, depraved matings where powerful Alphas and Betas broke every sacred law for the camera, producing content that sold for fortunes to those who craved the vilest spectacles.

My fingers trembled as they closed around the heavy brass handle. The soft click echoed like a gunshot in the oppressive quiet.

I slipped inside and sealed the door behind me. The air changed instantly—cooler, thicker, saturated with the intoxicating scent of aged leather, polished electronics, and Cassian’s own potent Alpha musk: deep cedarwood, smoldering ash, and raw, virile dominance that made my pussy clench with need.

I descended the stone stairs, my hand trailing the smooth railing, nipples already hard and aching beneath my thin silk slip.

The basement studio lay in calm, predatory silence—the kind where every breath felt profane. Soft crimson lights glowed from the corners, casting long, sinful shadows across professional cameras, restraint benches, and the wide leather sofas used for the most depraved performances.

I moved straight to his massive oak desk and sank into the oversized leather chair still warm from his body. It reeked of him. My wolf surged forward, whining pathetically.

The monitors were enormous, their black screens reflecting my flushed, guilty face. I didn’t need to search. I knew exactly where the forbidden files waited: the “Shadow Claims – Elite” folder.

My pulse thundered as I woke the system. The screen flared to life. I selected the newest video from earlier that evening and hit play.

A elegant she-wolf client—poised and aristocratic by daylight—appeared on all fours in this very room, her ass raised high in submission. Behind her, a visiting Beta drove into her with brutal force, his thick cock stretching her obscenely, knot already beginning to swell at the base.

Wet, filthy slapping sounds filled the studio. But it wasn’t their animalistic fucking that made my cunt throb and drip. It was the low, commanding growl directing every thrust.

“Arch your fucking back deeper, whore,” Cassian’s voice rumbled from behind the camera, velvet-wrapped steel that sent electric jolts straight to my clit.

“Present that dripping cunt properly for the lens. I want every inch of him ruining you on film. Hold still—let him breed you like the bitch you are.”

The female on screen sobbed in ecstasy, pushing back desperately. “Yes, Alpha… please…”

I didn’t hesitate. My hand shoved beneath the hem of my slip, fingers sliding through the obscene wetness already coating my thighs. I found my swollen clit and rubbed it in urgent, filthy circles, eyes glued to the screen.

My hips rocked shamelessly in Cassian’s chair as the Beta on video slammed harder, knot popping inside her with a vulgar sound.

“Oh gods…” I whispered hoarsely, fingers moving faster. The pressure built rapidly in my core. It was vile. It was wrong. This was my stepfather— the Alpha who had raised me—commanding such depravity.

And it made me wetter than any other male ever could. I imagined that voice directed at me. Those strong hands forcing my legs apart. That massive Alpha cock stretching my forbidden pussy.

“Deeper. Knot her. Fill her womb so they can see it swell,” Cassian ordered on screen, his tone dripping with dark authority.

“Cassian… Daddy…” The forbidden word tore from my lips in a needy moan as I plunged two fingers inside myself, fucking my dripping hole in time with the brutal rhythm on screen.

My wolf howled inside me, begging to be claimed, knotted, ruined by the one male who should never touch me. I rubbed my clit frantically with my thumb, hips bucking, the leather chair creaking beneath my shameless grinding.

The scent of my arousal saturated the air—sweet, fertile, and utterly incriminating.

I was so close. The coil tightened viciously. On screen, the Beta roared, locking his knot deep as the female shrieked in orgasm.

My fingers flew faster, pussy clenching greedily, juices dripping down my thighs onto the expensive leather—

“Little moon.”

The voice—deep, dangerous, and real—cut through the studio like a blade.

I screamed, yanking my soaked fingers free as I bolted upright. The chair spun wildly. I stumbled, nearly crashing into the camera rig, heart exploding in my chest.

My face burned with mortification and lingering lust. The monitor continued playing behind me, Cassian’s commanding growls still filling the room with filthy instructions.

“Fuck!” I gasped.

Lord Cassian Drake stood at the bottom of the stairs, shirtless, his powerfully muscled torso gleaming under the red lights. Black trousers hung low on his hips, doing nothing to conceal the thick, heavy bulge straining against the fabric—already half-hard from the scent of my heat.

His amber Alpha eyes glowed with primal hunger, nostrils flaring as he inhaled my dripping arousal. He advanced slowly, each step deliberate and predatory, muscles rippling.

His gaze dropped to the screen, then to my trembling, slick-coated hand, and finally to my soaked thighs.

“What the fuck are you doing in my chair, Evangeline?” he growled, voice low and vibrating with dangerous promise. “And why does my own daughter smell like a bitch in heat desperate for her Alpha’s knot?”

The air crackled with unbearable tension. My wolf submitted instantly, presenting in my mind even as terror and overwhelming lust warred inside me. I was caught. And the dark hunger burning in Cassian’s eyes promised that this sin had only just begun.