Kieran's True mate

Chapter 4

Sheryl’s POV

I stood frozen at the spot. My legs were burning to take off and run, but I was scared of the consequences. Fear coiled in my stomach like a serpent, making my breath come in short, ragged gasps.

He looked at me with a mixture of surprise - like I dared defy him - and growing impatience. Then he spoke slowly, each word laden with hidden threats. "Do you really want me to repeat myself?"

The menace in his voice sent ice through my veins. Helen's last words echoed in my head once again.

No. I can't die here, not tonight at least.

Trembling, I began to peel my clothes off. My fingers were clumsy, shaking so badly that buttons fought against my attempts to undo them. The fabric seemed to cling to me, as if sensing my terror and trying to protect me.

With each layer that fell, I felt more exposed and vulnerable. The cold kissed my skin, but it was nothing compared to the fear of Sinclair's predatory gaze.

When I was finally bare, I stood before him, trembling.

"Come closer," he commanded.

My legs were shaky as I moved forward. Each breath I took was a conscious effort to keep from collapsing.

He stood up as I approached, his massive body towering over me like a predator. His eyes raked over my body with desire.

He began to circle me slowly, like a wolf sizing up it's prey. He squeezed my sensitive breast, tracing my n*****s with the tip of his fingers i almost let out a moan. Then he traced the scars that marked my skin. I could feel his breath against my neck, sending shivers down my spine.

His touch lingered on the scars from last night. Under his breath, he muttered, "I should've killed her."

His fingers traced the smaller scars - above my breast, inside my thighs, on my buttocks. Each touch sent waves of terror and excitement that made my body betray me in ways I didn't understand.

"How did you get these?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

Memories of Victoria and Alexandria flashed through my mind - locking me up when I proved stubborn, and inflicting me with pain. But I couldn't let him know that. I couldn’t let him know how badly I was treated at home. How weak and lonely I've always been. Not now. Not ever.

"They were from me," I lied, my voice shaking, despite my efforts to sound strong. "I get careless sometimes."

Without warning, he sat back down on the bed and drew me roughly against his naked body. The sudden movement knocked the breath from my lungs. Before I could process what was happening, he positioned me face down across his lap, and spanked me hard on my bare bottom. I screamed so loud. Out of shock and excruciating pain.

"This is a warning," he said, his voice cold and sharp as a blade. " Never be careless with your body again. It belongs to me now."

The second strike sent another wave of pain through my body. I bit down on my lip to keep from screaming out. "If I see another scar on this body," he lifted my face to his, while he looked me straight in the eye, "Consider yourself dead."

He spanked me again. Each blow landing with a brutal force. My world narrowed to pain, to the sound of his hand against my skin, to the wetness of my tears soaking into his white rug.

When he finally stopped, I was trembling - from pain, from humiliation, from different emotions I couldn't even begin to name.

"Clean those tears," he commanded. "They irritate me."

I did as I was told. Survival instinct overriding everything else.

He motioned for me to lay on the bed - a herculean task for me, since my bottom hurt like crazy. But I managed to position myself the way he wanted. I closed my eyes tightly, ready to get this done and over with. He laid on top of me, ready to claim what he believed was his.

And then everything changed.

My wolf suddenly called out. Not in fear. Not in submission.

In recognition.

Mate.

My eyes shot open.The word reverberated through me. I was as shocked as he was. But my wolf knew. Deep in my bones, it knew.

In an instant, Sinclair flung me from him, horror and disbelief etched across his face.

"Impossible," he snarled. "You cannot be my mate."

Sinclair's POV

The moment Sheryl was flung from the bed, memories crashed over me like a violent tide. Memories I'd spent years burying, drowning in violence and conquests.

The war-hardened alpha within me struggled against the primal recognition that had just occurred. My wolf - usually a controlled, savage beast - was unusually restless.

I left the bed, and moved straight to the window. The moonlight casting sharp shadows across my scarred skin. I gazed into nothingness as memories came flooding in.

My grandmother - the most powerful seer our pack had ever known - had whispered these words to me when I was just a young alpha in training. "Be careful, Sinclair," she'd warned, her milky eyes seeing beyond the physical realm. "The mate who comes to you will not be broken by you. She will break you."

The prophecy was complex, woven with layers of mystical warnings. It spoke of an alpha who had spilled too much innocent blood, who had become more monster than protector. Such an alpha would be bound to a mate not through love, but through unusual means.

As if that wasn't enough, I was confronted by a woman years ago - her appearance had been the first sign of that f*****g prophecy.

The memory was as vivid as the day it happened. I had just returned from a brutal campaign, my pack's territory stained with the blood of those who dared challenge my authority. My clothes still carried the scent of battle and my hands still remembered the last throat I'd crushed.

She had appeared like a vengeful spirit. Thin, wild-eyed, her grief a tangible force that cut through my guards like they were nothing. Dark hair wild, dress torn, she broke free from the men restraining her and ran directly toward me.

"You evil man," she had screamed. "You monster. You killed my husband, my mate, when he did nothing to you. For making me suffer, you'll die in the hands of your true mate."

That very night, when my guards reported she had taken her own life, something shifted inside me. A darkness. A guilt I'd never admit. Those words haunt me to this day.

My refusal to accept a mate all these years, were all attempts to avoid this predetermined path. I had taken lovers, had relationships, but never allowed myself to be truly vulnerable. Kieran's mother had been the closest - a strategic alliance that kept me safely detached.

And now, years later, fate seemed to be collecting it's due.

I turned, looking at Sheryl - small, trembling. Too young. Too vulnerable. Impossible.

"No," I muttered, more to myself than to her. "This cannot be happening."

"Guards!" I barked.

They materialized. Their eyes took in the scene: Sheryl's trembling form, her nakedness, the tension crackling in the air like electricity.

"Take her to her room," I ordered, my voice cold and controlled.

As they moved to obey. I watched. Planning. My mind was already three steps ahead, strategizing how to contain this unexpected complication. The mate bond was a wild, unpredictable thing - but I had spent my entire life mastering control.

She won't break me, I thought. I'll break her first.

It was almost fortunate that I had found her now. Young. Vulnerable. Alone. The timing was perfect for establishing absolute dominance. She had no allies, no support. Nothing but the walls of my territory and my will to contain her.

My lips curled into a predatory smile. I'll keep her close, I decided. So close that she'll have no room to breathe, let alone plot anything against me.

She will crumble under this roof, I promised myself. Every spark of rebellion will be systematically crushed.