Claimed by two

POV: Ayla

The landscape shifted as the convoy approached the Black Pack’s borders, and I gripped my seat, willing my stomach to settle. Each passing mile seemed to coil my nerves tighter, the weight of what I’d agreed to suffocating. Skipping breakfast had been the right choice—I’d have lost it by now.

This wasn’t just nerves about stepping into unfamiliar territory. It was the knowledge of what I was here to do.

I was a soldier of the SilverMoon Pack, chosen—no, forced—by my alpha to participate in an “exchange program” with the Black Pack. Officially, I was here to learn their advanced guard techniques, an olive branch to foster peace between our packs.

Unofficially? I was a spy.

The Black Pack was a legend in our region: the largest, wealthiest, and most powerful of them all. Their warriors were unmatched, their strategies studied and envied by packs near and far. Alpha Ryan, my alpha, wanted that knowledge, and he wanted me to bring it back to him.

Because I was the best. The fastest. The most ruthless. At least, that’s what my training officers had drilled into me until I couldn’t breathe. I was everything they needed for this mission, but that didn’t make it any easier.

Especially not with my grandfather’s weak cough haunting my thoughts. Not with the image of my little sister, her wide, tearful eyes begging me to come back to her.

I forced the memories down, burying them deep. This mission was the only way to keep them safe.

When the Black Pack’s massive iron gates came into view, my chest tightened. They loomed ahead, blackened steel glinting in the sunlight, as intimidating as the wolves who lived beyond them. As we drove through, the world opened up into something I’d only heard about in stories.

The Black Pack’s territory was a metropolis, larger than anything I’d ever seen. The Pack House—a sprawling stone castle—sat at its center, its shadow dominating the skyline. Around it, neatly paved streets buzzed with activity, wolves moving in perfect synchronicity. My pack’s headquarters was a joke compared to this.

As we approached the guard headquarters, my awe faded into unease. The building was massive, towering above us, and I could feel eyes on me before I even stepped out of the car.

The moment I did, a young man approached. His red hair stood out against his polished uniform, and his sharp blue eyes darted to the clipboard in his hands.

“Soldier Ayla Stark?”

“That’s me,” I said, forcing a smile that felt more like a grimace. My muscles ached from the effort of keeping my shoulders squared, my movements steady.

“Welcome,” he said with a brisk nod. “I’m Corporal Levi. I’ll show you around before the presentation ceremony begins.”

“Presentation ceremony?” I repeated, the words lodging in my throat.

Levi barely glanced up as he turned and motioned for me to follow. “Today’s the graduation for our initial guard class. Starting tomorrow, the graduates will begin specialized training in various fields. You’ll be joining their ranks.”

I swallowed hard, trying to process what he’d just said. Graduation ceremonies were formal, packed events in my pack—events I avoided whenever possible. The thought of standing in front of a crowd here, in enemy territory, made my stomach twist again.

Levi continued talking as we walked through the pristine hallways, his words blending into the background. My focus was on my surroundings—the grand architecture, the polished stone floors, the rows of guards moving with military precision. Everything about this place screamed efficiency, power, and control.

Eventually, Levi gestured toward a room lined with plush sofas and a table laden with coffee and snacks. “Wait here until I come to get you for the ceremony.”

The moment he disappeared, I exhaled sharply. There was no way I was sitting around twiddling my thumbs. Not when every instinct screamed at me to move, to act, to learn.

Wandering down the hallway, I found myself drawn to a large wooden door slightly ajar. My curiosity got the better of me, and I slipped inside.

The air was thick with the scent of polished wood and aged metal. It was a trophy room, filled with shelves of awards, plaques, and medals. Weapons hung on the walls, each one gleaming under the soft lights. Axes, spears, swords—they were from different eras, each telling a story of victory and dominance.

It was beautiful. It was dangerous.

And it was exactly where I shouldn’t be.

The Trophy Room was nothing like I expected.

It smelled faintly of polished wood and old steel, a mixture of reverence and history. Weapons lined the walls, hung on displays that caught the light in dramatic ways, while shields and banners filled the spaces in between. Some pieces were ancient, dented and scarred, while others gleamed as if they’d never seen battle.

I ran my fingers along the edge of a halberd, its blade sharp but impractical. The balance was off, the handle too long for close combat, and I couldn’t imagine why anyone would have chosen it.

I moved to a mounted longsword next. It was stunning, the hilt decorated with intricate carvings of wolves mid-howl. But I frowned at the weight etched on the plaque below it—too heavy to swing with speed.

“Looks good, though,” I muttered to myself, my voice bouncing softly off the high ceilings.

“That’s one way to put it,” a voice said behind me.

His voice was deep, and low, like a growl wrapped in velvet, and it tugged at something primal within me. I told myself it was fear. It had to be fear.

I jumped, spinning on my heel. A handsome man stood in the doorway, leaning casually against the frame, his arms crossed over a broad chest.

His presence filled the room, larger than life. I didn’t understand why my chest felt tight, why my instincts screamed at me to step closer even as my mind demanded I stay far away.

His green eyes were bright, almost unnervingly so, set against the sharp lines of his face and framed by long, tousled blond hair, he was really good looking but it was like he doesn’t care about it. He looked… relaxed, but there was something about him—something in his stance, his gaze—that put me instantly on edge.

“I didn’t hear you come in,” I said quickly, straightening.

“Didn’t mean to startle you,” he said, his tone light. “You were pretty absorbed in your critique.”

I narrowed my eyes slightly. “You were listening?”

His lips quirked. “You weren’t exactly quiet.”

“You’re not going to explain yourself?” he asked, one brow arching. I cleared my throat, forcing my body to cooperate.

“I wasn’t… I mean, I didn’t realize this room was off-limits.” He didn’t move, but something about his stance made the air feel heavier.

“And yet here you are.” Heat crept up my neck.

“I was exploring,” I said defensively, my gaze darting back to the weapons as if they might offer me an escape. “No one told me where I wasn’t allowed to go.” The corner of his mouth twitched. It wasn’t quite a smile, but it wasn’t a frown either. My stomach flipped anyway.

“And these weapons caught your attention?” His voice was calm, but there was a sharpness to it, like a blade hidden beneath velvet.

“They’re… impressive,” I admitted, glancing at the spear I’d been studying. “Better than anything we had back in my pack.”

“But?” he prompted, his green eyes narrowing slightly. I hesitated. Don’t say it, my brain warned, but my mouth betrayed me.

“But they’re not practical. At least, not all of them. Some of these weapons are more for show than for combat. And this pack’s strategy…” I trailed off, biting my lip.

His silence pressed down on me, and I couldn’t stop myself from finishing the thought.

“It could use work. A lot of work, actually.” The air between us shifted. His arms uncrossed, his fingers tapping once against his thigh. His expression remained unreadable, but something flickered in his gaze—interest? Irritation? Both?

“You’re saying this guard’s strategy is weak.” The weight of his words hit me like a punch. My chest tightened as his authority finally registered. This wasn’t just some handsome stranger with an intimidating presence. He was someone important.

“I didn’t mean it like that,” I said quickly, panic rising. “I mean, you’ve obviously got the strength, and the weapons are incredible. But strength without strategy only gets you so far. My pack focused on adaptability. We trained to fight with whatever we had—claws, teeth, even rocks. Here…” I gestured toward the room. “It’s like you’re relying too much on tools and not enough on instinct.” The silence stretched painfully long. My pulse pounded in my ears, and I had to force myself not to fidget under his gaze. What the hell I just did?

“You’ve clearly given this a lot of thought,” he said finally, his voice even. I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.

“I just… I like to observe. That’s all.” For a moment, he just watched me, his green eyes unblinking. There was something about him that made my body betray me—a heat pooling low in my stomach, an awareness that made my skin prickle. I hated it. I hated him.

Heat crept up my neck. “I wasn’t critiquing, just… observing. Some of these weapons aren’t exactly practical for modern combat.”

He arched a brow, stepping closer. “Is that so?”

I nodded, crossing my arms to steady myself. “Take this spear, for example.” I gestured toward one of the displays. “The shaft is reinforced, but the balance is off. If I were using it, I’d shorten it, maybe adjust the counterweight.”

“And that?” he asked, pointing to a spiked mace hanging nearby.

“Too slow,” I said immediately. “Good for brute force, but useless against someone faster. I’d replace the spikes with a lighter design or ditch it entirely.”

He tilted his head, as if considering my words. “You’ve thought this through.”

“I’m from the guard,” I replied, lifting my chin. “Analyzing weapons is second nature.”

“Interesting.” His gaze lingered on me, and I felt the weight of his curiosity.

I turned to a large shield mounted near the center of the room, its edges adorned with gold trim. “And this—” I tapped the surface gently, testing its durability—“this wouldn’t hold up against a modern arrow. It’s too old. Beautiful, but not battle-ready. I’d reinforce the edges and maybe rework the weave for flexibility.”

The man didn’t respond, and when I glanced at him, I found him watching me with an unreadable expression.

“What?” I asked, defensive.

“Nothing,” he said, a smile tugging at his lips. “Just wondering what you’d change about the rest of the collection.”

Before I could answer, a voice called out from the hallway. “Chief Kieran!”

My stomach dropped.

Every muscle in my body locked up.

Chief.

My heart sank as the realization hit me. He wasn’t just a guard. He was the guard. The man I’d just insulted commanded the very warriors I’d been criticizing. I wanted to die. Right there, on the spot. Just sink into the floor and vanish.

“Chief Kieran,” I repeated slowly, as the name sank in. “As in… Chief Kieran Reddick?”

The man—Kieran—smirked, clearly enjoying my realization. “That’s me.”

Mortification hit me like a punch to the gut. I’d just spent the last ten minutes critiquing the weapons of the chief of the guard.