Chapter 1 – The Pact
The countryside villa stood quiet, sunlight draping the wild vines growing over its stone frame. A soft breeze whispered through the cracked-open window of the study, where a man sat scribbling into a thick leather-bound journal.
Kael.
Alpha by blood. Writer by heart. Control in every breath.
He looked up as footsteps approached.
Rhian entered the room barefoot, curls still damp from a morning rinse, his white tee slightly clinging to his lean frame.
“9 AM sharp,” Kael noted. “You’re more obedient than I expected.”
Rhian smirked. “That’s the story I want to change.”
The tension was always there—beneath each sarcastic line, each shared draft. Two writers. One genre. And now, one month-long pact.
Kael slid a printed contract toward Rhian across the polished oak table.
“One month. No distractions. No edits. One story. One rule—we live everything we write.”
Rhian read it slowly. Each clause sent a ripple of heat through him. He glanced at Kael—those sharp eyes, that Alpha aura, commanding without raising a voice.
“You sure?” Rhian asked. “You know what kind of scenes I plan to write, right?”
Kael leaned forward. “That’s exactly why I chose you.”
That night, the first scene was born.
Not from keys tapping on a laptop—but from breath, tension, and touch.
The bedroom was transformed: soft lighting, a leather collar laid neatly on the dresser, black silk ties coiled like commas on the bedpost.
“You’re not writing tonight?” Rhian asked, voice low.
Kael circled him slowly. “I already wrote the scene… now I need to live it. With you.”
Rhian’s hands were bound. Not tight. Not forced. But firm—like a comma pausing a sentence for effect.
Kael stood over him, fingers tracing skin like ink on parchment.
“This is research,” he whispered into Rhian’s neck.
“I call it commitment,” Rhian replied, breath hitching.
And in that room—through movement, moans, and surrender—the first chapter of Del Luna was lived. Not typed. Not edited.
Lived.
