Chapter 1: The Mark
Raven's POV
The scent of blood and whiskey clung to the air of the warehouse, a perfume I'd grown too familiar with. I adjusted the brass knuckles on my right hand, the cold metal a comforting weight. Tomboy? Try survivor. In my father's world—the world of the Hawke's Mafia— softness was a death sentence.
"He's here," my cousin, Carl, muttered, his eyes fixed on the door.
He.Kaelen Vance. Alpha of the Vance Werewolfes Pack. Crime boss. My family's most dangerous enemy. And according to the bullshit pact our fathers cooked up before they killed each other, my fake fiancé.
The door didn't open; it exploded inward, splinters flying. He filled the doorway, a mountain of lethal grace.Kaelen. His presnce alone was a physical blow, a wave of raw, alpha power that made the humans in room flinch. His eyes, a glancial blue that saw everything, locked unto me.
"Hawke,"his voice was a low growl, the UK accent rough as gravel."You look like you wrestled a dumpster and lost."
I flashed him a savage grin, blood from a split lip staining my teeth.
"Vance. You smell like a wet dog and arrogance.Did you run here?"
A low rumble came from his chest. The pack members at his back snarled, but a flick of his wrist silenced them.He crossed the room, a predator in tailored black suit. He stopped inches from me, his heat searing my skin. His gaze raked over my bruised face, the torn leather jacket, the defiant stance.
"Your little— "independent operation," he said the word like a curse," has stepped on my territory. That shipment was mine."
Finders keepers, you mangy fuck,"holding his stare. The vulgarity was armor.
His hand shot out, not to hit me, but to grip my chin, forcing my head up. His touch was fire and iron."You belong to me now, Raven Hawke. This fake engagement isn't a game to me. It's a claim. Your body, your business, your pretty little life—it's all mine to protect or break."
The possessiveness in his words should have made me recoil. Instead , a treacherous heat coiled low in my belly. Enemies. We are enemies.
"I belong to no one,"I spat, trying to wrench free.
He leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of my ears, his breath hot.
"You will, you'll wear my mark, in every way. Starting with cleaning up this mess." He released me, turning to the warehouse forman.
"You touched what's mine?" he asked, his voice deceptively soft.
What followed wasn't just violence. It was art form. A brutal efficiency display of savage power that ended with the man a broken, sobbing heap on the concrete. Kaelen didn't even looked winded. He wiped his knuckles on a handkerchief, his eyes finding me again, challenging me to look away.
I didn't. My crime obsession , my own darkness, watches his with a twisted sense of awe.
Later, in the back of his armored SUV, the silence was suffocating.
"You're a savage," I finally said, staring out at the passing city.
And you're a reckless little fool who needs a keeper," his gaze burning into my profile. "This alliance is the only thing keeping your family from being completely wiped off the map. Remember that."
"It's not an alliance, is a prison sentence." Then he grabbed my wrist, his grip unforgiving , pulling my hand onto his thighs. The contact was electric, violence, intimate.
"Then get use to your cellmate, princess. Because whether you love me or not, your stuck with me. And I don't share what's rightfully mine, got that." he said in a low tone but I could here the rage in his voice when he speaks.
The promise—or the threat—hung in the air, thick with unsaid violence, angsty tension, and a dangerous, cursed attraction that felt like standing on the edge of a blade.
This was more than fake dating. This was a war dressed up as romance, and I was the prize he was determine to break before he claimed.
