A Love Claimed
Author's POV
Cleopatra's gaze lingered on the cabin’s distant shadows, watching Marcus report something to Williams, their tones hushed. She held back, leaning against the cold frame of the door, her heart a storm of conflicting emotions.
Marcus hadn’t spoken a word to her since they’d crossed paths again, his expression only hardening when he saw her. She could still feel the weight of his silent resentment, the unspoken blame he carried for those he had lost in the ambush she had leaked. It was a weight she bore willingly—each loss etched in her mind, haunting her, reminding her of what she had done under Alpha Kane's manipulation. But now, as Williams turned to look for her, the tenderness in his eyes tugged at the edges of her resolve.
Cleopatra inhaled deeply, steadying herself. The revelation about the child had left her exposed, vulnerable in a way that terrified her. She had thought telling him the baby was gone would protect her against having to face him ever again, that he might walk away, leaving her with the fragmented pieces of a life she no longer knew how to rebuild. Yet, he hadn’t flinched. His resolve only deepened, his warmth radiating against the coldness of her fears. She hadn’t known whether to feel relief or dread.
She quietly got up from the living room and slipped out to clear her head. Being in the same room with Marcus was suddenly suffocating.
Cleopatra felt the soft crunch of footsteps in the snow behind her, and instinctively her body tensed, but she didn’t turn. Marcus came to stand beside her, crossing his arms as he stared into the dark, his profile outlined against the faint glow from inside the cabin. His expression was unreadable, though the silence between them was heavy.
“You don’t deserve to be his queen,” he said finally, his voice low but sharp, each word a reminder of the lives lost, the trust shattered. “After everything you did, every betrayal… Do you really think you deserve to stand by his side?”
Cleopatra didn’t look at him, her gaze fixed somewhere distant. “I know I don’t,” she replied, her voice barely above a whisper. “But I can’t erase what’s been done, Marcus. All I can do is try to make up for my mistake, for him.”
Marcus let out a bitter chuckle. “And you think that’s enough? That just because he’s marked you, everything’s forgiven?”
She closed her eyes, the weight of his words pressing down on her. “I don’t expect forgiveness from you, Marcus. I can’t even forgive myself.” Her voice trembled, the honesty cutting into her like a blade. “But I’d give my life to protect him. If you can’t trust me, then watch me—see that I’d rather die than let him suffer for my mistakes.”
A tense silence lingered between them, thick and heavy, as Marcus’s gaze softened, though only a fraction. He studied Cleopatra with a look that seemed to peer beyond the armor she wore, as though he were seeing parts of her he hadn’t before. Slowly, he reached out and took her hands, his grip firm and unyielding.
"For his sake," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. "I’ll give you this chance. But don't misunderstand me, Cleopatra—I may forgive, but I won’t forget. Not yet, maybe not ever."
Cleopatra held his gaze, her expression resolute, though a flicker of gratitude passed through her eyes. "I don't expect your forgiveness, Marcus. But thank you… for this.” She felt a sudden shift in the air, a fragile truce formed out of necessity and the barest hint of mutual understanding.
The quiet moment was interrupted as the door swung open. Williams stepped out, his gaze bouncing between them, brow creasing as suspicion flashed across his face. “Is everything alright here?” he asked, his voice laced with a note of warning.
Cleopatra offered a strained smile, nodding. “Yes, everything’s fine. We were just… talking.”
Williams’s eyes caught on Marcus’s grip around her hands, and a flash of anger crossed his face. Before he fully registered the impulse, he crossed the distance in a heartbeat, seizing Marcus by the collar and shoving him back against the rough bark of a tree. Branches shook from the force, leaves fluttering down with a force.
Williams’s voice was low and cold. “Dont you ever put your hands on her. Ever.”
As Williams took her hand and led her inside, his touch warm and reassuring, Cleopatra felt the smallest sense of peace settle within her. For now, she was where she needed to be, even if the path forward was filled with shadows.
Inside the small, dimly lit room, Williams closed the door behind them, leaving only the soft glow of the moon streaming through the window. Cleopatra barely had a moment to gather her thoughts before he turned to her, his gaze intense, filled with a possessive fire she hadn’t seen in him before.
“You’re mine, Cleopatra,” he murmured, his voice low and unwavering. He stepped closer, his hand lifting to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing along her jaw. “No one else gets to touch you. No one.”
She felt a shiver run through her at his words, a mixture of excitement and surrender. The world outside seemed to melt away as his gaze locked onto hers, grounding her in the moment. He closed the remaining distance between them, his hands sliding around her waist to pull her close, their bodies molding together as though they were two halves finally made whole.
His mouth found hers in a slow, hungry kiss, deepening with each second as he claimed her, his passion leaving no room for doubt. His grip tightened around her waist, pulling her closer still, his hands moving along the curve of her back, as if to remind her that she belonged to him in every way. His fingers traced lines along her shoulders, sending sparks of warmth through her skin.
Their breaths mingled, shallow and quick, as they lost themselves in each other’s touch. Cleopatra’s fingers trailed up his arms, feeling the strength there, then slid to his chest, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat beneath her palm. She could feel his possessiveness in every kiss, every touch, as though he was marking her without words. She wrapped her arms around his neck, letting herself melt into him, savoring the warmth of his embrace.
Williams’s lips moved down to her neck, his kisses slow and lingering, igniting a warmth that spread through her body. Each kiss felt like a promise, a silent vow that he would protect her, cherish her, claim her as his own. He whispered her name between kisses, his voice thick with desire, each word sending shivers down her spine. His fingers tightened around her waist, holding her as though he could never let go.
Cleopatra’s fingers traced along the lines of his shoulders, her own breaths growing uneven as his kisses moved lower, her heart pounding in her chest. She felt herself drawn to him, pulled deeper into the warmth and intensity of his embrace, her own lips finding his once more, her kisses filled with equal passion.
But just as the fire between them seemed ready to consume them, Williams pulled back slightly, his gaze locked onto hers, the intensity in his eyes nearly overwhelming. He brushed his fingers along her cheek, his voice barely a whisper. “Mark me, Cleopatra. Let everyone know I’m yours.”
The words hung in the air, heavy and charged. She looked into his eyes, feeling the depth of his sincerity, the need in his voice. She knew what he was asking, the commitment it represented. But a familiar hesitation gripped her heart, and her gaze fell, unable to meet his.
“No,” she murmured, the word soft but resolute.
For a moment, silence filled the room, his hand still resting gently on her cheek. She felt his disappointment, the quiet sadness in his gaze, yet he didn’t push her. Instead, he leaned in, pressing one final, lingering kiss to her forehead, his arms still holding her close, as though silently promising he would wait, however long it took.
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