She's Mine To Claim

Amara woke up with a start, her heart pounding in her chest. She couldn't shake off the feeling of dread that consumed her.

Something was wrong. She tried to calm her racing thoughts and focus on her surroundings. The room was dimly lit, the soft glow of moonlight seeping through the curtains.

She could make out the shapes of furniture and the familiar scent of her mates in the air.

" Mates!. "

That word sent a shiver down her spine. Amara was trapped in a forced mating with the ruthless High Beast Lord Amoux.

Despite not loving her, Amoux relied on Amara to use her powerful healing magic to care for his pack and lands. The memory of their mating ceremony anniversary struck like a knife to Amara's heart.

A year had passed since she had been claimed by Amoux, and she still felt no connection or affection towards him.

A sudden pain shot through Amara's chest, causing her to gasp. It was as if someone had stabbed her right in the heart. She clutched at her chest, panic rising within her.

Amoux stirred beside her, his sharp golden eyes meeting hers in concern. "What's wrong?" he growled.

"Cymone," Amara whispered, fear coursing through every fiber of her being. Cymone, Amoux's intended true mate, had returned to the pack after years away, pregnant with Amoux's heir.

The news had devastated Amara, but she had kept quiet about it, burying her own pain deep inside. But now, something was happening to Cymone. On this night of all nights.

Before she could say anything else, a commotion erupted outside their chambers - urgent voices and paws padding against stone floors. cursed under his breath and climbed out of bed.

He threw on a robe and stormed towards the door, yanking it open without hesitation. Amara followed close behind. In the dimly lit hallway, pack members scurried about, their expressions filled with worry and panic.

Amoux's mother, the Blood Lady Zmeya, stood at the center of it all, her piercing gaze sweeping over the chaos.

"What's going on?" Amoux demanded, his voice rumbling with authority. Zmeya turned to face her son, her expression grave.

"It's Cymone," she said. "She's been in a carriage accident." Amara's breath caught in her throat. This couldn't be happening. Not now. Not when everything was already so fragile.

"Can't you heal her?" Amoux asked sharply, turning his gaze to Amara. Fear gripped Amara's heart as she met his intense eyes.

She knew what he was thinking - that she could use her healing magic to save Cymone. But little did he know that doing so could drain Amara of her powers and lifeforce permanently. "Amara," Amoux growled impatiently.

"I'm waiting." Reluctantly, Amara nodded. She had no choice but to try and save Cymone, no matter the cost to herself.

They rushed down the corridors of the packhouse to where Cymone lay motionless on a makeshift bed. The scent of blood hung heavy in the air, mixing with dirt and sweat.

Amara knelt beside Cymone and placed a trembling hand on her swollen belly. She closed her eyes and focused on tapping into her healing magic. Energy surged through her veins like liquid fire as she channeled it towards Cymone's broken body.

The wounds began to mend slowly, but with each passing moment, Amara felt a piece of herself being drained away. Hours passed in a blur as Amara fought desperately to keep both Cymone and herself alive.

She could hear the steady heartbeat of the unborn child beneath her hand, a small flicker of hope in the darkness. Finally, she pulled away, her body trembling with exhaustion.

Cymone was going to survive, along with her unborn child. Amara looked up at Amoux, a mix of relief and fear in her eyes.

"She's going to be okay," she whispered. A cruel smile tugged at Amoux's lips as he met Amara's gaze.

"Thank you for your services," he said coldly. "But now that you're no longer of any use to me, it's time for you to leave."

Amara's heart sank as his words echoed in her ears. She had known this would be the outcome, but it still hurt like a fresh wound. And then came Zmeya's command - to have Amara hunted down and executed, to ensure the useless concubine could never return and get in the way.

Amara fled through the moonlit forest, her breath coming in ragged gasps. She could hear the howls of Zmeya's hunters drawing closer with each passing moment. And then it happened.

Pain seared through Amara's chest once more as she stumbled over a root and fell to the ground. The world around her faded into blackness as she succumbed to Zmeya's hunters. When she woke up again, everything had changed.

Amara found herself reborn in the body of a stray animal shifter - a small gray wolf with matted fur and weary eyes. She was no longer human or an alpha female healer but part of a marginalized clowder led by three Alpha beast lord triplets named Balrion, Leoforn, and Damion.

Disoriented and confused, Amara wandered through the dark forest until she stumbled upon a grand estate nestled on the outskirts of pack lands.

It was the night of a mating ceremony meant to bond the triplets with a wealthy bride for political ties. But when the bride got cold feet and abandoned her groom duty, Amara found herself caught up in a case of mistaken identity.

She was taken for the replacement bride-to-be, much to her disbelief and the triplets' steward Boros's persuasive charm.

Desperate to salvage their family's prestige, Boros convinced Amara to briefly pretend to be mated to Balrion, Leoforn, and Damion until they could find a suitable replacement bride.

It was all just an act, an arrangement. Or so she thought. But when Amara took each of their hands in the mating rites, she was suddenly overwhelmed by a vision - Balrion bleeding and fatally stabbed by masked attackers.

She tried to dismiss it as her imagination running wild but couldn't shake off the feeling that it was real. Panicked, Amara looked at each of the triplets, her eyes wide with urgency.

"We're in danger," she whispered. "Someone is going to attack us." They stared at her blankly, exchanging confused glances.

"What are you talking about?" Leoforn asked impatiently. "This is just stress-induced hysteria." Amara bit her lip and considered staying quiet. Maybe it was just her imagination playing tricks on her after all.

But before she could make up her mind, the ground beneath them rumbled and shook violently. The carriage they were seated in came to an abrupt halt as masked figures emerged from the shadows.

The air filled with tension as blades glinted in the moonlight, aimed straight at the hearts of the brothers. Fear consumed every inch of Amara's being as time slowed down around them.

Without thinking, she threw herself between Balrion and one of the attackers, taking a blade meant for him into her chest.

Pain exploded through her body as darkness swirled at the edges of her vision. She could hear the sound of a struggle, desperate voices shouting and snarls echoing through the night.

And then everything went black. When Amara woke up, she was surrounded by worried faces and dimly lit candles. The scent of blood lingered in the air, mixing with herbs and earth.

Balrion sat at her bedside, his blue eyes filled with guilt and concern. "You're awake," he said softly. Leoforn and Damion stood close by, their expressions somber.

"We should never have doubted you," Leoforn said, his voice filled with regret. Damion nodded in agreement. "You saved our brother's life," he said. "And we are forever grateful."

Amara tried to speak but winced in pain instead. Her chest felt heavy and tight, a constant reminder of what she had sacrificed.