Bound to the Alpha's Vow

Name: Bound to the Alpha's Vow
Rating: 5.0 (1 reviews)

Dennis T. Morgan

Werewolf | Ongoing

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Savannah Langley never imagined desperation would drive her into the arms of a stranger, especially not one like Rhett Callahan. Billionaire. Alpha. Cold as the winter moon. But when her dying mother's life hangs by a thread and a mountain of hospital debt threatens to bury her, Rhett offers her a lifeline: one year of marriage. No love. No promises. Just power, protection, and a signature on a contract that changes everything. What Savannah doesn't know is that Rhett isn't just any Alpha, he's on the brink of war, and she's the weapon he needs to win. But the more she's pulled into his dangerous world of ancient rivalries and brutal politics, the more she begins to unravel a secret buried inside herself a legacy of blood and fire that could destroy them both. As passion ignites and enemies close in, Savannah is forced to confront the truth: this contract may have saved her body, but it's her soul and Rhett's heart that are truly at stake. And in a world where loyalty means survival, and love is a risk no Alpha dares to take, the biggest danger of all is falling for him.

Forced love Love at first sight Romance Billionaires

Chapter 5 When the Wind Closed the Door

05-15 11:19

Chapter 1 The Price of Breath

"I need thirty more seconds please don't tow it!"

Savannah's voice cracked as she bolted across the parking lot, her soaked flats slapping the pavement, the hem of her thrift-store dress dark with streetwater. She didn't wait for the hospital security guard's response. Her car was half on the yellow curb, engine running, hazard lights clicking like a countdown. She didn't care.

Inside, the lobby hit her like a slap sterile white, fluorescent glare, a hush that felt too controlled to be peaceful. Her fingers clutched the folded eviction notice in one hand, wrinkled and wet from where she'd dropped it on her lap during the drive.

Room 514.

"Miss? You need to check in," the front desk clerk called out.

"I'm going to 514," Savannah replied without slowing.

"Ma'am, you can't "

But the elevator was already closing behind her. She pressed the button twice out of sheer desperation. Her stomach lurched as the floor rose.

The doors opened into a hallway that smelled like bleach, old linens, and dying hope. Savannah moved fast, dodging a nurse's cart, pushing open the door to her mother's room.

And froze.

Two women in gray suits stood beside her mother's bed. They looked up as Savannah entered calculated gazes, unbothered expressions. Isla Langley lay motionless under the oxygen mask, her frame even thinner than it had been yesterday. Her eyes were closed. Her chest moved shallowly.

"Savannah Langley?"

The older one stepped forward. No smile. A badge clipped to her blazer read: Olivia Jansen, Billing Supervisor.

"We've left you three voicemails," she said. "Your mother's Medicaid support expired. Effective immediately, we require private payment to continue treatment."

Savannah blinked. "You're discharging her? She's unconscious."

"You have twenty-four hours to arrange a transfer or payment. This is a private facility, Miss Langley. We're not equipped to cover indefinite charity care."

Her heart plummeted. She looked at her mother's pale hands, IVs taped across blue veins.

"She's not a file. She's my mother."

The second woman glanced at the chart. "You've paid nothing since last cycle. Billing has extended grace. That window is closed."

Savannah took a step forward, knuckles tightening around the damp eviction letter still in her hand.

"I need time," she said, barely managing to steady her voice. "Just... a few days. I'll find something."

"Time," Olivia repeated. "Time isn't something we extend without collateral. If you're unable to process at least a partial payment by tomorrow, we'll begin administrative discharge."

Her mind raced. Tips from the flower shop? Fifty bucks a day if she worked open to close. That wouldn't touch even one dose of her mother's meds.

Her voice dropped. "Where is she supposed to go?"

The women didn't answer.

They turned and left.

The door clicked shut behind them, and the room fell still.

Savannah moved to the bed. Isla's eyelids fluttered. She brushed a hand against her mother's wrist, feeling the dry warmth of skin. Her mother's breath rattled, thin as paper.

"I'm going to fix this," she whispered. "I'll find a way."

But even her own voice didn't believe her.

She stepped back, chest heaving. Her eyes swept the room: the IV tower blinking red, the monitor with its stubborn beep, the calendar taped on the wall, with no appointments written past next Monday.

The beeping felt louder.

Each second counted down something she couldn't name.

She turned, pushed the door open again, and didn't notice the nurse following her down the hallway with wide eyes and a folder clutched to her chest.

Savannah kept walking.

Her lungs burned. Her chest ached. Her vision tunneled.

What was she going to do?

There was no money. No support. No backup. No inheritance. Just Boone's shop, her tips, her mother's wheezing body... and now a hospital bill that might as well have been a mountain.

She reached the lobby, shoved through the glass doors

And slammed into Boone Whitaker's chest.

He caught her instantly. "Whoa. Savannah?"

"Boone," she gasped. "What are you doing here?"

"Got your message. And I figured you'd need backup."

Her hands were shaking. She tried to step past him, but he followed.

"What happened? You look like hell."

She wanted to answer, but her throat tightened too much. Her eyes betrayed her. The first tear slipped before she could stop it.

Boone caught her face in both hands. "What. Happened."

"They're... they're kicking her out."

He didn't respond. Just stepped back and marched inside.

Savannah blinked and followed, too stunned to stop him.

"Savannah!" Boone's voice hit the hallway before he did, deep, sharp, loud enough to make two nurses look up from their station.

She didn't want to turn around. She didn't want to look at him. Not like this with her mascara smudged, shirt clinging to her from the rain, eyes swollen from crying and exhaustion.

He didn't care.

He caught up to her in three long strides. "What the hell is going on? I got your message and flew here. I thought something happened to Isla "

"She's being discharged." Savannah didn't stop moving.

Boone reached for her arm, firm but careful. "What do you mean 'discharged'? She's on a damn ventilator, Savannah."

"They cut her coverage." Her voice cracked at the end. "I don't have what they're asking for. I don't even have rent. It's over."

He stepped in front of her, blocking her path. "Tell me who said that."

Savannah tried to move past him. Boone didn't budge.

"I mean it. I want names."

"It doesn't matter," she said, forcing composure. "They have rules. And deadlines. And zero humanity."

Boone's eyes sharpened, jaw flexing. Then he turned around and marched straight to the nurse's station.

Savannah blinked. "Boone. Don't "

But he was already there, slamming both hands on the counter.

"I want billing. Now," he said, voice low and boiling. "Room 514. Isla Langley."

The receptionist's eyes widened. "Sir, I can't release "

"I didn't ask you to release information," he snapped. "I asked you to call whoever's sitting upstairs deciding who gets to live or die today."

Savannah reached him just as a security guard appeared from behind a side hallway. "Boone," she hissed. "Stop. You're making this worse."

He turned to her, completely unbothered. "You've been scraping for months to keep your mother alive and they pull the plug without warning? If I don't shout, who will?"