Claimed By The Cold Hearted Alpha

WARNING-the content of this book is VERY graphic and VERY dark. Do NOT read if you cannot stomach graphic violence or explicit intimacy.

HYACINTH (AGE 15)

"Daddy!" I sputtered and coughed in the upstairs hallway, lungs already dangerously full of smoke.

The fire crackled all around us-my childhood home going up in flames.

My father gripped my shoulders tightly, painfully, giving me a little shake. The eyes of his Wolf glowed with fury and hate. Not at me. But for the Alpha who had come to destroy him. The monster intent on cutting us all down and wreaking havoc...until not a person or a possession remained.

My father yelled to be heard over the roar and crackling of wood around us, "Get back, Hycinth! Go to Luca at the safe house! Go now! Run!"

"No, Daddy!" I wailed again, tears streaming down my face. I didn't want to leave him. He was hurt. I could smell it. Blood from several deep claw and bite wounds wafted into the air. The scent of iron oxide, a byproduct of his leaking life-fluid, combined with the oppressive stench of carbon dioxide released by the flames, burning my sensitive nose. I could barely breathe.

His beautiful face twisted, the depth of his agony severe. Tears trailed down his dirty cheeks. His voice cracked, "I love you, Princess."

I stared at him in disbelief.

The Wolf who had been the strongest, the fiercest warrior in our Pack.

That same Wolf who had indulged his little girl. Let me dress him up for tea parties with my bears. Sang me silly songs every night before bed. That man-the one I loved more than any other person in the world- was saying goodbye to me.

Forever.

He knew his fate. He accepted it.

But I didn't think my young heart would survive.

And that's when I saw him.

The monster.

The Alpha of Adamant Moon-Leander!

The subject of legends and horrors. Violence so brutal, his own men struggled to stomach the aftermath of his rage, the brutality left in his wake.

Like a demon, straight from the churning pits of hell, the Alpha appeared at the top of the stairs. He stood at the end of the long hallway, nostrils flaring.

My father spun to face the threat, shoving me behind him at the same time.

But I had gotten a glimpse of the death-bringer. The image seared into my brain.

Alpha Leander was bigger than life, chest so broad he filled what remained of the charred hallway. Sinewy muscles flexed and contracted with each ragged breath. Pitch black hair shined like mica even with the clinging dirt and falling bits of debris. A short, neatly trimmed 5 o'clock shadow, goatee and mustache framed the sharp-edged cleft of his jaw and emphasized his straight nose and high crested cheeks. His face was made up of angles, all hard and severe. And all man.

Hands fisting the back of my father's shirt, I trembled uncontrollably and peeked around him, survival instinct kicking in, not willing to take my eyes off of a predator of Leander's caliber.

The glowing eyes of his Wolf, a shocking mixture of cerulean and amethyst, swirled brightly, only focused on his target- my father, Alpha of the Diamonte Pack-as he strode toward us, death and destruction burning in his eyes.

And then his gaze flickered to me, and he froze, eyes widening in shock.

"Mate?" he mouthed the word, but no sound came out.

Time crashed to an abrupt halt.

My head spun.

I was sure my heart would stop right there as I crouched behind the massive protective frame of my father.