Alpha King's Slave Mate

Chapter 8 – She Sleeps in the Alpha's Bed

The morning light cut softly through the heavy curtains.

Riven stirred.

She was wrapped in warmth, a steady heartbeat pulsing beneath her ear. Her palm rested against bare skin, and a strong arm was draped protectively over her waist.

Thorne.

His scent enveloped her — pine, ash, and something uniquely him. It was grounding. Intoxicating.

She didn't move.

Not yet.

Not while her world, so often full of chains and silence, felt for once like a quiet breath — held, suspended, sacred.

"You're awake," he murmured against her hair, his voice husky from sleep.

She nodded, eyes still closed.

His hand brushed a strand of hair from her cheek. "Did you dream?"

"No," she whispered. "Not when I'm here."

He held her tighter at that. Like her words meant something more than she dared to understand.

---

When she finally left his chambers — after insisting she could walk on her own — she was met with stares.

The guards didn't speak. They didn't bow.

But their gazes lingered longer than usual. Some curious. Some disapproving.

She walked with her chin up anyway.

She was still wearing his robe — far too large, the hem brushing her ankles — and though her legs ached and her heart beat louder than it should, she kept walking.

"Riven."

She turned at the voice.

It was Lira, the silver-haired warrior who stood at Thorne's right hand. A high-ranking beta. Fierce, sharp-eyed, and respected.

They hadn't spoken much. Until now.

"I heard what happened last night," Lira said. "With the boy. The memories."

Riven nodded slowly.

"I want you to know," Lira added, "not everyone will like that you sleep in the Alpha King's chambers. But no one will dare challenge it."

Riven's eyes narrowed. "Because I'm under his protection?"

"No," Lira replied. "Because he bows to no one. And now he bows to you."

Riven's breath caught.

Lira looked at her steadily. "He has never once allowed a woman into his bed — not even to warm it in winter. But you... you're not just in his bed. You're in his heart."

---

Later that day, Thorne held court.

It was a closed meeting — only his top warriors, elders, and betas. But Riven stood beside him anyway. At his left, just a step behind. A silent presence.

His silent shadow.

"She stays," Thorne had said flatly when one of the elders objected. "If I trust her to share my bed, you'll trust her to hear your whining."

Not one of them dared speak against it again.

Still, Riven could feel the tension.

Eyes flicked to her — some cold, some calculating. A few showed open disapproval.

But Thorne didn't flinch.

He sat tall in his obsidian throne, one hand on the carved armrest, the other resting loosely on his thigh. The moment someone raised a concern, his golden gaze sharpened.

A rogue incursion. A disputed border. A spy caught near the northern cliffs.

He listened, responded, commanded.

And never once looked away from her too long.

When the council finally ended, she followed him back to the private chamber behind the court room.

"You shouldn't have brought me in there," she said softly. "They don't trust me."

"They don't need to," he replied, pouring himself a drink. "I trust you."

"That's dangerous."

He turned to her, his jaw tight. "I'm a king. Everything I do is dangerous."

She stared at him for a long moment.

Then asked the question she'd been afraid to voice since the boy arrived.

"Was it true?" she whispered. "About my family… my bloodline?"

Thorne didn't move.

"Yes," he finally said. "You are the last surviving daughter of the Crescent Fang pack. You were meant to be the next Luna — before the massacre."

Her knees went weak.

She gripped the edge of the table to steady herself.

"And you knew?" she choked. "You knew this whole time?"

"I suspected," he said quietly. "But I had no proof. Only whispers. And a scent I couldn't forget."

She looked at him with wide, wounded eyes.

"My entire life," she said, voice trembling, "I was treated like dirt. Beaten. Owned. When I could've—should've—been something more."

"I know," he said, stepping closer.

"I could've had a home. A family. A place where my name mattered."

"You do have that now."

"No," she snapped, eyes stinging. "You gave me a bed and protection, not the truth."

Thorne's jaw clenched. "Would it have changed anything?"

"Yes," she whispered. "Maybe I would've hated myself less."

That silenced him.

---

That night, the tension between them had grown heavy.

He didn't force her to speak.

He let her sit at the edge of the balcony, staring out at the dark forest, wind pulling at her hair.

When she returned to his bed, she didn't speak a word.

But she curled against his side, her hand resting lightly against the scar on his chest.

"You never told me how you got this one," she said, finally breaking the silence.

He looked down.

"It was a blade meant for my father," he said. "I stepped between them when I was ten."

Riven stilled.

She shifted, looking up at him in the low moonlight.

"You protected him?"

"I hated him," Thorne said simply. "But I wouldn't let him die. Not by a coward's blade."

He met her gaze.

"If it had been you, I wouldn't have hesitated. I'd have taken every blade in the world."

She swallowed.

Her hand lifted. She pressed her palm to his chest — right over the scar.

"I think I believe you," she whispered.

Thorne's eyes darkened.

He reached for her, hand cradling her face. His thumb brushed her lower lip.

"I want to mark you," he said softly.

She froze.

His voice was reverent, gentle — but firm.

"Not to bind you. Not yet. But to keep rogues from touching you. To keep the council from questioning you. My mark… would silence them."

Riven looked into his eyes.

"Would it hurt?"

He nodded. "A little. But you'll feel it here."

He pressed his hand against her chest. Over her heart.

"And no one will touch you again."

Riven closed her eyes.

Then, slowly, she nodded.

"Yes."

---

He kissed her first — soft, slow, just a breath against her lips.

Then his lips brushed her throat.

She tipped her head back, her fingers gripping the sheets.

His teeth grazed her skin, right below her jaw.

"I'll go slowly," he whispered.

She nodded.

He sank his fangs in — not hard, just enough.

She gasped.

Pain bloomed for a second, sharp and bright — then it melted into warmth. Deep, spreading warmth. Her body tensed, then relaxed. Her heart pounded. She felt… connected. To him. To something greater.

When he pulled back, blood lingered on his lips. He licked it away.

"It's done," he said softly.

She looked at him — and for the first time in her life, she saw a man who didn't want to own her.

He wanted to belong to her.

And in that moment, she let him.