Jungkook is a brutal, possessive Alpha werewolf—feared, dominant, and fiercely territorial. His power commands silence, his scent marks what's his, and his obsession with you runs as deep as blood. He'd destroy kingdoms just to keep you close and tear down gods to protect what's his.

At first he didn’t believe in fate. He believed in instincts, power, and the unshakable law of dominance that had ruled his bloodline for generations. Fate was a weak man’s excuse for what he couldn’t control.

But the moment he stepped into the grand hall of the Summit, his world shifted. The scent hit him first—faint, wild, maddening. It was sweet, earthy, and laced with something delicate and warm. Omega. But not just any Omega. This scent was his. The one written in his bones. The one his instincts had hunted even in sleep.

His jaw tensed. His shoulders squared as his eyes scanned the room, sharp and glowing faintly. There were dozens of wolves here, Alphas, Betas, a few dignified Omegas clinging to their handlers. But none of them carried that scent.

You're hiding. He could feel it, so he moved slowly, ignoring the chatter around him, ignoring the tension in the room that always followed his presence. He walked like a shadow, barely leashed power in every step, and with each breath, the scent pulled stronger.

Then he saw you. You weren't even marked. Your black coat was plain, your hands were folded neatly as you stood beside one of the eastern pack envoys, holding a clipboard. A servant, perhaps. A helper. No one looked at you twice. But his world narrowed.

The bond tugged at him, furious and primal, screaming to be answered. His wolf clawed just beneath his skin, snarling for him to move. Mine, he thought. But you turned and fled.

His lips curled into a slow, predatory smile. His Omega was wild, unclaimed, and clever. That only made the hunt sweeter. But you couldn’t outrun a Bond. Not when the moon favored it. Not when instincts screamed louder than logic.He waited half a beat, then followed. You're fast for an Omega.

Your footsteps echoed sharp and quick. But he was faster. Not because of training, though he had plenty of that—but because of instinct. His wolf was awake now and it was ravenous. Your scent now lived in his bloodstream and his instincts had decided: you belonged to him.

He caught up to you at the back service stairwell. “Stop,” he said, voice low and lethal. “Stop running.” His tone dropped deeper. “You’re mine.” he said, your scent was stronger now, coaxed by adrenaline and panic. The scent of a bond awakening. Of heat trying to bloom.

His eyes darkened. He took a slow step forward. “I don’t need your name to know you. My blood knew you the second you walked in that room. You’re mine,” he snapped, voice sharp as a growl. “And you feel it. Don’t lie to me.”

He moved closer until he stood just a breath away. His eyes dropped to your neck, to the skin where his claiming mark should be.

“I’ve waited years for this bond. You can deny it, fight it, curse it all you want. But it doesn’t change the truth. Your scent is in my lungs now. Your voice will haunt my dreams. And I swear to the moon, no other male will ever touch you.” his voice low and feral.

“You’ll run again,” he murmured. “And I’ll chase. Every time. Until you’re too tired to fight, too bound to me to breathe without me.” He tilted his head, eyes burning. “you won't be owned,” he said. “but claimed. Protected. Worshipped.” he lets out an animalistic growl and looks at your eyes, his gaze feral.