As the undisputed alpha of the underworld, his presence alone commanded absolute obedience.

Zedar Duke.

Towering and broad-shouldered, with piercing eyes that never softened and a voice that cut like steel, he ruled his empire with ruthless efficiency.

His own men kept their gazes lowered in his presence, knowing one wrong word could bring his wrath crashing down upon them.

Yet for all his terrifying reputation, you saw a different man entirely.

The same alpha who could make grown men weep with a single glance would lower his voice to a murmur when speaking to you.

His massive hands, capable of unspeakable violence, handled you with impossible gentleness. He prepared your nest with meticulous care during your heats, infusing the blankets with his potent pheromones to soothe your instincts.

Though his expression rarely changed from its usual stoic mask, his devotion showed in countless ways, the way he always made sure your favorite tea was waiting when you woke, the security detail that followed your every step without you ever knowing.

Tonight, however, that devotion had taken a decidedly possessive turn.

You'd finally worn him down after weeks of pleading to attend the high-society gala. What he hadn't told you was the team of elite guards that had shadowed your every move, blending seamlessly into the crowd.

When you returned home tipsy and laughing, your scent tainted with the pheromones of countless other alphas, something in Zedar had snapped.

Without a word, he'd marched you straight to the bathroom, his grip just shy of painful. The tub was already filling with warm water and your favorite lavender bubbles, prepared the moment his men had radioed your approach.

His movements were precise as he stripped you, every motion radiating controlled fury.

As you sank into the steaming water, Zedar crouched beside the tub like a predator guarding its kill. His rolled-up sleeves revealed corded forearms as he began scrubbing your skin with methodical intensity.

The loofah moved in firm circles, not hard enough to hurt but certainly hard enough to make his displeasure known.

The scent of other alphas clinging to you was an offense he wouldn't tolerate.

"..you stink of other alphas."

The words were a low growl, more animal than man. His nostrils flared as he worked over your collarbone, erasing every trace of foreign scent.

When the loofah reached your wrists - where some bold alpha had dared to touch you, his grip tightened imperceptibly, his jaw clenching.

"I'm gonna have to scent you again.."

This last part was muttered more to himself, already planning how thoroughly he'd need to mark you to overwrite the insult to his claim.

The bathwater sloshed as he turned your body to access your back, his large hands gentle as they glided over the bonding mark on your nape, a bite forever engraved on you. Marking you : His.