CLAIMED BY THE COLD ALPHA

Sebastian’s Pov

Disclaimer.

Before you turn the page, a little warning…

This story isn’t meant to be read politely with a cup of tea. No darling, this is the kind of book that steals your breath, warms your skin, and makes you squirm in your seat. If you dare read it in public, you'll have no one but yourself to blame when your lips part in a gasp or when a moan slips past before you can catch it.

People will stare. They always do when pleasure cannot be contained.

This isn’t just ink on paper: it’s temptation, it’s fire, it’s the Alpha’s hunger whispering through every word. I promise you’ll beg for more… and more I will give. Until you’re tangled in heat, obsession, and forbidden desire.

So sit back, grab your popcorn, lock the doors.

And surrender to my world.

“Ahhh—fuck, Ragnar, yes…”

My voice cracked, cutting through the dark, sounding thoroughly ragged and needy even to my own ears. My body arched up, seeking more, chasing every ruthless thrust that draws gasps from between my lips.

“Ohhh my… yes,” I mumbled, unsure if I was actually saying words. “There, yes. Fuck!”

His heat pressed into me, scorching, claiming like wildfire. His weight pinned me down deliciously, his breath hot against my ear. When he spoke, his voice was a deep growl that vibrated straight through my chest. “Mine.”

Oh I liked that, very much. It was like a cube of sugar melted straight onto my tongue. The word rang like a promise and my heart hammered because, gods… I wanted it to be true.

More than anything.

But I knew it wasn’t true. I was the forbidden apple, and he was my Eve. Only we're not meant to collide. He wasn’t going to reach for me, even though I was ripe and ready for him.

I knew this… yet my obsession for him grew thicker every second.

I clutched at him, nails biting into broad shoulders, legs trembling around his hips as he slammed into that perfect spot again and again. The sheets twisted beneath us, and sweat dripping makes the air thick with raw, dizzying desire.

Every moan that spilled from me was his name.

Every shudder, every breath, every filthy cry— I gave to him. I wanted him to have them, wanted him to have me.

Almost there.

I couldn’t think, couldn’t speak anymore, could barely breathe beyond him. The sound of his voice, the drag of his mouth along skin, the merciless rhythm of him driving me closer… closer… closer….

“Ragnar!”

I screamed his name, the sound unnaturally loud. It was so loud, it was grating and it doesn't fit in—

I snapped awake, panting, damp with sweat. My chest heaved, heart racing, as I blinked. The room was dim and, as my eyes adjusted, I found it was also empty.

Fuck.

My fists clenched around the sheets, my cock aching, as though it had really happened. But the space beside me was cold, and I knew there was no one else here.

It was only a dream.

My body refused to accept this, sure it felt fingertips on my back. It craves him as if it wasn't a dream, as if I have a right to crave him. Gods help me.

I rose from the bed with a sigh, intending to get some water. But I, of course, stopped in the middle of my room, eyes scanning the walls. Because he was on them, like a deity worship by enamored followers.

Sketches of Alpha Ragnar covered every inch of the place; some rough, scratched out in a hurry, others detailed, drawn over days when I couldn’t stop thinking about him. When I couldn't stop dreaming about him.

My room was my sanctuary, the one place I don't have to hide what I felt. Where it was just me, my pencils, and Alpha Ragnar staring back at me from the paper.

If I still had friends they wouldn't understand. I sometimes didn’t understand the pull I had toward him myself.

“Gods, look at you,” I muttered under my breath, voice rough— an unconscious manifestation of my reverence— as my gaze landed on the newest sketch pinned to the wall by my bed.

It was from last week, when he was standing by the pack’s training grounds, his broad shoulders squared, his dark hair catching the sunlight. I’d spent extra time on that, his beautiful hair, to get it just right before the memory dulled in my mind.

My stomach twisted as I stared at it, a familiar heat creeping up my neck. I turned away, rubbing my hands over my face. “Get a grip, Sebastian,” I told myself, turning to the door.  “This is pathetic.”

But it was useless, I knew. It wasn’t like I could stop. I’d been obsessed with Alpha Ragnar for four years now, ever since I was fourteen and saw him at one of the pack’s Moon Ceremonies. My friends had dragged me there, kicking and screaming, because I hated crowds. I’d been sulking by the bonfire when I looked up and saw him— tall, commanding, every bit the Alpha everyone said he was.

My heart had just stopped for a moment, as if it was recalibrating its ownership to him. I knew right then he was the one for me.

I got to my kitchen and, without bothering to put the light on, I picked up a bottle of water by the fridge and drank it down. Tossing the empty bottle into the trash, I went back to my room.

It was just as stupid a thought then as it is now. A kid like me, an orphan, an omega, thinking an Alpha like Ragnar could ever look my way.

I flopped onto my bed, the springs creaking under my weight. My parents were gone, lost to the sea five years ago when I was thirteen. I still remembered the day the news came— how the pack elders sat me down, sympathy shining in their eyes, and told me their fishing boat had gone down in a storm. There were no survivors.

I’d been on my own ever since, scraping by, taking odd jobs around the pack to keep a roof over my head. This house, a tiny two bedroom, was all I had now. Well, that and my obsession with a man who didn’t even know my name.

I glanced back at the sketch of Alpha Ragnar, feeling my entire body tingle. “Why do you have to be so perfect?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

And he was perfect. It was in his face, his rugged beauty. It was in the way he carried himself, in the way he spoke to the pack like he cared about every single one of us, even the nobodies like me. It was just him.

My fingers itched to grab a pencil, to add another drawing to the collection, but I stopped myself. I wanted him so bad it hurt, and it hurt even more when I remembered that it could never work.

He was older… way older. I was eighteen now and Alpha Ragnar had to be in his early thirties, probably even older. He was old enough to be my dad, if I wanted to be brutal about it. I didn’t care.

But the pack would care. And worse than that, they'd care that I was an Omega, a weak little thing who’d never be good enough for them or their Alpha.

A whine escaped me and one hand snaked up my body to my neck. The other meandered lower to where I ached, slowly, taking its time, like I knew he would…