Mark of Sin: Bound to the Cruel Alpha

Askold fell silent for a long moment, staring out the window into the murky, slate-gray sky hovering over the Lower District. I watched his jaw work back and forth as he weighed the risks, running calculations behind a face I couldn’t read.

"I have someone inside his estate," Askold said at last.

I froze, turning my entire body toward him. "What..?"

"Fuck... Jane. What the hell are we doing? This is a massive risk. If you get caught, there’s no coming back. Now, listen—my contact doesn’t have direct access to Magnus himself. I have an idea, but if we slip up even once and blow our cover... we’re dead."

I stepped up to my brother’s desk. Turning to face me, Askold pulled a small container from his desk drawer—a sleek black box engraved with intricate markings I couldn’t quite make out. Inside lay a wide, thin cuff made of a material that looked like smoked glass, woven with fine metallic threads that shimmered under the light like living veins.

Askold gently took my hand and slipped the cuff over my wrist, clicking it into place. It completely concealed the shattered mate-bond, wrapping tightly against my skin without pinching. Yet it felt dangerously delicate—like a fragile crystal sheath that could shatter with one wrong move. I stared down at it in confusion, tracing its smooth surface with my fingertips.

Askold leaned in close, his voice dropping to a low whisper:

"This is a bond suppressant," he said, his expression grave enough to make my heart stop. "There are only two of these in existence. Its power is temporary, and the housing is extremely fragile. If you crack it, you’re done for. The hidden bond will flare back to life, and Magnus will feel your presence instantly."

He squeezed my hand tightly. In his eyes, I caught a rare flicker of genuine fear—a sight that sent an icy chill straight down my spine.

"There’s an open position for a maid at the Rainn estate. We were planning to plant another operative there... but since we’re out of options," he continued, still holding my wrist, "you’re going in yourself. We can’t trust a mission this critical to anyone outside our family."

I already knew that before he even uttered the words. It made complete sense—no outsider would ever take the kinds of risks I was willing to take when my son’s life was hanging in the balance.

We had no other choice. None at all. Either I walked straight into the lion’s den, or Matthias died. When it comes to saving your child, there is no choice to make.

"Will your contact help me?"

"Yes," Askold nodded, a dark, unreadable emotion passing through his eyes. "He’s a hundred percent reliable. He’ll set up your interview."

***

His bedroom felt like a miniature oceanarium. Every time I stepped across the threshold, a soothing warmth bloomed in my chest—because this was his world. His safe little sanctuary, free from hospitals, needles, and pain.

Matthias was utterly obsessed with whales and dreamed of seeing one in real life. Last night, as he drifted off to sleep, he told me that when he grew up, he was going to sail out into the deep blue ocean and find the biggest whale in the entire world just to say hello.

Two large aquariums lit up the room. One was filled with flickering goldfish, and the other housed neon tetras that glowed softly in the dark. Beside them sat a terrarium with small turtles lazily clambering over smooth river stones; Matthias loved feeding them and asking how their day was, constantly checking if they were getting too cold.

We lay curled up together in his small bed, squeezed between the safety rails designed to keep him from rolling out in his sleep. My fingers gently traced through the hair at the crown of his head—silky, soft, and so pale it was almost white.

Just like Magnus’s.

Matthias was mesmerized by the starry glow from his projector, watching ceiling reflections of sea stars moving their tiny tube feet across the ocean floor in slow, fluid motions.

He cared so deeply about every single one of them. Earlier, he had asked if it got cold down at the bottom of the sea, and whether they felt lonely down there without a mommy.

I hadn’t known how to answer—how do you explain to a little boy that starfish don’t have mothers in the way his soft heart understands?

I remembered the first time we took him to the downtown touring dolphinarium. He had been so deliriously happy when the trainer let him swim in the shallow pool and toss a ball back and forth with a dolphin. His laughter was so bright and loud that people all around turned to smile—his joy was infectious, untainted, pure.

It was a radiant delight that flushed every feature of his face, crinkling the corners of his eyes as he squinted with pure bliss.

And now, he was heartbreakingly quiet because he knew I had to leave him. It tore me apart. I didn’t want to go; I didn’t want to leave his side for a single second.

But I had no choice.

He was so small. Only four years old, yet he had spent the vast majority of his brief life trapped inside hospital walls.

I still vividly remembered the first time they inserted an IV line into his tiny vein. How he had sobbed, terrified, while I squeezed his hand and promised him everything would be alright—that we would be going home soon—even though I had no idea if that was a lie.

I had spent my entire pregnancy in a ward on the third floor, its window overlooking a bleak landfill. Staring out at that mound of trash every day, I swore to myself that if my baby made it into the world alive—if he survived—I would do whatever it took to keep him away from the filth, the horror, and the misery of this place.

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