Claimed By My Ex-Fiancé's Alpha Uncle

Annemarie POV:

I tried to yank my arm back, but his fingers were an iron cage around my wrist, unyielding and impossibly strong. Panic, cold and sharp, pierced through my shock.

A flash of lightning illuminated the sky, and for a split second, his face was thrown into stark relief. High cheekbones, a strong jaw, and eyes that burned with a terrifying intensity. In that brief, blinding light, I saw something shift in their depths-a flicker of wild, possessive recognition that made the breath catch in my throat.

Then, as quickly as they had opened, his eyes closed. His head lolled to the side, and the crushing pressure on my wrist vanished.

He had let me go.

I scrambled backward, falling into the muddy puddle on the side of the road. My dress, my beautiful, ruined dress, was now caked in dirt and blood. I stared at him, my heart hammering against my ribs. He looked unconscious again, but I knew better. He had been awake. He had seen me.

My first instinct was to run. To get back in my car and drive away as fast as I could. But I couldn't. I couldn't leave him here to die, no matter how much he terrified me.

Shaking, I crawled back to his side. His forehead was still bleeding freely. I looked down at my dress was stained and torn. Without a second thought, I ripped a long strip from the hem of my skirt. The fabric tore with a satisfying sound.

I pressed the makeshift bandage against the gash on his temple. The white silk turned crimson almost instantly. His skin was hot beneath my trembling fingers.

As I held the cloth in place, I could feel the raw power radiating from him, even in this state. The scent of cedar and pine was stronger now, wrapping around me, seeping into my senses. It was overwhelming, and for a terrifying moment, my body felt like it didn't belong to me. A strange, dormant part of my soul stirred, drawn to him against all logic.

I had to get him to a hospital.

I hooked my arms under his again. "Come on," I grunted, pulling with all my might. "You have to help me."

He was dead weight, a solid mass of muscle. I dragged him inch by painful inch across the wet asphalt, my bare feet slipping, my body screaming in protest. It felt like an impossible task, but the image of him bleeding out on the side of the road spurred me on.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, I reached my car. Getting him into the back seat was another Herculean effort. I somehow managed to shove and lift his heavy frame onto the leather, his long legs tangled awkwardly. I slammed the door shut, panting, my body trembling with exhaustion.

I scrambled back into the driver's seat, locking the doors and turning the heat on full blast. The car filled with the smell of his blood and that intoxicating forest scent. I kept glancing at him in the rearview mirror as I sped toward the town hospital, my tires spraying water.

He was lying still, his head against the window. But once, I saw his eyelids flutter. He was watching me. A tiny, almost imperceptible smile touched his lips before he went still again. A chill ran down my spine that had nothing to do with the cold.

I screeched to a halt under the covered entrance of the emergency room, the tires leaving black marks on the pavement. I threw open my door and ran inside, screaming for help.

"There's been a car accident! A man is hurt, he's in my car!"

Nurses and orderlies rushed out with a gurney. They carefully lifted him out and onto the stretcher. As they wheeled him away, his hand brushed against the ruined fabric of my dress, a fleeting, deliberate touch.

I watched them disappear through the double doors, the red light above the entrance to the trauma unit flashing. And then, the adrenaline that had been coursing through my veins vanished. My knees buckled, and I slid down the wall, landing in a heap on the cold linoleum floor. The events of the night crashed down on me-the betrayal, the flight, the accident, the terror. It was too much.

I didn't know how long I sat there, shivering in my wet dress, until the sound of heavy, synchronized footsteps echoed down the hallway.

A group of men, all dressed in identical black suits, marched into the waiting room. They moved with a purpose that was both intimidating and efficient. They looked like Secret Service agents, their faces grim, their eyes scanning the room.

Leading them was a man with sharp features and an air of absolute authority. His gaze swept over the few people in the waiting area before it landed on me. He walked directly toward me, his presence sucking the air out of the room. He was a Beta, I could feel the power rolling off him, second only to an Alpha.

I felt a primal urge to flee. I started to push myself up, intending to slip away unnoticed, but it was too late. He was in front of me, blocking my path.

"You're the one who brought him in?" he asked, his voice low and dangerous.

I nodded, unable to speak.

"You'll come with us," he said. It wasn't a request.

Before I could protest, a doctor came out of the trauma unit. "He's stable," the doctor announced. "A concussion and some lacerations, but he's going to be fine. He's a very lucky man."

The man in the suit, Dyllan, didn't even thank the doctor. He and his men pushed past him and into a private VIP suite down the hall. Two of the guards stayed behind, flanking me. I was a prisoner.

A few minutes later, Dyllan emerged and gestured for me to enter. I was escorted into the room, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs.

The man from the car was sitting up in the bed. The blood had been cleaned from his face, and the cut on his forehead was neatly stitched. He looked less like a victim and more like a king on his throne.

"Alpha Hunter," Dyllan said, his voice filled with reverence. "She's here."

The words hit me like a physical blow. Alpha Hunter. My mind raced, trying to connect the dots. The power, the authority, the name. There was only one Alpha Hunter it could be.

Joel Hunter. The reclusive, ruthless head of the Blackstone Pack. The CEO of Hunter Industries. And... Clemont's uncle.

I felt the blood drain from my face. I had saved the one man my fiancé feared more than anyone in the world.

Joel waved a dismissive hand, and Dyllan and the other men exited the room, closing the door behind them. We were alone. The silence was thick with an unspoken threat. The air crackled with his power.

I instinctively backed away until my back hit the cold, hard surface of the door. I needed to put as much space between us as possible.

He watched me, his dark eyes tracking my every move. Then, he did something that made my blood run cold. He reached over and ripped the IV needle from the back of his hand, not even flinching as a drop of blood welled up.

He swung his long legs over the side of the bed and stood up. He was barefoot, wearing only the thin hospital pants and gown, but he moved with the silent grace of a predator.

Step by step, he closed the distance between us. He was even taller than I'd realized, a towering figure who blocked out the light from the hallway. He smelled of antiseptic, but underneath it, that wild, intoxicating scent of cedar and pine was still there, stronger than ever.

He stopped right in front of me, so close I could feel the heat radiating from his body. His gaze roamed over me, taking in my ruined dress, my bare, scratched feet, my trembling form. It was an invasive, possessive look that made me feel like prey.

He raised his hand, and I flinched, squeezing my eyes shut. But he didn't strike me. Instead, his thumb, rough and calloused, gently brushed away a smudge of mud from my cheek. The touch was electric, sending a shiver through my entire body.

I held my breath, too terrified to move.

He leaned in close, his lips brushing against my ear. His warm breath ghosted across my skin, raising goosebumps.

"You saved my life," he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that vibrated through me. "That means you owe me one. I'll come to collect."

He pulled back, his dark eyes boring into mine. Then, he took a step to the side, clearing my path to the door.

It was a dismissal.

I didn't need to be told twice. My hand fumbled for the doorknob. I wrenched it open and fled, running down the sterile hospital corridor as if a wolf was at my heels. And in a way, it was.