Bound to the DA: Knotted for Life

By Vivian Murdoch

My new bride doesn't need just any Alpha. What she needs…is a Daddy.

A summons for a wedding was the last thing I expected in the middle of a highly-publicized trial.

Scratch that. Being matched with the ex-wife of the man I was attempting to send to prison is beyond anything either of us could have prepared for.

But I have no objections. Beneath Rosalind's sassy, bratty exterior beats the bruised and battered heart of a scared little girl.

She believes me to be a monster. And though I will not hesitate to redden her naughty bottom if she defies me, I long for nothing but the sound of her sweet cries as I teach her all the ways a true Alpha can please his omega.

By the time I am through with her, the true monster will have been erased from her mind. All she will know is me. Her husband, her Alpha, her master.

Her Daddy.

Bound to the DA is a darkverse arranged marriage story with themes that might not be appropriate for some readers. Please read the front of the book to see if this story is right for you.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Vivian Murdoch
• Release date: Apr 14, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224764211

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

MICHAEL

The surrounding voices drone on, the sounds like incessant buzzing in my ears. Try as I might, I find I cannot concentrate. We have found you a mate. Be at the Mackey-Shaw Convention Center at 3 pm sharp. Do not be late. I mull over the text message from the Governing Body, my muscles tensing as I watch the trial before me.

If the Governing Body was so high and mighty, wouldn’t they have the foresight to know I’m in court right now and pick some other day to do this? Shaking my head, I lean back in my chair, watching the buffoonery before me. Out of all the lawyers defending this jackass, I’m stuck fighting against the most inept one of all.

Usually, with cases like this, it’s open and shut—I do my spiel, the lawyer rebuts, the jury sides with me because I’m, quite literally, the best, and we all go home. Not today, however. Today seems to be a lesson in patience as Charlie prances about in his tweed jacket and clashing tie, his gestures just as theatrical as the fiction he weaves.

With a sigh, I rub my forehead as tension tightens my shoulders. Normally, his shrill voice doesn’t get me riled up, but today, it seems like everything grates on my last nerve. Having pending nuptials in the back of my mind doesn’t help either.

I should be focusing on my response, and yet, all I can think about is my future bride. I should be rejoicing at the thought of finally having an omega of my own, but I can’t help the tendrils of unease as they coil around me, making my gut clench. If I’m being perfectly honest, I think giving me a wife is the absolute worst thing the Governing Body can do.

Elected officials like me, people who serve the community, shouldn’t be held to the same rules as everyone else. We are put in place to uphold the law, to make sure criminals are taken off the street. How can we do our jobs fully if we have to juggle both a professional and personal life?

Or maybe it’s just a me thing. Maybe I don’t want to handle the idea of having a wife on top of all my other responsibilities. Because, let’s be honest, that’s what a partner is, first and foremost—a responsibility, one that I plan to take seriously. Once I say I do, that’s it. I’m in this for life.

Gripping my pen in my grasp, I force my mind back on the trial at hand. Already I’m distracted, and I’m not even married yet. It only serves to prove my point. In a desperate attempt to focus my mind, I doodle on the legal pad, allowing the simple motions to bleed off the fractious energy buzzing in my mind.

Just as I get back into the rhythm of court, a sudden motion pulls my focus. Glancing up, my eyes narrow as I take in Rosalind Kennedy. She’s the ex-wife of Jacob Kennedy, the man currently on trial. To my knowledge, she’s been at every hearing, every summons, never leaving his side. Why now would she get up in the middle of the very trial that will determine if he stays in prison or goes free?

How many times have I studied her, wishing I could get her on the stand as a witness? However, since potential mates do not have to testify against their spouses, and I refuse to put her through the humiliation of stripping her bare to look for a mark, I allowed her to say no, causing her to rebuff me at every turn.

Though my gut tells me she knows something that could help bring him down, it doesn’t really matter. I have more than enough to lock him up, and her testimony would be mere icing on the shit cake that comprises the rap sheet on this guy. Still though, having someone so close to him, so intimate, would be an extra sympathy play toward the jury, and I detest not utilizing every tactic available to me.

Unfortunately, the look I’ve seen cross her face whenever I asked her about their life together speaks volumes. There’s a pain there, a sorrow that shines through despite her paltry attempts to hide it. She’s stuck, no doubt bonded to the jackass. Anger lances through me as I look back at the punk, fury swirling until I can’t see straight.

Right now, he’s up for drug trafficking, grand larceny, aggravated assault, armed robbery, and no doubt many more charges that don’t really matter since those big ones are more than enough. With all that against him, I’d be shocked if he didn’t do or say something to make her far too scared to testify. He seems to be the type to do whatever it takes to get his way.

People are just a means to an end for him. That’s where he and I differ greatly. And though I’d love nothing more than to have Rosalind face her fears and help put this scum where he belongs, I refuse to cause harm to someone else, be it mental or physical, to get what I want.

Giving them pleasure and pain to elicit specific responses, however, is something else entirely. Stifling a groan, I shift in my chair, willing my cock to stay put. Just because I’m getting married and might soon have an omega willing to satisfy my more deviant urges doesn’t mean I can let my body run away with me.

There’s the distinct possibility she won’t even like anything beyond vanilla sex. Yet one more issue I have with these arranged marriages. Genetics can only tell you so much. They don’t take personality and proclivities into account.

A sigh drifts from my lips as I glance back over at Rosalind. There’s also the matter of getting stuck with a partner who doesn’t have your best interests at heart, like her. She didn’t deserve this, but genetics don’t see the reality of situations.

I watch as she maneuvers past the people,