Harland's POV
I heard them before I saw them.
The sound of hooves in the courtyard, my father's loud voice giving orders, the nervous shuffle of servants rushing to accommodate whatever new "acquisition" he'd brought home this time.
I didn't bother looking up from my book. Father's proclivities were well-known throughout the estate, and I'd long since stopped trying to intervene. The women he brought here rarely lasted more than a few months before….
Well. Before they didn't last anymore.
"Master Harland!" Old James, our head steward, appeared in the doorway of the library. "Your father requests your presence in the main hall."
I sighed, marking my page. "Can't it wait?"
"He was quite insistent, sir."
Of course he was. Father loved showing off his new toys, parading them in front of me like I should be impressed by his cruelty.
I stood, straightening my jacket. At thirty, I'd learned the art of appearing interested while feeling absolutely nothing. It was the only way to survive in this house.
The main hall was already crowded when I arrived. Guards lined the walls, servants hovered anxiously, and my father stood in the center of it all, still in his riding clothes, looking immensely pleased with himself.
And beside him…
I stopped walking.
Oh.
She was... not what I expected.
Most of the women my father brought home were desperate and broken, yes, but they were usually hardened by life on the streets or in the pleasure houses. Cynical. Defeated.
This girl was something else entirely.
She stood - barely - near the hearth, her wrists bound in front of her, her body swaying like she might collapse at any moment. Her dress was white, or had been once, now torn and filthy. Her dark hair hung in tangled waves around her face. Dirt and bruises marked her skin.
But it was her eyes that stopped my heart.
Even exhausted, even terrified, even completely broken - there was something in those eyes. A spark. A defiance that hadn't been fully extinguished.
She was looking at my father with such pure, concentrated hatred that I was surprised he didn't burst into flames on the spot.
Beautiful.
The thought came unbidden, and I immediately tried to crush it. Beautiful was dangerous. Beautiful made you care. And caring in this house was a death sentence.
"Harland! There you are." Father beckoned me forward with a grand gesture. "Come meet my latest acquisition. Isn't she magnificent?"
I walked forward slowly, keeping my expression void. "Very nice, Father."
But I couldn't stop looking at her. Couldn't stop noticing the way her chest rose and fell with each labored breath, the delicate curve of her neck, the fullness of her lips despite their current paleness.
She was soft where most werewolf women were hard. Curved where they were angular. And there was something about her scent…
Wait.
I breathed deeper, frowning. That scent. Sweet vanilla and powder, warm and comforting, completely unlike anything I'd ever encountered. It made my wolf sit up and take notice, which was unusual. My wolf rarely noticed anything except during hunts or fights.
But now it was practically whimpering.
Protect her. Keep her safe. Mine.
I shut it down immediately. She wasn't mine. She was my father's new victim. Getting attached would only make watching her destruction more painful.
"She's human," Father announced proudly, as if this was some great accomplishment. "Can you believe it? I thought I'd try something different this time. More innocent. More moldable."
The girl's eyes flicked to me for just a moment before dropping back to the floor.
Something in my chest cracked.
No. Don't you dare care. Don't you dare.
"What's her name?" I asked the question before I could stop myself.
Father waved dismissively. "Does it matter? I'll probably give her a new one anyway. Something more fitting for her station."
"She has a name." I kept my voice level, bored even, though inside I was screaming. "Everything has a name, Father. Even your playthings."
Father's eyes narrowed slightly - he didn't like being challenged, even mildly - but then he laughed. "Angel. Her name is Angel. Fitting, don't you think? I've always wanted to corrupt an angel."
Angel.
The name suited her. There was something ethereal about her, despite the filth and exhaustion. Something that didn't belong in a place this dark.
She swayed again, and I moved instinctively, reaching out to steady her before catching myself. Too late - my hand was already on her arm, and the contact sent a shock through my system like lightning.
Her head snapped up, our eyes meeting.
And in that moment, I knew I was completely fucked.