Selara's hands were bound, her wrists chafed raw by coarse ropes that smelled faintly of smoke and iron. The carriage jolted as it rattled along the forest path, each bump a sharp reminder that her freedom had been ripped away from her the moment the royal soldiers had captured her. She pressed her back against the hard wooden wall, teeth gritted, a fire burning behind her emerald-green eyes.
She was a survivor. A fighter. And though the world might see her as powerless, she would show them all the consequence of underestimating the last heir of the fallen royal bloodline.
Her thoughts raced as the carriage approached the gates of the Alpha's estate the most feared pack in the region, led by Draven, whose reputation alone could freeze the blood of the bravest warriors. The stories she had heard growing up painted him as a monster: ruthless, cold, arrogant, with a dark obsession for control. And now, she was being delivered into his hands.
The carriage door opened with a sharp clang, and two burly guards grabbed her roughly by the arms. Selara's body tensed, ready to fight, but she was smart enough to know she couldn't overpower them not yet. Not without revealing the secret she had nurtured all her life: the vengeance she carried like a blade beneath her skin.
They dragged her into the courtyard, and the first thing she noticed was the Alpha. He stood near the grand stone steps of the estate, tall, impossibly broad, his presence commanding everyone's attention even without a word. Black hair fell over his forehead, eyes a piercing shade of stormy gray, sharp enough to cut through any pretense.
And then those eyes met hers.
A shiver ran down her spine not of fear, but of awareness. He was assessing her, weighing her in the way a predator weighs its prey.
"You're Selara," he said, voice low, deliberate, each word like a blade pressing against her chest.
She refused to bow her head. "I am," she replied, her voice steady, controlled. A flicker of amusement or was it irritation? crossed his face.
"You have a fire in your eyes. I like that," he said, his gaze traveling over her from head to toe with the casual menace of someone who knew he could destroy her with a single thought. "Most would have cowered by now."
Selara's jaw tightened. "Most are weak."
That earned a sharp glance from Draven, one that lingered longer than etiquette should allow. His eyes darkened, storming with an intensity that made her pulse quicken despite herself. She hated him instantly. Hated the way he dominated the air around him. Hated the fact that a single look from him made her heart thump against her ribs like it was trying to escape.
"You are mine now," he said finally, stepping closer, and she could smell the faint, wild scent of him the scent of power, danger, and… something else she couldn't name but felt deep in her chest.
"I am not yours," she said, and spat the words like venom.
His lips curved into a slow, dangerous smile. "We'll see about that."
Selara's hands itched to strike him, to prove that she was no one's property, but she bit her tongue. The guards were still nearby, and striking the Alpha was… suicidal. Yet, beneath the chains of her current reality, a plan began to form. She would not be the Alpha's pawn. Not if she could help it. And if he thought she would bow quietly, he had another thing coming.
Draven's gaze softened just a fraction as he studied her defiance. "You're bold," he murmured. "And clever. I like clever."
She forced herself to look away, scanning the sprawling estate. Stone buildings rose like fortresses, their windows darkened with heavy drapes. Wolves prowled near the edges of the courtyard, muscular and alert, eyes glowing faintly under the torchlight. Every step, every shadow, screamed power, and she swallowed hard. She could feel it the weight of his control but she would not let it crush her.
"You'll eat with the others tonight," he said finally, turning on his heel. "Follow my lead, or there will be consequences."
Selara kept her posture rigid, shoulders squared, as the guards led her into the main hall. The air was rich with the scent of burning pine and raw meat, a faint metallic tang she assumed came from the wolves themselves. The hall was cavernous, with high ceilings and dark wooden beams, tapestries depicting battles and hunts decorating the walls. She had never been anywhere like this, and it struck her that for all her planning and preparation, she had never faced a man like him.
She noticed the other pack members silent, wary, obedient. Each one's eyes flicked toward Draven as he moved, then toward her, curiosity mingled with caution. She clenched her fists, determined to appear unshakable.
Dinner was a tense affair. Selara sat on the edge of the long, polished table, served by pack members who avoided meeting her eyes directly. Draven sat at the head, every movement calculated, his gaze occasionally flicking toward her with a subtle sharpness that made her pulse stutter.
"You eat like you've been starved," he remarked casually, watching her bite into the food with measured restraint.
"I am not here to impress you," Selara said, meeting his gaze evenly.
He chuckled softly, a sound that was unsettling in its calmness. "Most would have cowered by now, and some might have tried to escape. You… are different. Dangerous, even."
She froze for half a second. Dangerous. The word should have been an insult, but there was a strange weight behind it, one that sent a jolt through her that she refused to admit. Instead, she leaned back slightly, letting a faint smirk play on her lips. "Dangerous is often misunderstood," she said lightly.
He studied her, and for a moment, the world seemed to shrink around them. It was not just a dinner anymore it was a silent war. Every glance, every breath, every subtle movement was a negotiation. She would not give in, and he would not relinquish control.
After the meal, Draven dismissed the rest of the pack, leaving Selara alone with him in the candle-lit hall. The shadows seemed to stretch toward them, hungry and alive. He approached slowly, each step deliberate.
"You think you can deceive me?" he asked, voice low, almost teasing.
Selara met him squarely, refusing to flinch. "I think I can survive you," she said.
He stopped just inches from her, the scent of him overwhelming, intoxicating. She could feel the heat of his body, the unspoken power vibrating in the air between them. His gray eyes bore into hers, and she felt that magnetic pull dangerous, addictive, impossible to ignore.
"Survival is not enough," he whispered. "I want obedience. I want control. I want…" His hand lifted slightly, almost touching her shoulder, but he stopped, letting the tension hang. "You."
Selara's stomach twisted. She wanted to scream, to reject him, to run but her body refused. She forced herself to step back, breaking the invisible tether he had cast. "You will not have me," she said, every word sharp, defiant.
Draven's smile darkened, but there was something beneath it, a hunger that was as much about fascination as it was about dominance. "Oh, Selara," he murmured. "We've only just begun."
As she was led to her quarters, her mind raced. Every moment with him was a battle one she was determined to win, but every instinct screamed that this Alpha was unlike anyone she had ever faced. Strong, dangerous, arrogant… obsessed.
And perhaps, just perhaps, the game she had planned to play would not go exactly as she had imagined.
Because Draven was no ordinary enemy. He was a storm. And she was about to be caught in the eye of it.