The shadow outside the window seemed thicker than usual. The glass reflected my face—sharp cheekbones, eyes where the gold of a wolf smoldered. The beast inside scratched, demanding blood or a run, but I forced it to howl into the void.
The door swung open without a knock. The scent of expensive southern wine and false treacle burst into the room before its owner.
"You didn't even turn around. Confidence or recklessness, Cale?"
Damian walked to my desk, mockingly surveying the sparse surroundings. His doublet shimmered in the dying light of the hearth. He pulled out my chair and casually sank into it, crossing one leg over the other.
"Get out, Damian. I'm not in the mood for your games."
"Oh, this isn't a game." He reached for the carafe, filled a goblet, and took a sip, closing his eyes in pleasure. "The Silverclaws sent a reply. Straightforward, crude, entirely in their style. They know about the omega."
I turned slowly. The air in the room grew heavy, the smell of smoke and burnt wood filling the space.
"You should have burned that letter before you decided to read it."
"Why? To hide the obvious? The Silverclaw alpha is obsessed with reclaiming what was 'stolen.' Your new mate isn't just a girl in your bed, Cale. She's a red flag."
Damian swirled the goblet. The red liquid licked the silver's edges.
"They want her. So give them what they want. But on your terms."
"Are you suggesting I parade my mate for display?" My voice dropped to a barely discernible growl.
"I'm suggesting using her as bait. At the muster. The border is the most vulnerable place right now. Take her there. Leave her 'defenseless.' The Silverclaws won't resist. They'll crawl out of their dens, and then you cut their throats. In one fell swoop."
The wolf inside me bristled. My jaws clenched in a spasm. I watched Damian smirk, looking at my clenched fists.
"She's a tool, Cale. Or have you forgotten that? These shackles around your neck... they're dragging you down. Make them useful."
My fist slammed onto the oak tabletop. The crack of wood sounded like a gunshot. Goblets jumped, one toppled, spilling wine that resembled fresh blood.
"One more word about 'shackles,' and I'll tear out your tongue, Damian."
He didn't even flinch. He merely raised an eyebrow slightly.
"Your beast screams too loudly. It prevents you from thinking clearly. Look at the situation soberly. You need a victory. She needs to survive. The bait doesn't necessarily have to die."
"You want me to risk the only thing connecting me to sanity for a tactical advantage?"
"I want you to stop acting like a lovesick pup and remember you're an Alpha. The Silverclaws won't stop. They'll burn your villages to get to her. Better to lure the rat out with a piece of cheese than to wait for it to gnaw through your castle's foundation."
I approached him closely, feeling the heat emanating from me. The wolf demanded to seize his throat, throw him to the floor, prove whose territory this was.
"She will be at the muster. But under my control. Personal control. If even one hair falls from her head because of your plan..."
"My plan is flawless, if you don't let feelings ruin everything." Damian stood, placing the empty goblet on the cracked table. "I'll prepare the men. Try to make her look... pitiful. That will whet their appetite."
He left, leaving behind a sticky sense of betrayal and the smell of cheap triumph. I stood in silence, listening to the wind beat against the castle stones. Control. I needed control over myself, over her, over this damned world that was crumbling to dust.
I closed my eyes and focused on the bond. A thin, pulsating thread deep in my consciousness. I tugged at it, sharply and roughly, sending an impulse of command.
Come. Now.
She entered a few minutes later. The scent of wild herbs, mixed with the acrid smell of fear, instantly displaced the remnants of Damian's wine. Alina froze at the threshold. Her gray dress seemed too thin for this night, her hair was tangled, and her shoulders were slumped.
"Come closer."
Her steps on the cold stone sounded too loud. Every beat of her heart echoed in my ears. She didn't lift her gaze. Submission. Perfect, trained submission that should have pleased me but only caused a dull irritation.
"Closer, Alina."
When she was within arm's reach, I seized her wrist. Her skin was burning hot. I pressed my fingers to her pulse. A rapid, uneven beat. Like a trapped bird.
"You're trembling."
"It's cold in the castle," her voice was quiet, almost a whisper.
"It's safe in the castle. As long as I decide it is."
I pulled her toward me, forcing her to her knees. She obeyed without a sound, her knees thudding against the stone. I looked down at her, asserting my right, my authority. My gaze slid to her neck. There, where the skin was especially tender, a mark darkened—a crimson blotch I had left. A reminder. A brand.
"Expendable," Damian's word echoed in my mind.
I touched the mark with my thumb. Alina flinched, her shoulders trembling slightly. I felt her tension, her desire to pull away, and at the same time—a strange, animalistic pull that the bond imposed on us.
"Do you know what's happening at the border?" I asked, not letting go of her.
"I hear... whispers. Servants speak of war."
"Servants chatter too much. You have a trip ahead. The muster. You will be by my side."
She finally lifted her head. In her eyes, wide with terror, I saw a strange glimmer. Not just fear. A deep, ancient awareness that shouldn't have belonged to this tormented girl. The blood the elders whispered about. The blood that made her valuable and dangerous at the same time.
"Why?" her voice strengthened. "Why expose me where steel and death reek?"
"Because you are mine. And the world must see it."
"A lie." She looked me directly in the eyes, and for a moment my wolf quieted, mesmerized by her defiance. "You want to use me. As a shield? Or as meat?"
I squeezed her shoulder harder, feeling as if bones might crack under my fingers.
"Your business is to obey, not to ask questions."
"Why do you need me, Cale?" She pronounced my name as if it were a curse. "Why do you need me if I am nothing but your mistake? A burden you hate?"
Damian's words about weakness struck my temple. She was weakness. She was a tool. But the warmth of her skin, her scent, her presence here, at my feet, made a simple decision impossible. I wanted to hold her so tightly she'd stop breathing, and at the same time, I wanted to throw her out beyond the gates, never to feel this pain in my chest again.
Alina waited for an answer. Her eyes did not leave mine; defiance mingled with despair burned in them. She sought meaning in my cruelty, sought at least a crumb of what they called a mate bond.
I didn't answer. I looked at her through the haze of my own anger and paranoia. My silence stretched, becoming heavy, like a tombstone. It pressed down on her, making her eyes fill with tears she refused to shed.
I let go of her so abruptly she almost fell.
"Out."
She didn't stir.
"Leave before I change my mind about your safety in this room."
Alina slowly rose. Her movements lacked grace, only a heavy, leaden weariness. She turned and walked to the exit, without looking back once.
When the door closed behind her, I was left in complete darkness. The hearth had died. The smell of smoke turned bitter, and the cold of the stone began to seep through my boots. I looked out the window again. The Silverclaws waited in the forests. But the most dangerous enemy sat right here, inside me, and he had just lost the first round.