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Garrick leaned forward, elbow on the table as he tore into a hunk of meat. “Better get the Alpha something stronger to drink,” he said to Maelin with a smirk. “Boy’s got him wrapped tighter than a winter cloak.”

Maelin laughed. “Careful, Garrick. At this rate, we’ll be calling him the next Alpha.”

I said nothing. Just stared at Dain, who was now chewing with exaggerated slowness, clearly enjoying the attention, still humming, eyes shining like dawn.

I’d faced rebellion. Bloodshed. Betrayal. But this?

This was something else entirely. And somehow, it had made itself at home at my table.

CHAPTER 18

Lexa

The room reeks of him.

It clings to the stone walls, seeps into the furs, coils in the pillows. That rich, dark, cedar-and-winter scent that once turned my stomach now just makes it twist in a different way. I hate it. Hate that I know it. Hate that it’s inside me.

Hate that I remember what he made me do while he stood there—silent, watching. Like I was a puppet he could pull apart and rearrange, then put back on the shelf when he was done.

I press the heel of my palm into my eye until I see stars. Maybe if I do it hard enough, I’ll forget the feel of his gaze on me. It’s been eight days. I counted them on the edge of the hearthstones. One for each miserable sunrise spent in this glorified cage. Guards at the door. Windows barred. And not a single soul who dares look me in the eye—except the child. Except Dain.

I’m not even allowed to see him now unless Andros says so. I pace. Again.

There’s a scuff in the floorboards near the window—my boot’s been digging into it every time I reach the wall and turn back. A pointless rebellion, but it's all I have. The guards won’t let me leave. I asked. Demanded. Shouted.

They didn’t flinch.

I could pull on the bond again. Just a flicker, a whisper through that cursed thread between us. Tease his mind the way I did before. Make him snap. Make him come storming in with fire in his eyes and hands on my throat.

But I don’t, because I swore I would never be someone’s porcelain doll, locked in a castle for an Alpha’s pleasure.

And here I am.

I dig my nails into my arm until the skin stings, just to feel something that’s mine. Then the voice starts. No, not a voice. Not words. A growl. My eyes snap shut, and my heart claws into my ribs. No. Not this. Not her.

The wolf.

She stirs like a stormcloud shifting in my gut, like wind rolling in off the tundra. I’ve kept her buried for thirteen years. Shackled with runes, drowned with pain. She never spoke. Never moved. Just lay there—quiet, broken.

Now she barks. Sharp. Loud. Demanding.

I flinch, grabbing the edge of the writing desk for balance. My knees buckle, but I don’t fall. I won’t fall.

“What the hell do you want?” I hiss aloud, gripping the back of my neck, where the third rune still burns cold and iron-deep. “You did this. You let him mark us. You wanted it.”

Another bark. Fiercer. Not an answer. A challenge. I squeeze my eyes shut and press my forehead to the wall.

It’s like trying to argue with a wildfire. She doesn’t speak in thoughts. She speaks in impulse. Images. Feelings. My pulseraces. My mouth dries. My skin feels tight.

I’ve never experienced anything like this. Never felt her so alive. So real.

And I hate that part of me is her. That her anger feels like my own. That her hunger is rising—raw, primal, and terrifying. I drag my fingernails across the stone wall until they split and bleed.

I went back to bed but I hadn’t slept. Not a minute. The fire had died hours ago, and the chill gnawed at my bones, but it wasn’t the cold that kept me awake. It was her. That beast pacing just under my skin, snarling, clawing, nudging my thoughts with hers like I was just another limb she hadn’t learned to control yet.

By the time the first grey sliver of dawn slipped over the horizon, my hands were shaking and something dark had settled in my chest.

If I couldn’t fight her, I could at least use her.