The interior of Silas Thorne's SUV was silent, save for the low hum of the engine and the sound of my own shallow, panicked breathing. The silver-lined cuffs around my wrists didn't just bind my hands; they felt like a heavy shroud over my soul, further dampening the tiny, flickering spark that was my wolf.
Beside me, the High-Alpha was a mountain of shadow. He didn't look at me. He was focused on a tablet, his fingers gliding over stocks and spreadsheets. To the world, he was a billionaire. To the supernatural world, he was a predator who could tear a throat out with a single thought.
"Why me?" I whispered, my voice cracked. "If you wanted to ruin Julian, you should have taken his territory. You should have taken his seat on the Council. Why take a... a dud?"
The word tasted like ash. Julian had called me that every day since our wedding. A wolf who couldn't shift. A Luna who couldn't command a single pup.
Silas didn't look up from his screen. His voice was flat, devoid of the comfort I was secretly, pathetically hoping for. "Julian is an idiot who doesn't know how to manage his assets. I don't leave assets in the hands of fools."
"I am not an asset!" I snapped, my fear turning into a defensive spike of anger.
Silas finally turned his head. His amber eyes caught the moonlight, glowing with a faint, predatory gold that made my wolf whimper and tuck her tail. He didn't argue. He didn't explain. He just looked at me as if I were a puzzle he had already solved.
The car climbed a steep, private road, stopping before a sprawling estate of black stone and glass. This was Shadow-Crest territory. The air was thick with the scent of pine and raw, overwhelming Alpha power.
Silas stepped out and waited for the guard to open my door. I stumbled as I was led out, my body feeling heavy and sluggish. A sudden, sharp pain flared in my gut—that familiar, burning nausea that had plagued me since I was a child.
"Inside," Silas commanded.
The foyer was a masterpiece of cold luxury. A woman in a sharp suit stepped forward, bowing her head to Silas.
"Alpha. The North Suite is ready," she said.
"Take her there," Silas said, finally looking at me. His gaze dropped to my neck—to the bare, unmarked skin where my husband should have claimed me. His jaw tightened. "And Mrs. Vance? See to it she drinks the black tea I left in the kitchen. Every drop. If she refuses, tell me."
"I'm not drinking anything you give me," I said, backing away, my heart hammering against my ribs. "I've heard the stories about how you Shadow-Crest Alphas 'break' your servants."
Silas stepped toward me. I instinctively raised my arms to shield my face, my eyes snapping shut as I waited for the blow Julian would have surely delivered by now.
The air went still. No strike came.
"I didn't buy you to 'break' you, Seraphina," Silas said, his voice dropping to a low, guttural vibration that made my skin prickle. "You're already broken."
I opened my eyes. He was standing inches away, his scent—sandalwood and rain—flooding my senses. He reached out, but instead of hitting me, he grabbed my cuffed wrists and held them up. The silver burned, but his touch felt... cold. Different.
"You look like a ghost," he murmured, his eyes searching mine. "Drink the tea. Get some sleep. Tomorrow, your 'service' begins."
"What kind of service?" I choked out.
Silas leaned down, his lips brushing against my ear. "The kind where you learn to stand up straight without flinching. Now go."
He turned on his heel and disappeared into his study without another word.
Mrs. Vance led me up the grand staircase. The "North Suite" was more of a luxury prison—velvet curtains, a bed larger than my entire bedroom at Julian's, and windows that looked out over a sheer cliffside.
On the nightstand sat a steaming cup of dark, bitter-smelling liquid.
I stared at it. My stomach cramped again, a violent twist that made me sink onto the edge of the bed. Julian's pack healers always told me these pains were because my wolf was 'malformed.' They gave me sweet syrups to dull the pain, but the pain always came back.
This tea didn't smell sweet. It smelled like earth and iron.
I looked at the door. It was locked. I looked at the silver cuffs. I was a prisoner of the most dangerous man in the city.
With trembling hands, I reached for the cup. If he wanted to kill me, he could have done it at the casino. Why go through the trouble of this?
I took a sip. It was foul—so bitter I nearly gagged—but as the liquid hit my stomach, a strange sensation followed. It wasn't the numbing dullness of Julian's medicine. It was a sharp, stinging heat.
In the back of my mind, my weak, silent wolf let out a tiny, confused yip.
I collapsed back onto the silk pillows, my head spinning. As sleep began to pull me under, I realized Silas hadn't told me a single thing about his plans. He hadn't told me why he wanted me or what he intended to do with the "broken" wife of his enemy.
He was keeping secrets. But as the heat in my chest began to glow, I wondered if the biggest secret was the one currently burning through my veins.