Eli
Jace wakes me before sunrise with a sharp knock and no fucking explanation.
"Up," he growls through the door. "Council wants eyes on you."
Council. My chest tightens, panic clawing at my throat. I roll off the cot, every muscle sore from yesterday's failed escape, and pull on the shirt they gave me.
It's stiff, reeks of smoke and leather and other men's sweat. The bite on my neck throbs with each heartbeat, a constant reminder of what I've become.
The air outside is sharp with frost, the sky washed pale gray like old bones.
Jace marches me through the camp, past watchmen stacking crates of ammo and silver bullets. It isn't a home. It's a war machine, and I'm about to be fed into it.
The lodge looms ahead, heavy timbers carved with symbols I don't recognize.
Jace pushes me through the door, into heat and shadows and voices that cut off the moment I enter.
A long table stretches across the room, firelight glinting off knives embedded in the scarred wood.
Wolves sit on either side, their gazes cutting to me like predators scenting fresh meat.
Ronan lounges at the head of the table, his nostrils flaring when I walk in.
He leans back in his chair like a king holding court.His golden eyes lock on me instantly, sharp and hot, burning through me.
A slow smile curves his mouth, not kind. Possessive. Hungry.
Jace nudges me forward until I'm standing near the end of the table like a prisoner awaiting sentence.
My fingers twitch at my sides. The air hums with tension and eyes watch me like a fox watches a rabbit before the kill.
"So this is it?" A broad man with a scar bisecting his nose speaks first, voice thick with contempt. "The stray you marked?"
Ronan doesn't look away from me. "This is mine," he says, voice soft and lethal. The room stills like death.
A woman with braided hair and calculating eyes leans forward. "An outsider in the middle of a turf war. Bold choice, brother."
"He ran into my teeth," Ronan replies, tone lazy and amused. "I didn't let him out."
The scarred man snorts. "An omega from a gutter pack, and we're just supposed to trust him? He could be a spy, a plant-"
Heat crawls up my neck. My fists clench. I want to snap back, to tell him exactly what I think of his paranoid bullshit, but Ronan's gaze pins me, daring me to speak, daring me to breathe wrong.
My mouth stays shut.
Ronan's chair scrapes as he stands, moving with that controlled violence that makes everyone's eyes drop in submission.
He comes around the table slowly, boots heavy on the wood floor, until he's in front of me.
His hand closes around my jaw, thumb stroking the mark on my neck.
"Tell them," he says softly, eyes burning into mine. "Tell them why you were running."
A hundred answers claw at my throat. None of them safe. "I wasn't running," I manage, but the tremor in my voice betrays me.
His grip tightens, fingers digging into my jaw. "Lying doesn't work here, little pet."
I drag in a shaky breath, tasting his scent, feeling the weight of every stare.
The council watches, silent, hungry for blood and secrets.
"I left my pack," I rasp. "They used me. Breeding pens, rut cycles, punishments when you didn't give them what they wanted."
My jaw aches under his fingers, but I keep going, voice cracking.
"I ran. I hoped I could disappear and find a way to survive on my own."
Ronan studies me, eyes dark with something that might be satisfaction. "But you ran into me instead."
A cruel smile flickers across his face.
He lets go of my jaw slowly, fingers trailing heat down my throat, over the bite mark.
"You see?" he says to the room, voice calm and cold. "Broken, but not weak. Useful. He stays."
His sister's brow arches, but she doesn't argue.
The scarred man mutters something under his breath about picking up carrion when you have fresh meat at home.
Ronan's head snaps toward him, eyes gone feral gold.
"You want to challenge my claim?" he asks softly, voice dropping to a whisper that somehow carries more threat than a shout.
The man looks down, throat bared in submission, properly cowed.
Ronan turns back to me, close enough that only I can hear.
"You breathe because I allow it," he whispers. "You exist because I find you useful. Remember that."
His fingers brush my throat once more before he steps back.
He straightens, his presence rolling over the room like thunder. "Council adjourned."
Chairs scrape, murmurs rise, but no one meets my eyes as they file out.
I stand frozen, heart hammering, throat burning under the ghost of his grip.
Jace's hand clamps on my arm, steering me toward the door.
Outside, the cold air hits my face, but the bond hums hotter than ever. Ronan's words still tangled in my head, sinking into my bones.
Broken, but not weak.You breathe because I allow it.Useful.
I hate him.
But part of me, the part that's tired of running, tired of being nothing, wants to know what it would feel like if he allowed more.
If he found me worthy of something beyond mere survival.