Hailey
His word hangs in the space between us. Mine.
It is not a promise. It is a brand. A heavy, searing weight that settles over my skin.
His fingers are an iron cage around my arm. The heat of his skin burns through my sleeve. I try to pull back, a useless, instinctive jerk, but his grip only tightens. It doesn't hurt. It simply holds. An unbreakable claim.
“Let go of me,” I say, my voice a ragged whisper. My own ears barely recognize the sound.
He doesn’t even look at me. His golden eyes scan the darkness of the trees behind me, as if searching for a threat. As if the threat is not standing right here, holding me captive.
Without another word, he turns and begins to walk. He does not release me. I am forced to stumble along beside him, my feet struggling to find purchase on the uneven ground. He is pulling me deeper into the Blackwood. Deeper into his world.
“Where are you taking me?” I demand, trying to inject strength into my voice. It comes out thin.
He is silent. His pace is relentless. My simple boots, so sturdy in the village, feel flimsy as I navigate roots and rocks, half running to keep up with his long strides. The ridiculous white sacrificial gown tears on a thorny vine, the sound a loud rip in the night.
We are not alone for long.
Figures emerge from the shadows. At first, I think they are just trees, darker shapes in the gloom. But then they move. Wolves. Not as large as he was, but still enormous, their eyes glowing with that same eerie, internal light. They fall into step behind us, a silent, menacing escort.
One of them, a lean grey with a torn ear, lets out a low growl. The sound is directed at me. It is a sound of pure hatred.
Callum, the man holding me, does not turn. He does not slow. A growl rumbles in his own chest, deeper and more powerful than the wolf’s. The grey wolf immediately falls silent, its head dipping in submission.
He is their king.
My mind struggles to catch up. A king who is a wolf. A wolf who is a man. The stories were all wrong. They weren't just beasts. They were a people. A nation of monsters hidden in the woods.
We walk for what feels like an eternity. The trees begin to thin, and the ground starts to slope upward, becoming rocky. Ahead, a vast shape looms against the moonlit sky. A mountain.
And then I see the lights. Not the flickering yellow of village torches, but a cold, steady blue green light, like captured moonlight, glowing from openings in the mountainside. It is not a cave. It is a fortress. Carved from the living stone of the mountain itself.
As we approach, more of his people appear. This time, they are in their human forms. They look like warriors. Men and women dressed in leather and fur, their faces hard, their bodies covered in scars just like their king's. They carry axes and bows, and they all stop what they are doing to stare at me.
Their eyes hold a uniform expression. Shock, quickly followed by a dark, simmering hostility. Whispers break out, a hiss of sound that slithers through the cold air.
“A human?”
“What is he thinking?”
“An offering. He should have finished it.”
I want to shrink. To hide behind him. But the same stubborn pride that made me face Joric makes me lift my chin. I meet their glares. I will not be cowed. I am Hailey. I am not some nameless sacrifice.
A man steps forward, blocking our path. He is nearly as tall as Callum, with a thick, braided beard and a face that looks like it was carved from granite. A deep scar runs from his temple to his jaw.
“Callum,” the man says, his voice a low gravel. “Explain this.”
His eyes flick to me, and there is no curiosity in them. Only contempt. He looks at me like I am a blight. A disease brought into his home.
Callum finally stops. He turns his head slowly, pinning the bearded man with his golden gaze. The sheer force of his stare is a physical blow. The air crackles with unspoken power.
“She is mine, Gunnar,” Callum says. The words are quiet, but they carry the weight of an avalanche. “Stand aside.”
The man, Gunnar, holds his ground for a moment longer. His jaw is tight, a muscle twitching in his cheek. He is challenging his king. For a second, I think they will fight right here. But then, with a barely perceptible nod, Gunnar steps back. He does not look away from me, and his eyes promise violence.
We continue on, past the hostile stares, toward a massive gateway in the mountainside. The fortress is even more intimidating up close. The entrance is a dark maw, large enough to fit a house. Inside, the air is warmer, thick with the smell of woodsmoke, roasting meat, and something else. Something wild and musky. The scent of the pack.
The main hall is a cavernous space. A fire roars in a pit in the center of the floor, its flames leaping high toward a smoke hole in the ceiling far above. Dozens of people are here, talking, eating, sharpening weapons. Our arrival brings all of it to a halt. A sudden, dead silence falls over the hall. Every head turns. Every pair of eyes, human and wolfish, fixes on me.
The chill of their collective hatred is worse than the forest cold. It is a living thing, pressing in on me from all sides.
Callum ignores them all. He pulls me through the hall, his grip unwavering, his purpose clear. He leads me up a set of stairs carved into the stone wall, down a long, torchlit corridor.
He stops before a heavy wooden door bound with iron straps.
He finally looks down at me. The fury in his eyes is still there, but it is mixed with something else. Something I cannot read. It is a stormy, conflicted expression that makes him look almost tormented.
“What do you want?” I ask, my voice stronger now. “Why did you bring me here?”
For a moment, I think he will not answer. He just stares, his gaze so intense it feels like it is stripping me bare.
“I want you to stay here,” he says, his voice a low rasp. “And to stay alive.”
He lifts his free hand and unlatches the heavy bolt on the door. He pushes it open and then shoves me inside. I stumble forward, catching myself on a wooden table. The room is not a cell. A large bed piled high with furs sits against one wall. A fire crackles in a small, stone hearth. A thick, woven rug covers the floor. It is a well furnished chamber.
I turn back to him, my mind reeling with confusion. He stands in the doorway, a massive silhouette against the torchlight of the hall.
“I am not your property,” I say, the words sharp with defiance.
A strange look crosses his face. The corner of his mouth twitches, not a smile, but something close to it. Something dark and humorless.
“You are,” he says softly, the sound a dangerous promise. “You just do not know it yet.”
Before I can respond, he pulls the door shut. The sound is a heavy, final thud. It is followed by the unmistakable, grating sound of the heavy iron bolt sliding into place.
Locked in.
A prisoner.
I stand frozen in the center of the room, listening to his footsteps recede down the corridor until there is only the sound of the crackling fire.
My body begins to shake. A tremor starts in my hands and spreads through me. The fear I have been holding at bay, the terror of the wolf, the man, the fortress full of hostile eyes, it all comes crashing down on me. My knees feel weak. I sink onto the edge of the bed, the soft furs a bizarre comfort.
They took me from my home. They were going to kill me. Then their king spared me, only to make me his prisoner. Why? Why would he save the offering only to cage her?
My breath comes in short, sharp gasps. My hand goes to the leather pouch at my hip. It is still there. My fingers brush against it, feeling the familiar shapes inside. Then, slowly, I reach down and pull up the hem of my torn gown, and the tunic beneath it. The small, sharp knife is still strapped to my calf. My other knives are secure on my other leg.
They did not disarm me. He did not disarm me.
My breathing begins to slow. The shaking subsides. I pull the knife from its sheath. The firelight glints off the sharpened steel. It feels solid in my hand. Familiar. A piece of my own power in this strange, terrifying place.
I look around the room again. This is not a dungeon. It is a gilded cage. He wants me alive. He wants me here.
I do not know why. I do not know what game this is.
But I know one thing.
My name is Hailey. I survived the judgment of my village. I walked into the cursed forest to meet my fate. I stood my ground before a monster.
He may have locked this door. He may call me his.
But I am not broken. And I will not break.
