I couldn't speak. Couldn't breathe.
Because he was right.
Gods help me, he was right.
Varder's smile curved slowly, savoring his victory like fine wine.
"That's what I thought." He stepped back, putting distance between us. "I'll accept your offer. But understand this clearly, Ariel—this is a transaction. Nothing more. Don't expect warmth. I am not your prince Charming" His eyes were cold. Hard. "My only interest lies in destroying Davian. You're simply the weapon I'll use to do it."
I nodded, my tongue too heavy to form words.
Varder turned away, the hem of his dark coat whispering against the floor. He moved to his chair and pulled the velvet cord beside it.
The bell's chime echoed through the manor—low, resonant, final.
Almost immediately, a woman appeared in the doorway. Middle-aged, with graying hair slicked back into a severe bun. Her eyes stayed fixed on the floor, and I noticed her hands—they were trembling. Just slightly.
She was afraid of him.
"Escort Miss Ariel to the guest chambers," Varder said without looking at her. "Assist her with whatever she requires."
The woman nodded quickly, submissively, and approached me with one hand extended.
Her palm was cold when I took it.
She led me through winding corridors that seemed to go on forever. The manor was a labyrinth—all dark wood and shadows, with occasional windows draped in exquisite curtains. Rich fabrics with intricate oriental patterns that caught the candlelight like woven secrets.
Crows—or rather, decorative carvings of crows—adorned every surface. Above doorways. On sconces. Watching from the corners with their beady obsidian eyes.
Reminders of who ruled here.
The Wizard of Crow.
Finally, we stopped before a carved door. The woman retrieved a key from beneath her robe and unlocked it with shaking fingers.
"The rooms are prepared, ma'am."
She pushed the door open, and I stepped inside.
My breath caught.
The chamber was grand in a way that felt almost unreal. A massive four-poster bed dominated the space—the frame polished gold, reflecting light softly into the dim room. The woman crossed to a switch, and suddenly the space bloomed with color. Deep crimsons. Rich silvers. Midnight blues.
It was more beautiful than anything I'd had with Davian.
The realization twisted something in my chest.
"You may keep your clothes here, ma'am." She opened an enormous wardrobe, revealing empty space.
I let out a breath that sounded too much like a broken laugh. "I don't have any clothes. My husband threw me out with nothing."
Her expression softened—just for a moment—before she schooled it back to neutral. "Don't worry, ma'am. I'll instruct the seamstress to prepare garments for you. The master anticipated you might need assistance."
The master. Always "the master."
And he'd anticipated my needs. Known I'd arrive with nothing.
Known I'd come.
"I'll leave you to rest now," she said, gesturing toward a large door adjacent to the wardrobe. "The bathroom is there. You can call for me if you need anything." She paused at the threshold. "My name is Theresa."
"Thank you, Theresa."
She offered a small, sad smile and left, closing the door softly behind her.
I stood in the center of this beautiful room—this cage—and tried to process everything that had happened.
Davian's betrayal. The walk through the rain. Varder's cold blue eyes. The bargain I'd just made.
I sank onto the bed, and the mattress was like heaven. Soft. Supportive. The sheets smelled like lavender.
exhaustion crashed over me in waves.
My body ached. My face throbbed where Davian had slapped me. My feet were blistered from the long walk through the forest.
Just for a moment, I'd close my eyes.
Just for a moment.
---
The dream starts pleasantly enough.
I'm in a garden. Sunlight warm on my face. Flowers blooming in impossible colors.
Then the sun disappears.
Darkness swallows everything—sudden, complete, suffocating.
I try to run, but my feet won't move. I'm rooted to the spot like the flowers around me, their beautiful petals withering and turning black.
A growl rumbles through the darkness.
Not human. Not quite wolf either.
Something in between. Something wrong.
"Hello, little Alpha."
The voice is Varder's, but it's coming from everywhere and nowhere. Echoing through the black.
"Did you think you could hide? Even in sleep?"
A shape materializes from the darkness. Massive. Four-legged. A wolf—but not like any wolf I've ever seen.
Black as midnight. Bigger than any Alpha should be. And its eyes—
Blue. Glowing blue. Inhuman.
Varder's wolf.
"You're mine now," it says in Varder's voice. "In waking. In dreams. In every breath you take."
The wolf's jaws open. Wider than they should. Rows of teeth going back and back and back—
It lunges—
---
I wake to growling.
Real growling. Not in my head.
In my room.
My eyes snap open, and my heart stops.
A wolf stands at the foot of my bed.
Not Varder's black beast from my nightmare. This one is gray, smaller, but still massive. Yellow eyes burning with hostility. Lips pulled back to reveal teeth longer than my fingers.
The scent of dominance rolls off him—aggressive, territorial, threatening.
Without my wolf, I can't properly sense pack hierarchy. Can't challenge him. Can't even communicate that I'm not a threat.
I'm as helpless as a human facing a predator.
The wolf takes a step closer, paws silent on the plush carpet.
I scramble backward, pressing against the headboard, my heart hammering so hard I think my ribs might crack.
"W-who—" My voice comes out thin. Terrified.
"She doesn't even smell like pack." The words come from the beast's mouth—speech even in wolf form, something only powerful pack members can achieve. His voice is rough, hostile. "She has no wolf. No power. She's weakness incarnate."
He's not talking to me.
I tear my gaze from the wolf to the doorway.
Varder leans against the frame, arms crossed, expression perfectly calm. Still in human form. Watching the scene unfold like a scientist observing an experiment.
How long has he been standing there?
"Leave, Marcus," Varder says. His voice is barely above a whisper, but it cuts through the growling like a blade.
The wolf—Marcus—doesn't move. "She doesn't belong here. She's your brother's discarded trash. You brought her into Thornwood like she matters. Like she's worth protecting." His massive head turns fully toward me, and I see hunger in those yellow eyes. "She's not even worth killing."
"Then why are you in her room threatening her?" Varder's tone is mild. Conversational. But there's something underneath it. Something cold.
"Because someone needs to remind you what you're risking for a powerless female. The pack is questioning your judgment. Questioning your strength." Marcus's growl deepens. "She makes us all look weak."
"The pack questions nothing," Varder says softly. "Unless you've been encouraging that questioning, Marcus?"
The wolf's ears flatten. Just for a second.
"I'm stating facts, Alpha. She has no wolf. No magic. No value. And yet you've given her the guest chambers. The finest rooms in the manor. Rooms reserved for—" He stops. Snaps his jaws shut.
"For what?" Varder's voice drops even lower. "Finish the sentence."
Marcus doesn't answer.
"For my mate," Varder finishes for him. "That's what you were going to say, wasn't it? You think I've given her the mate chambers. And that offends you."
"It offends the entire pack—"
"I don't care what offends the pack." Varder pushes off the doorframe. Takes one step into the room. Just one. But the temperature seems to drop. "I care what offends ME. And you, Marcus, are offending me right now. In my home. Threatening my guest. Questioning my decisions."
The wolf takes a step back. Instinct.
"I meant no disrespect, Alpha—"
"Yes, you did." Varder's eyes have started to glow. That eerie blue that means his wolf is rising. "You came into her room. While she slept. While she was vulnerable. You stood over her bed and growled at her like she was prey. Like she was yours to threaten."
He takes another step.
"Let me clarify something, Marcus. She is NOT yours. She is NOT the pack's. She is MINE. My guest. My responsibility." His voice drops to barely audible. "My problem to deal with. Not yours."
Marcus shifts—the transformation is painful to watch. Bones cracking. Reforming. When he's human again, he's bleeding from his nose, gasping, but he drops to his knees immediately.
"Forgive me, Alpha. I overstepped—"
"You did." Varder doesn't move. Doesn't raise his voice. "And now the entire pack is going to watch me teach you what happens when you overstep."
Marcus goes pale.
"Get out. Report to the training grounds. I'll deal with you in one hour." Varder's eyes flick to me briefly. "And Marcus? If you or anyone else comes near her again without my explicit permission, I won't bother with a lesson. I'll just kill you. Understand?"
"Yes, Alpha." Marcus scrambles to his feet and flees.
The door slams shut behind him.
And I'm alone with Varder.
He stands perfectly still for a moment, staring at the closed door. Then his eyes shift to me.
"Are you hurt?"
I shake my head, not trusting my voice.
"Good." He moves toward the bed. Not threatening. Just... assessing. "Marcus is my Third. Strong, loyal, but territorial. He sees you as a threat to pack cohesion."
"Am I?" The question comes out smaller than I intended.
"Probably." Varder sits on the edge of the bed—not close, but not distant either. "You're a complication. An unknown variable. The pack doesn't understand why I've brought you here. Why I'm protecting you. Why you matter."
"Do I? Matter?"
His eyes lock on mine. "You're the key to destroying my brother. So yes. Right now, you matter more than anything."
Right now.
The implication is clear: once Davian is destroyed, I'll be expendable again.
"What will you do to Marcus?" I ask.
"Make an example." He says it so casually. "Something public. Painful. Memorable. So no one else makes his mistake."
"He was just—"
"Threatening you while you slept. Challenging my authority. Putting his pride above pack safety." Varder's head tilts. "That's not 'just' anything, Ariel. That's a challenge. And challenges must be answered."
He stands.
"Get some rest. Tomorrow, your training begins." He heads for the door.
"Varder—" I don't know what I'm asking for. Reassurance? Protection? An explanation?
He pauses. Doesn't turn around.
"Lock the door after I leave. If anyone tries to enter, scream. I'll hear you."
Then he's gone.
I stare at the door for a long moment before forcing myself up. My legs shake as I cross the room and turn the lock.
Click.
A locked door won't stop a determined werewolf.
But it's all I have.
I return to bed, pulling the covers up to my chin despite the warmth of the room.
And I lie there in the darkness, listening to the sound of my racing heart, for growls that don't come.
Finally, exhaustion drags me under again.