Foolishness and desperation led me here. My need to save my mate blinded me to the obvious danger, and now I’m trapped. Whatever they shot me with severed my connection to my dragon. It locked away every piece of my being, leaving me feeling human—weak, vulnerable, and defenseless against the wolves who dragged me here.
My father had warned me. He said venturing through Nomad Land, let alone into the werewolf kingdom, was irrational and suicidal. But I had no choice. My wife, Nischola, is dying, and the cure for her illness lies somewhere beyond our lands. I’d rather die trying to save her than watch her suffer.
I’ve scoured the other kingdoms—Fae, vampires, bears, merfolk—everywhere. Each journey led to dead ends and false hope. Then, I was told that the cure resided within the werewolf world. Despite my father’s warnings, I ventured here. Now I see it for what it was. A trap, baited with my mate’s life.
Within minutes of entering this pack land, my guards and I were overpowered. Whatever magic they used locked away our ability to shift. They moved quickly, taking down my guards, dragging me out, and mocking my title.
“Your royalty means nothing here,” one of them sneered as they bound my hands and dragged me through the pack grounds.
I hold onto hope, despite everything. The air reeks of dark magic, the heavy stench clinging to my senses. It’s suffocating, but familiar, like something I’ve encountered only once before. It confirms my suspicions—this is the place where I might find the cure. If it’s here, I’ll give them whatever they want. My life, my freedom—anything, if it means saving Nischola and our unborn child.
The pack grounds are vast and oppressive. The main building, a towering stone structure with a fortress-like appearance, looms in the distance. Its high walls and narrow windows give it an air of authority and menace. The grounds around it are barren, a stark contrast to the lush forests I passed on my way here.
I’m dragged through the yard, my boots scraping against the dirt as I’m pulled toward the cells. The energy here feels wrong, heavy with layered enchantments. The wolves guiding me say nothing, their faces emotionless masks.
When we reach the cells, I’m shoved roughly inside. The door slams behind me with a metallic clang, and the lock clicks into place. The stench of dark magic intensifies, mixing with the filth of unwashed bodies and decay. The air is thick, almost tangible, and every breath feels like a battle.
I glance around. The cell is crude, its stone walls slick with moisture. Straw lines the floor in a pitiful attempt at bedding. Next to me, another cell sits empty, but its scent lingers. It’s not unpleasant—oddly comforting, almost familiar. It’s not Nischola’s scent; I know hers like I know my own heartbeat. This is someone else, and it pulls at something deep within me.
Time passes slowly, and I remain crouched in the corner of my cell, my thoughts swirling. The smell from the other cell keeps distracting me, tugging at my mind with questions I can’t answer.
The metal door at the top of the stairs groans open, the sound echoing down the corridor. My muscles tense as heavy footsteps descend, carrying with them the sharp scent of blood and misery. A man appears, dragging a frail figure behind him.
She’s small, her body limp and battered, her skin marred with bruises. He tosses her into the cell beside mine like a discarded object, her body hitting the straw with a thud.
I move to the bars instinctively, reaching through. My hand brushes her hair from her face, and she flinches, scrambling away. Her arms wrap tightly around her legs as she curls into herself, her entire body trembling. She’s cold, naked, and fragile, but there’s something about her.
“Come here,” I say softly, my voice low and calm. I extend my hand, hoping to reassure her.
She shakes her head, pushing herself further into the corner of the cell.
“Go to him!” one of the betas snaps from the doorway.
Her head shakes again, more violently this time.
“I won’t hurt you,” I promise, my hand still outstretched.
“Mutt, go to him!” Another beta strides forward, grabbing her by the hair and yanking her up. She cries out as he drags her forward, throwing her toward the bars.
My hands catch her before she can hit the metal, and a roar rumbles deep in my chest. Anger surges through me. How dare they treat her like this?
The betas laugh as they leave, their footsteps echoing down the hall. I pull her closer, leaning in to breathe her in. That scent—it’s her. She’s the source of the magic that locked away my dragon. But it’s more than that. There’s something deeper, something familiar and impossible.
“Please don’t hurt me,” she whispers, her voice trembling with fear.
I hold her gently, my nose brushing against her neck as I inhale again. Comfort and recognition flood my senses. My dragon roars low within me, a deep, possessive sound. She smells of magic, but also of my father. My eyes widen in shock as the realization hits me.
“Please,” she whimpers, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Don’t hurt me.”
Before I can speak, a voice cuts through the tension.
“Release her!”
The alpha’s growl is commanding, and I reluctantly let her go. She collapses to the floor, trembling, her knees scraping against the stone.
“Go clean yourself up, mutt,” the alpha snaps. “Alpha Lucas is here.”
She shakes her head, fear evident in her every movement.
The alpha steps into the cell, his presence filling the space. He strikes her across the face, the sound reverberating through the room. “Go get cleaned up! Now!”
Anger surges again, and I feel my dragon stirring, struggling against the bonds that keep him locked away. Shifting is agonizingly slow, but I push through, desperate to protect her.
“Down, Smokey,” the alpha says mockingly, laughing as he raises a gun. He fires, and the shot pierces me. Pain explodes through my chest, and my dragon is ripped away once more. I collapse, unable to move as the alpha sneers down at me.
“Now!” he barks at her. She nods quickly, gathering what little clothing she has before hurrying out of the cell.
I push myself to the bars, watching her retreating figure. She’s covered in bruises, her body broken, but she still carries herself with a dignity that stirs something deep within me. Whoever she is, she doesn’t deserve this.
I’ll find a way to help her. Somehow.
