Chapter two: I won't bow to him

Fiona’s POV

Logan Blackridge. His name alone carried a reputation of fear__a man colder than ice itself and just as unforgiving. My heartbeat drummed loudly in my ears, but I forced my breathing to stay calm. If I showed even an inch of weakness, I’d be proving everyone right.

The fire was moving behind me, but it did nothing to ease the chill crawling down my spine. Magnus had dressed me in a green gown that was too tight to my body, its neckline far lower than I was comfortable with. “Appearances are important,” he’d said. As if a dress would make any difference to the man about to walk through those doors.

Suddenly the door opened and there he was.

Logan walked in, his coat sweeping behind him, every step deliberate and unhurried. His face was like stone, his gray eyes sharp and piercing as they locked onto me. For a moment, I forgot to breathe. He was taller than I’d imagined, broader too, with dark hair that looked like it had been carelessly raked back. The kind of man who didn’t bother with charm because he didn’t need it.

He stopped just inside the room, his gaze scanning over me like I was a thing, not a person.

“Fiona Thornwood,” he said, his voice cold and smooth, like ice sliding over stone.

I lifted my chin. “You must be Logan Blackridge.”

He raised a brow, clearly unimpressed by my tone. “You sound less enthusiastic than most would in your position.”

“Forgive me if I don’t faint at the sight of a man known for his brutality,” I shot back, my voice sharper than a blade.

A flicker of something passed through his eyes amusement, maybe but it disappeared just as quickly.

He stepped closer, his towering frame almost swallowing the space between us. “Brutality keeps people alive, Miss Thornwood. Something your pack seems to lack, considering why we’re here.”

Anger rised in my chest, hot and wild, but I refused to let him see it. “My pack didn’t need your help. This was Magnus’s idea, not mine.”

Logan leaned in slightly, the coldness in his expression enough to send a shiver through me. “You think I want this? A bond with someone as weak and ungrateful as you?”

The words hit me harder than I expected, but I refused to let him see the hurt. “Weak? You don’t know anything about me.”

He then moved his head, his gaze as sharp as a predator preparing to rat up its prey. “I know enough. You’re a means to an end, Fiona. Nothing more.”

My chest tightened, but the anger bubbling under my skin gave me the strength to stand taller. “Then don’t expect me to make this easy for you, Logan.”

His lips curved into the faintest smirk, though it didn’t reach his eyes. “Oh, I never expect anything to be easy. Least of all dealing with someone who mistakes stubbornness for strength.”

The fire in me rose to life. “And I didn’t expect a man so feared to be nothing more than an arrogant coward, hiding behind his reputation.”

The room seemed to freeze. Logan’s smirk vanished, replaced by a hint of something darker, something dangerous. He stepped even closer, his breath brushing against my cheek.

“Careful, Fiona,” he murmured, his voice like a blade slicing through the air. “Words like that can get you hurt.”

My heart pounded, but I refused to back down. “Go ahead and try. At least I’d feel something other than the disgust I feel standing in the same room as you.”

His eyes narrowed, and for a moment, I thought I’d gone too far. But then he straightened, his face emotionless once more. “Disgust is mutual,” he said coldly.

Magnus cleared his throat loudly, cutting through the tension. “Enough,” he barked. “This bond is about survival, not your petty feelings. You’ll both do your part, whether you like it or not.”

Logan didn’t even glance at Magnus. His eyes stayed locked on mine, as if daring me to break first. I didn’t.

“Understood,” he said finally, though his voice lacked any trace of sincerity.

I clenched my fists at my sides, my nails digging into my palms. “Good,” I spat, turning on my heel. I needed to get out of there before I did something reckless, like throw a vase at his head.

As I reached the doorway, his voice stopped me.

“Fiona.”

I froze, the sound of my name on his lips sending a strange chill down my spine. I turned to look at him, my glare sharp enough to cut.

“This won’t be easy for either of us,” he said, his tone cold but quieter. “But don’t make the mistake of thinking I care about how you feel.”

I held back the urge to snap at him, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a reaction. Instead, I walked away, each step fueled by a mix of anger and something else I didn’t want to name.

A rustle of movement made me look back. Logan stood in the doorway, his eyes glinting in the moonlight.

“We’ll see how long your fire lasts,” he said, his voice carried by the wind.

I turned away, my hands curling into fists. “Longer than your ice, Blackridge.”

But even as I said it, I couldn’t ignore the spark that flared between us, fiery and dangerous, clashing against his cold, unyielding presence.

And I hated him for it.