Chapter 5 - Caged Wolf

Alexei

Four walls made of stone. Cold, and offensively clean. This little box Silvercrest calls a cell is a joke compared to the pits Redmaw uses for discipline. No bloodstains, no lingering scent of fear, just the faint, sterile smell of lye soap. It’s unnerving. Civilized in a way that feels dishonest. They even fed me, and the food was far finer than anything I’ve been served in Redmaw as a celebrated warrior.

Former celebrated warrior. I’m a traitor now.

I push off the cot, which is covered in a clean mattress! And stretch until my shoulders protest the lack of space.

Ten guards are crowded into the hallway outside my so-called cell. I assume ten fresh ones will take over in the morning.

Kieran Arnulf thinks numbers will be enough to control me. It’s cute. He’s cute. More than, actually. I was told he was handsome, but I wasn’t quite prepared for the suave, clean-shaven, gorgeous creature that spared my life.

He’s got the whole keep wound tight around his little finger, doesn’t he? Or maybe it’s the ghost of his father pulling the strings. Either way, the tension radiating from this place is thick enough to choke on.

I pace the length of the cell. Three strides end to end. Pitiful. If it was any bigger though, there would be nothing to separate it from guest quarters.

My wolf paces with me, restless under my skin. Not panicked, just bored and itching for a fight, or a fuck, or preferably both.

Confinement chafes, especially after days on the run. But I’m patient. I learned patience the hard way in Redmaw, watching and hoping as one Alpha after another took over. But each of them seemed determined to repeat every mistake the one before made. None of them tried to be better.

In the end, I waited out Brannagh’s rages, looking for the right moment to slip the leash. Waiting is a weapon too, if you know how to wield it.

Through the barred window high on the wall, I catch a sliver of pale sky. No mountains are visible from here, just the tops of manicured trees that probably line some pristine courtyard.

Silvercrest. All polish and presentation. It’s a world away from the raw, brutal landscape I left behind.

And its Alpha… Kieran Arnulf. Pretty prince indeed. All sharp features and startling violet eyes, wrapped up in fine clothes and an air of untouchable authority that practically begs to be mussed. I’m sure he has a fine body under his fancy clothes.

He tries so hard to project that icy control, that cool detachment his father likely beat into him. But I saw the flicker of heat when I crowded him. The way his pulse jumped under that pale, perfect skin. The satisfying clench of his jaw when my words landed just right.

Playing with him is going to be so much fun.

He’s wound far too tight. A beautifully crafted clockwork toy just waiting for someone to find the right key and wind him until he breaks apart. The thought makes my cock stir against the rough fabric of these borrowed trousers. They’re too tight in the thigh, too short in the leg. Everything in this keep feels like it was made for smaller, softer wolves.

A scrape outside the door draws my attention. The changing of the guard. Ten new faces replacing the previous ten statues. They move with practiced precision, all matching blue and silver uniforms, swords at their hips worn like decoration.

Not a single scar among them. I’d bet one night with Kieran that none of them have ever seen real combat. They smell of soap and starch, not sweat and blood. Pathetic.

Ronan Vale’s Blackthorn warriors might be brutes who decimated my pack time and again, but at least they know how to bleed. These ones look like they’d cry if they chipped a nail. Even Vale’s pretty Omega is more deadly than this lot.

I lean against the wall by the door, deliberately taking up space, watching them closely as they settle into position in the narrow corridor.

One of them, younger than the rest, maybe as young as seventeen, flinches when my gaze meets his. His eyes widen with alarm, before he snaps back to attention.

“Relax, pup,” I drawl, pitching my voice low. “I don’t bite. Unless asked nicely.”

He goes rigid, color flooding his cheeks. The older guard beside him shoots me a warning glare but says nothing. Discipline here is all about posture and silence, it seems. No teeth.

I grin, enjoying the kid’s discomfort. I may only be twenty, but in Redmaw you become a man at fifteen, or you won’t see sixteen.

I let my gaze drift over them, slow and assessing. Measuring their builds, noting the way they hold their weapons, the slight tremor in the younger one’s hands.

They’re alert, but not truly wary. Not like wolves who’ve faced real danger. They trust their numbers, their walls, their Alpha’s commands. They don’t understand that the real threat is already inside.

My thoughts drift back to Kieran. Why did I really come here? It wasn’t just about escaping Brannagh. I could have gone anywhere, disappeared into the wilds, joined a mercenary band, begged Blackthorn for sanctuary.

But the whispers about Silvercrest’s new Alpha, the one who defied his tyrant father, the one who allied himself with Blackthorn… they intrigued me. A pretty boy playing at being The Alpha, trying to turn a den of vipers into something resembling a real pack. A crazy ambition for a twenty-two year old, raised with a silver spoon in his mouth. I had to see it for myself.

And then I saw him. Felt the spark of challenge between us, the undeniable pull. It wasn’t just Alpha recognizing Alpha. It was something else. Something that made my wolf lift its head and ask, Mine? The sheer absurdity of it, the impossibility, only makes it more appealing.

He thinks he’s got me caged. Thinks his twenty guards and stone walls are enough. He doesn’t understand the game yet. Doesn’t realize I let myself be caught. Doesn’t know I could probably chew through half his guards before the alarm even sounded if I felt like it.

But I don’t. Not yet. Let him verify my intel about the tunnels. Let him start to believe I might be useful. Let him feel the whispers of dissent from his own council grow louder. Let the pressure build.

And let him keep thinking about me. Because he is. I can sense it, that faint thrum of awareness, even through stone and distance. He’s dissecting our conversation, replaying my words, trying to reconcile the strategic necessity of keeping me alive with the inconvenient fact that my presence makes his blood heat.

Just wait until I sweep in and save him from his enemies. I want to see that control he clings to so viciously snap right in half.

The thought of him, alone in his room, surrounded by luxury but wrestling with that primal unease… it’s intensely satisfying. He’s so controlled, so desperate to maintain that perfect facade. Watching it crack will be exquisite. And I’m eager to help him pick up the pieces afterward.

I wonder if he’s ever been touched. Truly touched. Not the polite bows and scrapes of court, but the rough, claiming heat of a lover’s hands.

He carries himself with the untouchable air of someone who’s never been properly claimed, never been pushed past that breaking point where control shatters into pure sensation.

The suspicion that he’s a virgin burns hot and low in my gut. An Alpha, ruling a pack, untouched? The idea is almost archaic. And incredibly fucking hot. Breaking him in, teaching him what his body craves… the fantasy is potent.

I push off the wall and stretch again, deliberately letting the too-tight tunic strain across my chest. The guards shift their weight, pretending not to watch. One of them swallows hard. Good. Let them be uncomfortable. Let them report back to their pretty prince that the Redmaw wolf isn’t intimidated. That he’s waiting. That he’s hungry.

He’s a fascinating puzzle. All polished surfaces hiding something potentially explosive underneath. He stood up to his council, defied the old guard, risked instability, all to hear me out. That takes a backbone I hadn’t expected beneath the fine tailoring. He’s got fire in him, buried under layers of duty and doubt.

I settle back on the cot, lacing my hands behind my head, and stare up at the ceiling. The stone is seamless, perfectly fitted. Like everything else in this keep. Too perfect. Too clean. It needs disrupting. It needs a wolf like me to remind them that strength isn’t about polished surfaces. It needs teeth.

And I can’t wait to sink mine into their sexy, complicated Alpha.

He thinks he’s playing a calculated game, weighing risks and rewards. He doesn’t realize I’m playing a different game entirely. One where the only prize worth having is him, undone and begging at my feet.