CHAPTER THREE

Liana’s POV

The castle is silent, with most of its residents either asleep or engaged in the dog fight, allowing me to approach the staircase that descends to the kennels without being noticed.

As I proceed, the temperature drops and the air becomes more humid. It feels as though I am moving into the maw of a massive beast—the darkness below resembling a ravenous mouth eager to engulf me.

When I encounter the two guards stationed beside the heavy iron door at the bottom, I pull my hood tighter to conceal my hair. I silently pray to the Sun Goddess that they won’t recognize me.

The weight of my satchel presses heavily against my thigh beneath my cloak. It is filled with items I pilfered from the apothecary—fabric for bandages, alcohol, willow bark, and water. These items betray my intention to assist the enemy.

"What brings you down here?" One of the guards inquires.

I steady my nerves, recalling Marius’s words about the rewards the Wolves receive for their victories.

"I’ve been sent from the brothel," I reply, trying to make my voice sound as gravelly as possible.

The guard who spoke chuckles and opens the door, handing me a key.

"It’s silver," he remarks as I accept it. "It burns if it touches their skin. But if they try anything, just give us a shout and we’ll come take care of them."

The other guard regards me with disdain as I slip inside. I feel disgusted too. Disgusted by the idea of a woman coming down here to offer such a... service to these creatures. Disgusted that he thinks I am one of those women.

Once they lock me in, I find myself staring down a long corridor—a damp stone wall lined with flickering torches on one side, and tall iron bars on the other.

The air is thick with the scents of mildew, sweat, and blood, and my breath forms a mist in front of me. There’s no one in the cell to my right, but ahead, I can hear a man growling something quietly, followed by soft whimpers.

I pull my cloak tightly around me and proceed down the corridor.

From the shadows on my right, someone growls, prompting me to hurry to the next cell, where the wolf who triumphed in the earlier fight leans against the bars, a bloody grin on his face. As I pass the next cell, a man with dark, tangled hair walks beside me.

"Hello, sweetheart. I’ve got something special in here for you." He grabs his crotch through his green kilt. "Want to come take a look?"

I quickly avert my gaze and quicken my steps, reaching the last two cells.

The alpha is slumped against the wall, arms resting on his raised knees. He snarls something through the bars at the trembling figure huddled on the floor in the final cell. My jaw tightens. Hasn’t he tormented the boy enough?

He falls silent as I draw near, and I can feel his full attention on me as I, hands trembling, insert the key into the lock.

"You shouldn’t be here, Princess," the alpha says as the lock clicks and I step into the cell. His voice is rough like gravel, thick with the accent of those from north of the border.

My hood obscures my face, so I can’t tell if he recognizes me in some other way. Perhaps he uses that term for all women.

I kneel on the straw beside the young wolf and shrug off my cloak to reach my supplies.

The man in the green kilt whistles as my nightgown is exposed. A low growl rumbles in the alpha’s throat, and he quiets down.

I choose to ignore both of them as I remove the satchel.

I am familiar with healing—my mother suffered from illness throughout much of my childhood, often displaying bruises and scrapes. However, this young male appears to be in particularly dire condition. His face is covered in blood, and he is writhing in agony.

“Shh.” I gently push the coppery hair away from his sticky forehead. “It’s alright. What hurts? Please tell me what’s wrong.”

I can feel the alpha’s gaze fixed on me. “I dislocated his arm,” he states.

“Be quiet,” I retort sharply.

I dampen a cloth and begin to clean the blood from the young male’s face. To my surprise, the bruising underneath isn’t as severe as I had anticipated. The cut on his eyebrow seems to have started healing, and while his nose is crooked, it’s only slightly swollen.

“Bring him over here so I can take care of him.”

The boy winces in response.

I turn to shoot a glare at the alpha. “Haven’t you done enough already?”

He rises and leans against the bars separating the two cells, his large arms dangling through the openings. It’s chilly in this place, and despite wearing only a kilt, his body heat envelops me.

My heart races. If he reached out, he could nearly touch my hair. His expression reveals nothing as he observes me.

“You’re quite brave to come here,” he comments.

Kneeling in my nightgown, he appears even more formidable than when he was wreaking havoc in the ring, even with the bars between us.

I clench my jaw. “I’ve encountered worse monsters than you.”

I’m uncertain if it’s merely a trick of the flickering torchlight across his face, but I believe I see the corner of his lip twitch.

“Bring the lad to me,” he commands. “Let’s see just how brave you truly are.

I turn away from him and raise my leather flask to the boy’s lips. He takes a small sip of water, grimacing as he lays his head back on the dirt. Clutching one of his arms, it appears red and swollen.

I gently run my hand over his elbow, and he groans. If I wrap it tightly before it begins to heal and make a sling, it might provide some relief. First, I retrieve the willow bark from my satchel.

“For the pain,” I explain.

“They said you were a beauty, but I didn’t realize you were a redhead,” the alpha remarks.

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“It’s not a hair color you typically see south of the border. Maybe you have ancestors from the Northlands.”

“I don’t.”

I place the willow bark in the boy’s mouth, and he chews while looking up at me with bloodshot eyes.

“My people believe those with red hair possess fire in their souls,” the alpha states.

I shoot a glare over my shoulder. My mouth goes dry under the intensity of his gaze, and I swallow hard. “I don’t.”

“Hmm.”

I turn back to the trembling boy.

“Stop your whining,” the alpha commands.

A wild, angry feeling rises within me, and before I can control it, I find myself standing, spinning to confront him.

“How dare you speak to him like that.” Standing tall, my eyes meet his shoulders, forcing me to tilt my head back to glare up at him. “Look at him. He’s just a boy... and you... you did this to him. You’re a bully. A monster. A bloody horrible brute.”

This time, I’m certain I see the corner of his lip twitch. “No fire in your soul, huh?”

“He’s just a child. And you were going to kill him. Are you proud of yourself? Do you have no shame?

All the humor vanishes from his face, replaced by a dark expression. "It was your betrothed who placed me in that ring."

"So you take no responsibility for your actions? Is that your claim?"

A low growl rumbles in his throat. "I had no option."

"There is always a choice," I retort sharply. "It might not be an easy one, but it is still a choice."

His breathing becomes labored, and he swallows hard—as if trying to suppress the emotions my words have stirred. "What do you know about choices, Princess?"

"Enough."

He bites down on his lower lip. "I wonder if you'll still be so courageous when there are no bars between us."

"There will always be barriers between us."

"Will there?"

My heart races at his tone—at the suggestion behind it—and from the smirk on his lips, I question if he can sense it.

He shifts his focus to the boy as if he’s finished with me. "Get over here," he growls.

"No," the boy whimpers.

"Quit being such a bloody coward."

"I told you to leave him be," I snap back.

"And I instructed him to come here." The alpha's gaze sharpens on the boy. "And this is the second time he’s defied me in just as many days."

"Why on earth would he listen to you?"

He exhales as if my question is the most irritating one imaginable. "What is he wearing?"

"What?"

He gestures at the boy, and I glance down at him—at his pale, slender chest, then at the red tartan kilt he sports.

"And what am I wearing?" he inquires.