Chapter 2.

Athena.

April 28th. Two days later. Evening.

I stir. I shift to the left, but my body collides with something solid. A wall. Cold and damp. Reeking of blood, rusted metal, and mould.

That smell drags my eyes open.

Ugh.

I jolt upright on the narrow bed, a cry tearing from my throat as pain shoots through my back and right wrist.

My wrist. I freeze.

It’s chained.

Chained?

Panic punches through me so fast my lungs forget how to breathe. My breath comes quick and sharp as I whip my gaze upward and stop.

A man sits across from me.

A human. Tall. No. Really tall. Even seated, he looks like the chair beneath him was designed for someone half his size. Not because he’s massive, but because he’s just, absurdly tall. Six-three, maybe more. Built like something carved from stone and sharpened into a threat.

Fit muscles strain beneath a pristine dark and gold uniform. A rich commander’s frock, decorated with stars, golden tassels, sharp golden trimmings. A crimson cape drapes elegantly from his shoulders like spilled blood.

A uniform like that, in this ruined age, worn by a human, means only one thing. Privilege bought with our suffering. Fabric woven from the sweat and blood of our kind. The same kind they use as labor slaves if our blood, magic, or fangs are deemed too useless.

He sits there beneath the dim white light, flanked by two armed men. Bile rises in my throat. I spit. The saliva lands a few feet away from his black, polished boots. His gaze drops to it. Then slowly rises back to me. No expression in his gaze.

One of the guards instantly pivots toward me.

“Stand down.” The commander’s voice slices through the room.

I snap my eyes to him.

That voice. Something about it tugs at my memory. Familiar. But my thoughts are too scattered and too panicked, to place it.

His jaw ticks. Darkish hair, slick, tussled and cropped close. Obviously damp from the suffocating heat in this room. At least they have functioning power.

High voltage, too. I can’t even remember the last time our settlement had electricity this stable.

Ours is rationed through the magical tree. The one sustained by the white witches, each taking turns feeding it with their magic.

Remove one witch from the cycle, and the entire voltage weakens. That is how fragile our existence has become.

“It’s good to see you’re back to full health,” he says, voice smooth. Almost amused.

He leans back. Black gloved hands on his thighs.

I glare at him. “And it’s too bad that seat doesn’t fit your ego.” I fire back.

One of the guards inhales sharply. The other mutters something under his breath. And he, his eyebrow lifts.

Good. A reaction.

Then, slowly, he rises.

He walks toward me with an ease that somehow feels more threatening than if he’d stormed over. He stops directly where I spat.

His gaze flickers downward. A smirk touches his lips.

Then his eyes rise to mine. Message received. He is deliberately standing on my spit.

Bully.

“Your wounds healed well,” he says. “My doctors checked on you.”

He steps closer.

Instinctively, I try to move back, but agony slices through my back and I hiss. He stops directly in front of me.

So close I have to tilt my head almost painfully to meet his gaze.

“Now,” he says, voice cool, “my men will transfer you to the interrogation room, where we will resume asking questions.”

The words drain all warmth from my body.

Interrogation room?

No. No, no, no.

I’ve heard stories.

No one talks about those rooms without lowering their voices.

Some people walk out broken. Some don’t walk out at all.

I jerk against the chain, trying to summon magic. Trying to shift.

Trying anything. Nothing.

His lips curve.

“The walls here are spell-proof,” he says. “You can’t morph, werewolf. And you can’t use magic tricks.”

He pauses.

“Not like the ones you used two nights ago to put my men to sleep.”

Two nights ago?

I go still.

Two nights. I’ve been unconscious for two days?

He turns and gestures.

The guards move immediately.

“No...wait!”

They unlock my wrist from the bed and haul me upright, one gripping each arm. The oversized navy shirt they shoved me into tears further under their hold.

“You can’t do this to me!” I kick, struggle, twist.

Their uniforms are far less elaborate than his.

Lower rank, obviously. I focus back on him.

Who the hell is he?

Please don’t be who I think you are.

Because if he is, I’m fucked.

“You can’t keep me here!” I shout as they drag me toward the door. I dig my feet against the floor. “Alpha Octavius...the Alpha of our pack...he’ll come for me!”

I jam my legs against the doorway.

“Stop.” The commander’s order halts everyone.

The guards force me to turn toward him.

He approaches slowly.

“Why would Alpha Octavius come for you?” He asks, voice deceptively mild. “You’re just one member of his pack.”

He closes the distance between us. His dark eyes trail over me.

Slowly. Heat prickles beneath my skin. Not warmth. Just discomfort. Something hotter. More dangerous.

My throat tightens.

“B...Because I’m…”

My words stumble as his eyes meet mine.

Dark eyes, filled with something I can’t name.

Power? Control? Danger? Maybe all three.

He arches a brow.

“Well?”

“Because I’m rumored to be the mate he’s chosen,” I mutter.

A cruel smile spreads across his face.

“You were to be his Luna?”

His tone turns glacial.

I frown.

Were? Why past tense?

Something shifts in his expression. Something cold, ugly.

“I thought your goddess no longer did such rituals,” he says. “Bonding. Mating.”

My brows knit. “We still choose mates.” I snap. “It’s inborn.”

One of the guards slams something into the back of my knees.

Pain explodes upward.

I cry out.

“Don’t." The commander’s voice cracks like a whip.

Everyone freezes.

He turns sharply to the guard. Squeezes his face between his palm. “Don’t ever hit a lady.”

The words are quiet. The guard stiffens beside me. “Y...Yes, sir... Commander.”

The commander shoves him back without another glance. Then turns to me again, like none of it happened.

“I apologize for my guard’s behavior,” he says politely. “Please. Continue.”

The sudden shift unsettles me more than his threats. One second harsh and lethal. The next, polished, civil, controlled. It feels wrong. Like a predator smiling before it bites.

“Our mating is inborn,” I say, forcing steadiness into my voice. “It’s the goddess’ moonlight blessing that stopped because of humans.”

A slow, cruel smirk returns to his face.

He clicks his tongue and walks toward the rusted window.

“Tsk. Tsk. Tsk.” He turns back, folding his arms.

Cold dread slides into my stomach.

“Well,” he says casually, “Alpha Octavius did come. With some of your wolves.”

"Did?" I ask, breathlessly.

Hope erupts so fast it almost hurts. He came.

He actually came.

My heart pounds.

He came for me.

Maybe all this time, he did care. Maybe he only hid it to protect me.

A memory crashes into me from days ago. The healing house. The sick cubs.

“How are the cubs?” Alpha Octavius had asked Medura.

But his eyes were on me. Not on her. Me.

I kept my gaze lowered, wringing out a cloth over the feverish cub in front of me.

“Our magic is still holding them,” Medura said, “But we need a team to steal more vials...”

“Why do we have to steal?” Alpha Octavius cut in sharply.

The cubs coughed around us. He looked at me then. A flicker of pain in his eyes.

“Because we can’t afford them,” Medura had answered bitterly. “Humans turned our own blood and vampire plasma into luxury medicine.”

Now, my pulse races.

He came. So where is he? Why isn’t he here?

“Yes,” the commander says, breaking into my thoughts. “Did.”

My smile falters.

Did?

My stomach drops.

His expression is unreadable.

“Alpha Octavius and the wolves who came to retrieve you are dead.”

The world stops.

No. No. No.

“Gunned down.” He finishes.

I stare at him. My body goes numb.

Dead?

No. That’s impossible.

“That’s not possible,” I whisper. Then rage detonates.

“You liar!” I lunge at him.

The guards restrain me instantly. My hair spills wildly over my shoulders. I thrash harder.

“Alpha Octavius isn’t dead!” I scream. “He’s alive! He’ll come for me! He’ll save me from you!”

The commander watches me. No expression. Nothing.

Then he moves. Slowly.

Until he stands inches from me.

“No one,” he says quietly, “Will rescue you from me.”

His voice is low.

Dark. Something in it makes ice crawl through my veins.

“Not your dead Alpha.”

His words hit like blades. Dead. Dead. Dead.

No. No...no...no...no. My vision blurs.

Tears spill hotly down my face.

“No one.” He repeats, studying my collapse with terrifying calm. “Do you know why?”

I refuse to look at him.

I will not let him enjoy this.

Strong fingers suddenly grip my chin and force my face upward. I struggle. His hold tightens. Painfully.

My eyes meet his.

“I am Commander Zeus Ironheart.” The name slams into me. My blood turns to ice. No.

“Battle Chief of all Regions.”

No. No...no...no.

“No one will save you from me,” he says. “No one.”

Commander Zeus Ironheart. Bastard brother of the tyrant overlord, Norman Ironheart. Horror detonates inside me.

My breathing turns ragged. This can’t be happening.

Not him. Anyone but him. Not Zeus Ironheart.

No. I cannot die like this.

No.