Chapter 2: Chained

SELENA'S FIRST sensation was cold. Not the bite of the forest night, but the damp, unyielding chill of stone beneath her bare back. Then came the throbbing ache in her head, a dull drumbeat that echoed the frantic pulse at her temple. Her eyes fluttered open, struggling against the oppressive darkness.

She was in a cell. Not the crude, makeshift cages of past encounters, but a structure of imposing, mortared stone. The air was thick with the scent of ancient earth, mingled with the faint, lingering musk of werewolf. A single, small window, high above, offered a sliver of moonlight, casting long, dancing shadows that stretched and twisted like phantom limbs.

Panic, cold and sharp, cut through the haze of unconsciousness. She tried to sit up, but a sharp clink of metal stopped her. Her wrists were bound, thick iron manacles clamped tight, chaining her to the stone wall behind her. The cold seeped through the rough fabric of her tunic, chilling her to the bone. Her magic, usually a comforting hum beneath her skin, felt distant, muffled, like a song sung underwater.

Where was he? What happened? The last thing she remembered was the blinding flash, the searing pain, and Waldemar’s golden eyes, wide with an expression she couldn’t quite decipher. Then, blackness.

A low growl, more rumble than sound, vibrated through the stone floor, growing steadily louder. Selene’s breath hitched. She gripped the manacles, straining against them, but they held fast. The scent of him, that intoxicating, dangerous musk of the Alpha, filled the small space, pressing in on her.

The heavy wooden door, reinforced with iron bands, creaked open slowly, revealing a towering silhouette. Moonlight spilled in, outlining the broad shoulders, the powerful frame. Waldemar Draven. He stepped into the cell, his presence immediately dominating the confined space. He was dressed now, in dark, practical pants and a form-fitting tunic that still showcased the formidable power of his physique. His raven hair was slightly dishevelled, as if he’d run his hands through it in frustration. But it was his eyes that captured her, burning like molten gold in the dim light, alight with a terrifying intensity.

He closed the door behind him with a soft thud that reverberated through the quiet, then moved towards her with slow, deliberate steps, each one echoing ominously in the small chamber. Selene watched him, every muscle tensed, ready for anything.

He stopped directly in front of her, casting her in his imposing shadow. He didn’t touch her, but the air between them crackled with an almost painful tension, a current she could practically taste.

"Awake, witch," he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly rumble that sent shivers down her spine. It wasn't a question, but a statement of absolute authority.

"What… what happened?" Selene managed, her voice rough, a dry whisper. Her throat felt raw.

Waldemar's lips curled into a humorless smile, a flash of white teeth in the dimness. "You happened. Your magic." He reached out, not to touch her, but to tap the stone wall just beside her head. "A burst of raw, uncontrolled power. Enough to knock my strongest warriors off their feet"

"I don't… I don't remember," she stammered, genuinely confused. She hadn’t willingly unleashed anything. Her magic had been sluggish, unresponsive.

"Perhaps not," he conceded, his golden gaze raking over her, assessing, scrutinizing. "But it happened. And now… you are here. In my territory. In my dungeons." His eyes narrowed. "A runaway witch with unbound power is a threat to my pack, Selene Ravencourt."

He knew her name. A fresh wave of cold fear washed over her. "How—"

"Information travels," he cut her off, his voice laced with cold authority. "Even about a witch who leaves a trail of… incidents in her wake." His words implied a knowledge of her past, a past she thought she'd buried.

He knelt, bringing his face closer to hers, his scent enveloping her. It was overwhelming in the confined space, a primal, musky allure that fought against her fear. "My Beta, Adler, wanted your head on a pike. Many in the pack agree. But I don't give up on what's mine so easily."

"I'm not yours!" she retorted, her voice regaining some of its defiance despite the precariousness of her situation. She tugged at the chains, the metal biting into her wrists.

Waldemar's eyes blazed, molten gold igniting with a dangerous fire. He leaned even closer, until his breath ghosted across her lips. "Are you so sure, little witch? My wolf recognized you. When he recognizes it, he claims." His thumb, rough and calloused, brushed over her jawline, sending a tremor through her. "You felt it, didn't you? That pull. That recognition."

Selene swallowed hard, her heart hammering. She had felt something. A dizzying, undeniable surge. But she refused to admit it. "That was… fear. Panic. Nothing more."

"Fear?" He scoffed, a low, rumbling sound in his chest. "My wolf doesn't inspire fear. He inspires obedience. Or submission." His eyes dropped to her lips, and the air thickened, charged with an almost painful desire. "And something else entirely, in your case."

He stood, towering over her again, then turned and walked to a small, rough-hewn table in the corner of the cell. He picked up a flickering lantern, its weak light casting his chiseled features in stark relief.

"You are a witch," he stated, turning back to face her, the lantern held high. "The Nightshade Pack has a long, bloody history with your kind. We have strict rules. No magic. No interference. No unauthorized presence." He took a slow step towards her. "You have broken all of them."

"Then do what you must!" Selene challenged, forcing herself to meet his gaze, projecting a strength she didn’t feel. "Kill me. Get it over with."

A dark, dangerous laugh escaped his lips, a sound devoid of humor. "Kill you? And waste such… potential?" He lowered the lantern, his gaze sweeping over her body in a possessive once-over that made her shiver. "No, witch. That would be too easy. And far too boring."

He began to circle her, his movements silent, predatory. The soft clinking of his heavy boots on the stone floor was the only sound in the cell, punctuated by the frantic beat of her own heart.

"You landed right in my territory, Selene Ravencourt," he continued, his voice a silken purr. "On the eve of the full moon. A very specific, very sacred night for my pack. A night of rituals." He stopped directly behind her, his breath warm on her neck. Her muscles tensed, a primal warning screaming in her mind.

"And during our most sacred ritual, little witch, you managed to trigger something ancient. Something forbidden." He leaned in close, his lips brushing her ear, sending shivers trailing down her spine. "The Moonbind. An ancient, powerful, and irreversible sexual bond."

Selene froze, her blood turning to ice. "What are you talking about?" The words felt hollow, unbelievable.

He straightened, but his presence was still overwhelmingly close. "That burst of magic you unleashed? It resonated with the old magic of this land, with the ritual we were performing. It bound you to me. Body. Soul. And every primal instinct." He stepped back into her line of sight, his golden eyes blazing with a dangerous triumph, mixed with a hint of something else—a possessive hunger that made her stomach clench.

"Now, you crave me," he stated, his voice absolute, irrefutable. "Your body screams for mine. And soon, your mind will follow."

Selene shook her head, frantically. "No! That's not true! I hate you!"

He took another step closer, his eyes dropping to her lips again. "Hate and desire are often two sides of the same coin, witch. And your body doesn't lie." He watched her intently, almost waiting for a reaction. "You are bound to me now, Selene. Physically, emotionally, magically."

He reached out, slowly, his hand moving towards her face. Selene recoiled, pressing herself harder against the cold stone, but her chains held her fast. His fingers, warm and rough, brushed a stray strand of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear. His touch was feather-light, yet it sent a jolt through her, igniting a strange, unsettling warmth deep in her belly.

"My wolf feels it too," he murmured, his gaze intense, piercing. "That relentless pull. That primal need. And soon, you will feel it even stronger."

He stood, his gaze never leaving hers, then walked back towards the cell door. Selene watched him, every nerve screaming, waiting for the other shoe to drop.

He reached for the heavy bolt, his hand resting on the iron. "Consider this your new home, Selene Ravencourt," he said, his voice dropping to a low, possessive growl that filled the cell. "For now.”

He pulled the door open just enough to step through, but before he swung it shut, his molten eyes met hers through the narrow gap, and he uttered one final, chilling sentence. "And come the next full moon, witch, you won't just crave me. You'll beg.”