The Prisoner

ELARA’S POV

The first thing I notice is the smell.

It’s not the damp, metallic scent of the basement, nor the coppery tang of my own blood. It smells like pine, rain, and a warmth that seeps into my very bones. It smells like him.

I peel my eyes open, blinking against the harsh morning sunlight streaming through floor-to-ceiling windows. I’m lying in a bed so soft it feels like a cloud. The sheets are silk, a deep charcoal gray. My hand is wrapped in clean, white bandages, and the throbbing in my ankle has been reduced to a dull ache.

Panic instantly floods my system. Where am I?

I sit up too fast, my head spinning. I look down and realize I’m no longer wearing my torn, bloody clothes. I’m wearing an oversized black t-shirt that definitely belongs to a man.

My heart hammers against my ribs. I remember the rejection. I remember the searing, soul-crushing agony of the bond snapping. I remember him lifting me off the ground, his hand around my throat, his voice a lethal whisper.

I, Damien Thorne, reject you as my mate.

But I also remember his voice in the dark basement. I take it back. You are not allowed to die.

The bedroom door swings open.

Damien stands in the doorway, leaning against the frame. He is dressed in a perfectly tailored dark blue suit that highlights his broad shoulders. He looks immaculate, powerful, and entirely devoid of the panic I saw in his eyes last night. His face is a mask of cold, arrogant indifference.

"You're awake," he says, his voice flat.

I clutch the silk sheets to my chest, my body trembling. "Where am I? What did you do to me?"

"I saved your pathetic life," he says, stepping into the room. He moves with the fluid grace of a predator. "My personal physician treated your wounds. The rejection sickness has subsided, for now."

He stops at the foot of the bed, looking down at me like I’m a bug he’s debating whether or not to crush.

"Why?" I whisper, the question burning in my throat. "You rejected me. You hate me. Why didn't you just let me die?"

His jaw tightens. For a fraction of a second, a flash of pure, possessive gold flickers in his dark eyes.

"Because you don't get to escape your punishment that easily, rogue," he says, his tone hardening. "You broke into my home. You tried to steal from me. You owe a debt, and you will work it off."

"I was trying to save my sister!" I cry out, my voice cracking.

"The lies stop now," he snaps, taking another step closer. The sheer dominance radiating off him makes my wolf want to cower, but I force myself to hold his gaze. "I spoke to Seraphina. She told me everything. How your mother married her father for his money. How you were always jealous, vindictive. How you tried to poison her."

"I never—"

"I don't want to hear it," he cuts me off, his voice a whip crack. "You are a liar and a thief. But I am a generous man. You will serve as a maid in this penthouse. You will clean, you will cook, and you will stay out of my sight. If you try to run, or if you contact anyone from your past life, I will make good on my promise. I will find this sister of yours, and I will ensure her last days are excruciatingly painful."

My blood runs cold. He’s using Lily as a hostage.

"Why?" I ask, tears spilling down my cheeks. "If you hate me so much, why keep me here? Why not just throw me in a human prison?"

He leans down, placing his hands on the mattress, caging me in. His face is inches from mine. I can feel the heat radiating from his skin, and the undeniable, magnetic pull of the mate bond. My wolf is whimpering, desperate to touch him, even as my human side recoils in terror.

"Because you are mine," he growls, the sound vibrating deep in his chest. "You are a rogue, a disgrace, but the Moon Goddess tied you to me. If I let you go, my wolf will go feral. So, I’m keeping you right where I can control you. You are my prisoner, Elara. Get used to it."

He pulls back, the spell broken. He turns his back on me, striding toward the door.

"Get dressed," he orders without looking back. "There are uniforms in the closet. You start today."

Before he can reach the door, it swings open.

Seraphina walks in, holding a silver tray with a cup of coffee. She’s wearing a stunning white designer dress, looking every bit the flawless heiress.

She stops dead in her tracks when she sees me in Damien’s bed.

"Damien?" she says, her voice dripping with fake confusion. "What is she doing in the master bedroom? I thought you locked her in the basement?"

"She was dying, Seraphina," Damien says, his tone softening slightly as he looks at her. "The rejection sickness was killing her. If she dies, the bond causes me physical pain. It was a strategic medical decision."

Strategic medical decision. The words cut deeper than any knife. I’m just a biological necessity to him.

Seraphina’s eyes dart to me, and for a split second, the mask slips. Pure, unadulterated hatred burns in her blue eyes. She knows exactly what I am to him. She knows the bond is real.

She quickly forces a sweet smile, walking over to Damien and placing a hand on his arm. "Of course. I understand. You’re so smart, darling."

She looks over at me, her smile widening. "Well, if she’s going to be the maid, she should start immediately. The maids usually wear a uniform. I’ll personally make sure she gets settled in."

Damien nods, looking relieved to hand off the responsibility. "I have a board meeting. Julian will be downstairs if you need anything."

He walks out without a backward glance. The moment the door clicks shut, the temperature in the room plummets.

Seraphina’s sweet smile vanishes, replaced by a cruel, venomous sneer.

"Wow," she says, her voice dripping with malice. "I have to admit, you're a survivor. I thought for sure Damien would have killed you when he found you on his rug. But look at you, playing the pathetic victim card."

She walks over to the bed and dumps the hot coffee directly onto the silk sheets, missing my legs by inches. I gasp, scrambling back.

"Oops," she says, her voice dripping with fake innocence. "Clumsy me. I guess you'll have to clean that up."

"You're insane," I spit, my hands shaking. "He's going to find out the truth, Seraphina. He's going to find out what you did to my family."

"He's never going to believe you over me," she hisses, leaning in close. "To him, you're just a diseased, rogue animal. And I'm going to make sure he hates you. I'm going to take everything from you, just like I took your father's company."

She reaches out, grabbing a handful of my hair and yanking it hard. I cry out in pain, trying to pull away, but she’s stronger than she looks.

"Lily is so sick, isn't she?" Seraphina whispers, a wicked glint in her eye. "Such a tragedy. I wonder how much longer she'll survive in that cheap hospital without her big sister there to pay the bills?"

"Don't you dare talk about her!" I scream, adrenaline surging through my veins. I shove her hard.

It wasn't a strong push. I’m still weak from the rejection sickness, but Seraphina stumbles backward. She hits the nightstand, the lamp falling and shattering on the floor.

She looks at the shattered glass, then back at me. A slow, terrifying smile spreads across her face.

Then, she lets out a blood-curdling scream.

"AHHH! HELP! SOMEBODY HELP ME!"

I freeze. What is she doing?

The bedroom door slams open. Damien rushes in, followed by a tall, muscular man with sandy hair—Julian, his Beta.

Seraphina is sitting on the floor, clutching her arm. She’s crying, her face pale.

"She... she attacked me!" Seraphina sobs, pointing a trembling finger at me. "I just came in to bring her some clothes, and she went crazy! She said she was going to kill me for stealing you! Look what she did!"

I look at Seraphina's arm. There's a thin scratch on her forearm, bleeding slightly. It must have happened when she grabbed my hair and I shoved her.

Damien’s eyes snap to mine. The rage in them is absolute. It makes the rejection feel like a papercut.

"I didn't—" I start, my voice trembling. "She was lying! She threatened my sister, she pulled my hair, I just pushed her away!"

"Shut your mouth!" Damien roars. He crosses the room, kneeling beside Seraphina. He looks at the scratch on her arm, and his jaw clenches so hard I can see the muscles feathering.

"I warned you," he says, his voice deadly quiet. He stands up, his eyes flashing pure black. The Lycan is taking over.

"Julian, get Seraphina out of here," Damien orders.

Julian hesitates, looking between me and Seraphina. For a moment, I see a flicker of doubt in his eyes. But he nods, helping Seraphina to her feet and guiding her out the door.

Damien turns back to me. He is terrifying. He moves so fast I don't even see him, his hand wrapping around my upper arm. His grip is bruising, a clear warning that he could snap my bones effortlessly.

"You think you can lay a hand on her?" he growls, his face inches from mine. "You think because I saved your life, you have power here?"

"I didn't touch her!" I cry, tears streaming down my face. "Why won't you believe me? She's the monster, Damien, not me!"

"Don't you ever say her name again," he snarls, shaking me. "You are a pathetic, jealous liar. I was going to give you a chance to earn your keep quietly. But you've crossed the line."

He drags me toward the door. "Where are you taking me?" I scream, trying to dig my heels into the carpet.

"To the place where you belong," he says, his voice cold as ice. "The pack dungeons. Let's see how tough you are when the real monsters come out to play."

He shoves me out the door. My heart drops into an abyss of absolute terror.

The dungeons. I've heard whispers of what happens to rogues in Lycan dungeons. It's a death sentence. And as he drags me down the hall, I realize with sickening clarity that my mate is going to torture me for a crime I didn't commit.