#2: Nyra

Nyra

If being marched to execution was demeaning, being marched away from it was just insulting.

The guards clearly didn't know what to do with me now that their shiny Alpha had interrupted the grand finale. Their orders were simple enough – drag me to the dungeons – but you'd think they were being asked to escort a rabid wolf into a nursery. They walked wide around me, hands twitching near their blades, as if I might combust at any moment.

I might, just to prove a point.

"You lot are awfully jumpy," I drawled, strolling down the narrow stone steps with chains still dangling from my wrists like jewellery. "Is it because I killed three of your friends last night? Or is it because your Alpha prefers my company over yours?"

The guard closest to me – a wiry one with scars puckering his cheek – snarled. "Keep talking, witch. The dungeons are dark and full of rats. They'll match you well."

"Charming. Though if I wanted rodent company, I'd sit closer to you."

He lunged, but his friend grabbed his arm. I winked at both of them.

Shadows curled lazily around my ankles, licking the edges of the torches as we descended into the bowels of the keep. The guards tried not to look, but the sweat on their brows betrayed them.

The dungeon smelled like mildew and despair, which was right on brand for this place. Iron bars lined the walls, each cell crammed with the occasional skeleton or unfortunate soul who hadn't rotted fast enough. They shoved me into one of the "premium" suites – a cell at the end of the hall with thicker bars and a view of dripping stone. Delightful.

The door slammed shut with a clang.

I sat on the cold bench, stretched my legs, and sighed dramatically. "What, no wine? No cheese platter? You'd think with all this pageantry, you'd at least spring for hospitality."

"Silence, wench!" Scarface snarled, slamming the bars with his spear.

I tilted my head, eyes narrowing just slightly. Shadows flickered across the floor between us, rising like the tendrils of smoke I hadn't meant to let slip. The torch nearest him sputtered, light bending as if swallowed. His grip on the spear whitened.

I smiled. "Say it again."

He didn't.

~

Time stretched. Hours, maybe. The guards rotated, but they never strayed too far. I occupied myself by humming obnoxiously, scratching insults into the wall with a rock, and inventing elaborate stories about the skeleton two cells over. I named him Gregory. Gregory and I had very deep conversations about death, taxes, and whether bones counted as a fashion accessory.

But the real entertainment came when he arrived.

Bootsteps. Heavy steps echoing through the hall. The guards stiffened like pups caught stealing meat.

Lucien Dreadmoor filled the dungeon like he had filled the courtyard: absolutely and completely. Cloak brushing the floor, jaw set, storm-blue eyes fixed on me with unnerving precision. He wasn't just an Alpha – he was a predator who'd grown bored of hunting deer and was now considering lions.

I leaned back against the wall, smirking. "Well. Took you long enough. I was starting to think I'd been abandoned."

"Leave us," Lucien said without sparing the guards a glance.

They fled. Actual warriors of the Blackfang Pack scurried like mice.

Lucien stopped before my cell, arms folding across his chest. "You enjoy mocking them."

"Mocking?" I widened my eyes innocently. "That's just my way of making friends. You should've heard me with the executioner. We were practically in love."

His gaze didn't flicker. He was infuriatingly still, as though carved from stone. But there was a sharpness there, behind the mask, like he was cataloguing every syllable, every breath.

"What are you?" he asked at last.

"Hungry," I said immediately. "Your guards forgot the wine and cheese."

His silence pressed harder.

I sighed. "Hybrid. Obviously. Try to keep up."

His eyes narrowed. "Half-vampire. Half-werewolf."

"And a dash of something extra, apparently." I wiggled my fingers, and a tendril of shadow curled lazily up the bars between us. It licked toward him, brushing close to his boots before dispersing.

Most men would've flinched. He didn't move.

Interesting.

"I should kill you," he said softly, almost like he was speaking to himself.

I grinned. "You could try."

A muscle jumped in his jaw. For a moment, the air between us thickened, electric. The shadows stirred like they wanted him closer. I wasn't sure if it was instinct or my own twisted curiosity, but I leaned forward, just slightly, as if daring him.

He stepped closer. Close enough that the bars were the only thing between us. His voice dropped to a growl:

"You don't understand what you are."

I arched a brow. "Oh, do enlighten me, oh wise execution-interrupter. Since you seem to think my life belongs to you now."

I caught the briefest flicker of something in his gaze – amusement, maybe? Quickly buried beneath that iron calm. "Maybe not. But your life definitely doesn't belong to you anymore. That's the point."

Shadows coiled higher, almost brushing his hand where it gripped the bars. I caught the faintest shift in his breathing. He wasn't unaffected, no matter how carefully he masked it.

Good.

"Tell me something," I said sweetly. "Why stop them? If I'm such an abomination, why not let them cut off my head and be done with it?"

His gaze drilled into me, pinning me in place. When he spoke, it wasn't an answer, it was a test.

"Don't you feel it?"

The words sank beneath my skin. My pulse betrayed me, Lyr pushing against my chest, nudging me to close the distance between us.

I forced a smirk, even as I could feel the heat low in my chest. "Feel what exactly? Your arrogance? Your breath? You'll have to be a little more specific."

He didn't answer. He just looked at me... long enough, deep enough... that my own wolf stirred, pushing against my ribs. I knew he was talking about the mate bond. I felt Lyr latch on to him the second he walked into the courtyard that afternoon.

I hated that I could feel the heat trail up my cheeks. In that moment, I knew he knew. He could see it, no matter how hard I smiled.