006

Kael

I bring my own clothes, a black long sleeve T-shirt and pants, simple enough, but looking at her now, standing completely naked in front of me, I wonder if they’ll even fit. She’s smaller than I thought. Then my eyes catch the scars on her body—faint, some deep, some almost gone, but all of them old enough to tell just how much she’s suffered inside those prison walls. Ten years in captivity, and yet she still manages to stand like she hasn’t been broken. It’s almost interesting… scratch that, it's fucking interesting.

She looks fragile in one light and untouchable in another. There’s something about her that doesn’t make sense, something that keeps me staring even when I shouldn’t.

Her voice snaps me back before my thoughts go too far. “If you’re looking,” she adds with a smirk in her voice, “at least have the decency to get hard or blush.”

I realize too late that I’ve been staring. I turn away quickly, pretending to look for something on the table beside me. My jaw tightens because she’s enjoying this.

But I don’t respond, I don’t even look at her. The last thing she deserves is me giving her the satisfaction.

“Put these on,” I say, handing her the clothes without turning around.

She takes them from me with a rustle, muttering under her breath, “What happened to my prison uniform?”

I finally glance at her, just long enough to meet her eyes. “Did you think you could follow me around in that damn orange coverall?”

Her brows rise. “I’m following you?”

I don’t bother answering.

She sighs, but I can hear the small grin behind it. She likes pushing buttons—it’s what she’s good at. I can hear her moving, slipping into the clothes. The sound of fabric brushing against her skin fills the silence. She grumbles once or twice, probably because the shirt’s too big, but it’s better than that filthy uniform she was in.

When I turn back around, she’s standing there, drowning in my clothes. The shirt hangs off one shoulder, sleeves rolled up to her elbows, and the pants are a size too long, tied around her waist. She looks ridiculous and yet somehow… she still manages to look good.

“They’re too big,” she complains, tugging the shirt down.

“Good,” I say. “Means you can breathe in them.”

“Wow,” she mutters. “Comfort and sarcasm. What a gentleman.”

“Don’t push it.”

She smirks again and folds her arms. “Didn’t say I wouldn’t try.”

I exhale, rubbing the back of my neck. Every conversation with her feels like walking into a trap—she twists everything you say, drags you into a game you didn’t agree to play.

Still, I can’t ignore the way she looked earlier—those scars, that burn mark near her ribs. Did the council not even have the patience to listen to the side of a poor widow’s story or she was caught red handed, for them to send her to prison without even trying her? Or was she lying?

Even though I don’t believe her full story about the rogue attack, I can’t shake off the suspicion that someone might be after her, she's hated by every pack, her name sends dread to pack members. If there’s even a small chance she’s under threat and something happens to her while I’m gone, Josen will finally have something to use against me. He’s been waiting for that mistake, watching for a reason to cut me off for good.

So, instead of going to Moonshard alone and risking what could happen in my absence, I’ve decided to take her with me. Whether she likes it or not.

I glance at her again. She’s busy adjusting the hem of the pants, looking unimpressed.

“You done?” I ask.

She lifts her head, eyes narrowing. “You ask like you’re giving me a choice.”

I don't answer, she chats a lot, where does she get the energy? Is that a way to hide the pains behind her smirk?

She sighs dramatically. “You really know how to make a girl feel special.”

“Let’s go,” I tell her, grabbing my coat from the chair.

She doesn’t move at first, just stares. “Where exactly am I supposed to be going?”

“Moonshard.”

“Moonshard?” she echoes, frowning. “That’s your pack’s territory, isn’t it?”

“Last I checked.”

She scoffs. “So I’m your prisoner again, just… new scenery?”

I ignore the question and open the door. “Move.”

She mutters something under her breath but follows. The hallway’s dim, lit by the faint orange glow of torches. Every few steps, her bare feet slap softly against the stone. I hand her a pair of boots halfway through, and she puts them on without arguing for once.

“You always this nice to your guests?” she asks.

“You’re not a guest.”

“Oh right,” she says dryly. “I’m your favorite problem.”

That earns her a quick glance from me, and she catches it, smiling a little like she’s won something.

We reach the outer gates, and I can feel the guards’ stares. They recognize her. One of them takes a small step forward, probably to ask what’s happening, but I stop him with a single look. No one dares speak.

The night air outside is cold, sharp enough to sting. The wind howls against the cliffs, scattering dust through the open ground. I draw the magic circle beneath us with a flick of ring in my hand, the symbols glowing faint blue on the ground. It's a travel magic only people in positions have access to. The Alpha, the Luna, the Beta and the Gamma.

She squints down at it, arms folded. “You’re kidding. You’re actually using transport magic? You trust me not to try anything mid-travel?”

I glance at her. “Try and you’ll regret it.”

She tilts her head, that same taunting smile still on her lips. “Jeez, you don't even know how to comfort a woman.”

“Not my goal.”

“Good,” she says. “Because you suck at it.”

The light intensifies, the runes shifting underfoot as the magic takes form. The ground hums, and for a second, I feel the pull start in my chest. She glances at me just before we vanish, and for a heartbeat, I see something different in her eyes—something quieter than her usual sarcasm.

Then the world snaps around us.

The trip takes three days by magic, not because of distance but because of the time distortions through the route. When we finally reach Moonshard, the sky is a bruised gray, heavy with fog. The packhouse stands tall, all stone and silence.

She looks around, hands in her pockets. “So this is Moonshard. Cold, dramatic, and depressing. Fits you.”

I ignore that and keep walking. The guards nod as we pass, but their eyes linger on her. I can already imagine the rumors if anyone realizes who she is.

That’s why I can’t keep her anywhere visible.

The moment we reach the main hall of my estate, I lead her down to the lower passage. It’s darker here, the air colder. She glances around, suspicious.

“Where are we going?” she asks.

“Basement,” I reply simply.

Her expression drops. “Of course. Should’ve known.”

I push open the heavy metal door and step aside for her to go in first. The room’s not as bad as the cells in Blackridge, but it’s far from comfortable. Stone walls, a narrow cot, and one dim lamp on the wall.

She walks in slowly, looking around like she’s assessing what kind of punishment this is supposed to be. “Wow,” she says finally. “If the prisons I'd been to were as heavenly as this, escaping wouldn't be a thought, even if I try, once I find who I'm looking for, I'll come back.” She laughs, her tiny voice echoing in the basement.

“You're looking for someone?” Her eyes snap open mid laugh, realizing she just said something she shouldn't.

“Huh?” She pretends not to hear me.

I watch her for a second longer, my hand still on the door. If anyone from Josen or the pack finds out she’s here, there’ll be problems I can’t clean up. But right now, she’s safer here than anywhere else.

I lock the door, slip the key into my pocket, and lean against the frame for a moment.

I hope I don't regret bringing her here.