Chapter 2

Vena.

I stared at him, sure I had heard wrong.

The words echoed in my head.

Bear me a son, and I will grant you your freedom.

For a second, I just knelt there on the cold stone, my wrists burning in the chains, my throat still sore from his grip, and I told myself I must have imagined it. Maybe I had hit my head harder than I thought in the forest. Maybe I was still unconscious, trapped in some nightmare my mind had created.

But he was still there.

Nikolai Kenji Ivanshov. Alpha of the Thornmoon Pack.

Tall. Silent. Watching me with those pale green eyes that gave nothing away.

He meant it. Every word.

A dull roaring filled my ears. I had been born a breeder, raised as one, trained for it. Ever since I could walk, House Rose had shaped my life around one purpose. I knew what it meant to have my body turned into a commodity, my womb turned into a contract.

That was what I ran from. 

I had run until my legs almost gave out, until my lungs felt like they were tearing, the moment I turned 25 a few days ago and the barrier around my House had broken at midnight, freeing me from my contract. I felt that tiny, sweet spark of freedom.

And now here I am. Back in the same cage, only bigger. With a new master. A more ruthless one, stronger and a monster.

I looked up at him and hated him with everything in me.

"No," I said.

The word scraped up my throat. My voice was hoarse and thin. I had made a mistake, I knew that. But I couldn't just back down so easily.

His expression did not change.

I tightened my jaw and forced the rest out. "I will not bear a child for a ruthless bastard like you."

The air in the room seemed to thin. My heart pounded so hard it hurt as I felt my blood run cold.

He did not get angry. He did not raise his voice or bare his teeth likeI had expected him to. He only smiled. It was a small thing, barely a curve of his mouth, but it made my skin crawl.

He took a step forward.

I tried to push myself back, only managing to scrape my heels against the floor and rattle the chains. The stone wall pressed into my spine. There was nowhere to go.

He crouched down in front of me, so close I could see the tiny scar along his eyebrow, the shadow of stubble on his jaw. Up close he was worse. Different from the man I had seen seven years ago.

His eyes searched my face. For a second, something flickered there. A hint of recognition, as if a buried memory was trying to claw its way to the surface.

I held my breath.

Then it was gone. Whatever had surfaced sank again.

His hand moved very suddenly.

Fingers clamped around my throat.

He squeezed.

Air vanished. My body went cold at once. My hands flew up on instinct, grabbing at his wrist. His skin was warm, his grip iron. I dug my nails into his arm, tried to pry him off, but it was like clawing at a hard rock.

A ragged sound tore out of me, as I made a desperate attempt to breathe.

No. Not like this. Not here on some stranger’s dungeon floor, not when I had just escaped, not when my sister’s face was still fresh in my mind. I could not die here. I had a deal to fulfill. A promise, as twisted and forced as it was.

His voice echoed through my memory. Bring me what I want, and I will give you your sister.

I did not know if he had ever told the truth once in his life, but it was all I had. If I died, she stayed dead. Or worse, stayed as his.

Black spots danced at the edge of my vision. My chest burned. Panic clawed up my throat, trapped by his fingers.

"I will," I choked out. The words came out broken. I was not even sure he heard me. I tried again, forcing sound past the crushing weight on my throat. "I will. I will bear your child."

His grip loosened.

Then disappeared.

I dropped hard to the floor. My hands landed first, my wrists screaming as the shackles bit deeper. I stayed on all fours for a moment, coughing and dragging in air that felt like glass against my throat. Tears burned the corners of my eyes as my sister’s face filled my mind. It was all for her.

He stood above me.

A low chuckle reached my ears.

Every muscle in me tensed.

"That was not so hard, was it?" he said.

His voice was calm. Almost amused.

I wiped at my face with the back of my arm, more angry at the tears than anything else. I raised my head slowly.

He reached down.

I flinched, but he did not grab my throat this time. His fingers slid into my hair instead, near my temple, catching a strand and pushing it off my face.

The motion tugged at my scalp. My chains clinked as my head was pulled slightly to the side. I held still, jaw tight.

He rolled the strand between his fingers, studying it like it was something interesting in a museum and not part of my body.

"Such bright red hair," he murmured. "A rare trait."

His eyes tracked the color as it slipped over his knuckles. There was curiosity there, something close to fascination. It made my stomach twist.

"It would have been a shame for you to die here," he said.

I let out a rough laugh. It sounded ugly. "You are a monster."

I expected anger. A snarl. Some sign that I had hit something.

He only smiled again, that slow, cruel curve of his mouth.

"Yes," he said. "And this monster needs an heir."

He let the strand fall. It brushed against my cheek as it dropped back into place.

He straightened, looking down at me. Even on my knees, even chained and bruised and raw, I forced myself to lift my chin.

"You will bear me a child," he said. "Not just a child. A son."

The way he said it made something inside me sink. It was an order.

My thoughts spun. I thought of House Rose. Of whispers in the dark. Of the training, the lessons about how to speak to clients, how to smile, how to move. Of the day Madam told my sister on her 25th birthday that she had been bought. The way my sister had tried to be brave and failed.

I thought of him. Of what he had promised. Of what he would do if I failed him.

I thought of my own body, my own life, shrinking down to one purpose again.

"What if it is not a son?" I asked.

The question came out before I could stop it. It hung there, soft, almost quiet. It felt like dropping a stone into deep water.

His face hardened. Whatever small trace of interest had been in his eyes vanished.

"If the child is a girl," he said, "the pregnancy will be ended."

I stared at him.

For a second my brain refused to understand. The words made sense on their own, but together they refused to connect.

"What?" I whispered, looking up at him in horror.

His gaze did not waver. His voice stayed flat.

"A female does not secure the throne," he said. "Does not secure the future of my line. And does not free you."

My stomach tightened. Nausea rose up, sour and sharp.

"You would kill..." I could not even finish the sentence.

He cut me off with a small tilt of his head. "It is our law," he said. "A daughter would be terminated before birth. We try again until a son is conceived."

Something in me lurched. My hand curled into a fist on the floor, nails digging into my palm.

He said it so easily. Like he was listing a simple grocery list or border laws. No hesitation. No doubt.

I took a breath that shook.

"You are disgusting," I said.

My voice trembled, but the words did not.

He did not flinch. If anything, he seemed bored by my outrage.

"Accept it," he said. "This is your purpose here. You are a breeder. This is what you were made for. Why pretend I have condemned you to death? I’m giving you a great deal, bear my son and you will be free."

Because sometimes it was worse than death, I wanted to say. Because sometimes living as an object was worse than not living at all.

The words stuck behind my teeth.

Hot tears gathered in my eyes again. I hated them. I hated him more.

"You really think you are any different from him," I said quietly. He frowned the slightest bit, so I pushed on. "From the vampires. From the men who come to the Houses and buy us and break us. You are the same."

For the first time, something sharp flickered across his face. It was not hurt. Not guilt. Something more like a shadow cutting across a field. Brief, dark, there and gone.

He stepped closer.

The chains scraped as I instinctively leaned back. My shoulders hit the wall.

"I am not them," he said.

His voice had a new edge to it. I did not know what to do with it.

"No?" I spat. "What, because you give me a choice between bearing your son or dying here on your floor?"

His eyes narrowed. For a moment we just stared at each other, the air between us tight and thin.

Then his expression went blank again.

"I am worse than any man you would have been sold to. I am your Alpha now," he said. "Your new master. And you will obey."

The word master slid over my skin like oil. I almost gagged.

He turned away from me, taking a few steps toward the heavy wooden door. His hand rested on the handle, then he paused, looking back over his shoulder.

"We will begin trying for a child in one month," he said.

I blinked. "What?"

He looked at me like I had missed something obvious. "You will be fed. Clothed. Given a room." His gaze flicked over my torn dress. "You will be given time to recover. To learn the rules here. To adjust. Life on wolves' land is different from your human Houses."

My pulse still raced, but a different kind of fear slipped in. Waiting. Counting down. Knowing what was coming.

"Until then," he continued, "you do not leave the castle. You do not leave whatever room I put you in unless escorted. You do not set foot outside these walls."

He faced me fully again.

"If you try to run," he said, "I will not chase you. I will let the pack guards hunt you down and tear you apart."

He said it like he meant every syllable.

Images I did not want flashed behind my eyes. Wolves in the woods. Teeth. Blood.

My throat tightened. I did not answer.

He watched me for another long heartbeat. I could feel my hatred for him sitting in my chest like a solid, burning thing. Right next to my fear.

He seemed to see both.

Without another word, he opened the door.

Cool air drifted in, carrying scents I did not recognise. Stone, fur, something metallic. Voices somewhere far off.

He stepped through and pulled the door shut behind him.

The lock clicked.

I was alone again, except for the chains and my own thoughts.

I stared at the door until my eyes blurred, then let my head tip back against the wall. The stone was cold under my skull.

He wanted a son.

He wanted information.

I needed to save my sister.

My body, my life, my choices sat in the middle like a bargaining chip no one had asked my opinion on.

I shut my eyes as tears slid down the sides of my face, into my hair.

"I will bear your son," I whispered to the empty room, my voice shaking. "But one day, Nikolai Ivanshov, I will walk out of here free. And it will not be because you granted it."

**

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