Chapter 6: The Guest Room Cage

-ZOYA-

Attack?

What attack?

"I'm leaving!" I blurt out, completely fed up.

Ragnar turns to face me for the first time, with a look of pity. "I don't think you understand how that blood pact works yet, little wolf."

I don't care, I want to say, but the words feel stuck in my throat.

Ragnar stares at me with such intensity that made me want to grab a hacksaw, tear the ground open and jump inside.

"Allow me to explain it to you." He steps closer. I feel rooted to the ground, aware that he is now closer than I would have liked.

He takes my bruised hand, clicking his tongue in mild annoyance as he assesses the level of injury.

"You are now bound to me in a master-servant relationship. You can't disobey direct orders from me. Your limbs and veins will fight you, and if you force it," his eyes meet mine, golden and devoid of emotion, "your blood would slowly flow backward, giving you a very long and interesting death."

I stare at him in shock.

It can't be.

He was only trying to scare me, right?

Hot tears well up in my eyes. This was my life now. I would rather be dead at Xander's hand than serve Ragnar like this.

Ragnar saved me from certain death?

Why did it feel like he kidnapped me instead?

"Why are you doing this?" My voice trembles, but I refuse to shed the tears.

"It's nice to see we're finally on the same page. If you want to see your precious little mate who tried to kill you again, then I suggest you find a way to earn it, like doing things that would please me."

"We can start by killing that thought of leaving, hmm?" He turns away and signals one of his men.

"Take her to the left wing. Call the doctor and prepare one of the spare rooms. We'll be having her as a guest for some time."

The man bows and turns to face me, still no expression as he leads the way, expecting me to follow.

I clench my fist, turning to face Ragnar.

"What did you do to them?" I seethe, glancing back at him.

"I hold their wills." He shrugged. "A far more effective way to build an army, don't you think? All freely given, by the way." The last part was said in a low whisper before he walks away, shoulders brushing against mine.

Ryker nods at me like he hadn't just tried to kill me before turning around, following his master.

I look ahead to see the man in ash uniform waiting at the side entrance of the castle. With a defeated sigh, I follow him inside.

Thick curtains are draped over the windows, giving the interior a dim lighting. But my eyes still make out the thick walls, made of black stone, with streaks of silver that glint faintly. We pass by iron doors with claw marks etched into them and a wide hallway with glass cases full of weapons—silver-tipped, obsidian-hilted, runes, garrote wires. I stop in shock. A full arsenal is right here.

I shake my head.

There isn't any record of wars going on. For the past couple of years, the shadow pack has been peaceful.

So peaceful that the alpha's council took the liberty to turn their attention to me, paying rogues to get rid of me.

The man doesn't talk as he leads me up a set of winding stairs. The ceiling arches higher and higher until it disappears completely into shadows. Pale lanterns hang on the stairway, illuminating the path with a sick yellow light.

I hug my shoulders, feeling the chill. Why's everywhere so... dark?

Ominous was a better word.

If I'm expecting an answer, I don't get any. Just the steady echo of boots against velvet carpet that runs like a trail of blood as the man marches on. I know I'll never look at runways the same again.

Does he even talk? I wonder to myself. I knew that Ragnar couldn't be a good man, but this was pure evil.

We arrive at the foot of the stairs and begin down the left corridor. We're far from the chaos outside now.

I try not to look at the portraits that line the walls, but I fail. Eyes—some human and otherworldly at the same time. Faces covered in hoods, some dressed in armor, all watching. Like they know something I don't.

Finally, we stop in front of a tall arched doorway, carved with crescent symbols. He pushes it open, revealing a room far more... civilized than I expected.

Thick carpets with midnight and gold patterns cover the stone floor. A four-poster bed stands at the center, its frame made of dark wood twisted with carvings of wolves and moons. Rich velvet drapes hang from it, half-drawn. There's a fireplace on one side, though the fire barely crackles, casting more shadows than warmth.

The walls are lined with shelves—books, scrolls, bottles of herbs and something that looks suspiciously like blood. A large mirror, cracked in one corner, leans against the far wall. I catch a glimpse of my filthy exhausted self in it.

A guest, he said.

Right.

More like a prisoner with a pretty cell.

The man steps aside to let me in. I walk past him without a word.

I don't even look back when the door closes with a soft click. A wardrobe is by the side, filled with dainty princess clothes. I scowl at it.

If Ragnar thinks I'm going to play his game, then he's grossly mistaken.

I make way for the bathroom, but my hand brushes over the shelf, knocking a book down.

I'm about to pick it up and toss it back in the shelf when I stop, looking at the open page.

An image of a hooded man, dressed in a black coat, swinging a scythe in one hand stares back at me.

"The tale of the three wolf packs..." I whisper, reading the caption underneath.

A history book, not a very new one judging from the yellow, worn-out pages. I grab a chair, sitting next to the fire, abandoning my quest for a bath.

"Following the ancient war between wolves and humans, there arose the strongest immortal warrior from the ashes of destruction, forming a secret territory - the Lycan king's secret kingdom."

Immortal...

I stare down at my bandaged hand. What could an immortal king possibly need me for?

The door pushes open.

I snap the book shut, looking up as a man walked in, dressed in a white robe, carrying a first aid box in one hand, and a suitcase in the other.

I search his eyes for a golden glow, any sign that he was being controlled.

"I'm Doctor Karl." He drops his bags and pats a spot on the bed. "I suggest you come over so I can give you a check-up and rule out any chances of an infected wound."