The bargain

The morning air was sharp with frost. A cruel wind howled through the high towers of the Bloodthorn fortress, biting at exposed skin and rattling the iron-framed windows like the dead begging to be remembered. But inside the Alpha’s court, the chill was nothing compared to the cold that settled into James’s bones.

He stood by the window, staring down into the courtyard. The prison lay in the shadows beyond, the darkest part of the estate. A place where screams were swallowed whole by stone, where daylight never reached. And down there, in chains and blood, was Sara.

She haunted him.

Even in sleep, he heard her voice, the quiet defiance laced in her last words, the tremble of strength in her broken body. And worse, he saw her eyes. Not afraid. Not begging.

But burning.

Burning with betrayal.

A sharp knock pulled him back to the present. The door creaked open before he could respond.

Draven entered, dressed in obsidian black, his hair slicked back like a blade drawn for war. His eyes flicked to James, amused.

“She still breathes,” the Alpha said casually, as if speaking of weather. “I’m going to visit her.”

James said nothing.

Draven raised an eyebrow. “Come.”

A long silence.

“I can’t,” James muttered finally, turning his back.

“You can’t?” Draven repeated, amused but intrigued.

James’s jaw clenched. “I have things to oversee in the north camp. Varek mentioned… a shipment delay.”

Draven took a slow step forward. “Is that truly the reason… or are you afraid to face what you did to her?”

James’s throat tightened.

Draven chuckled. “So that’s it. The mask cracked, didn’t it? You’re not worried about what she’ll say. You’re worried about what you’ll see.”

James didn’t speak.

Draven tilted his head, voice dropping to a murmur. “The moment you start to pity them, Garrick… that’s the moment you lose your power.”

“I don’t pity her,” James snapped, but the lie tasted bitter.

Draven gave him a knowing smile. “Then stay here. Play commander. I’ll handle the broken girl.”

And just like that, he turned and strode out.

The dungeon reeked of iron and misery.

Torches flickered against wet stone, casting dancing shadows that clung to the walls like ghosts. Two guards stood at attention as Draven approached. They bowed stiffly and unlocked the heavy gate.

She lay inside.

Chained to the wall, arms limp at her sides, her wrists bruised purple. Blood clung to her skin like paint. Her clothes, what little remained of them….were shredded and damp from the bucket water they used to revive her.

Her head rested against the wall, eyelids fluttering faintly. Alive, but barely.

Draven stepped inside, and the guards closed the gate behind him.

He stared at her for a moment, arms folded, saying nothing. There was something in his gaze, curiosity, perhaps. Or calculation.

“Sara,” he said, his voice like silk hiding steel. “You look less… vibrant than usual.”

She didn’t move.

“Cat got your tongue?” he smirked. “Or did the chains finally do what Garrick’s hand could not?”

At last, she stirred. Slowly. Painfully.

Her lips cracked open. “You came all this way… to gloat?”

Draven chuckled. “No, my dear. I came to see what could make Garrick flinch.”

That earned a flicker in her eyes. Not fear, just interest.

“So he didn’t come,” she whispered. “Didn’t have the spine.”

Draven smiled. “He said he was busy.”

Sara gave a weak laugh.

The Alpha crouched beside her, close enough to touch, but didn’t. “You’re brave, I’ll give you that. You speak like someone who’s tasted freedom.”

“I have,” she murmured, eyes locked on his. “That’s why I can’t be like the others.”

Draven’s gaze sharpened. “You think your defiance matters?”

She didn’t answer.

“I could end you here,” he said. “One order, and they’ll peel your skin from your bones. You’re nothing, girl. A slave with an inflated sense of worth.”

“And yet,” she whispered, “here you are. Talking to me.”

That made him pause.

Sara coughed, blood staining her lips. “You want to know what scares you, Draven? It’s not rebellion. It’s hope. You think if one of us rises, the rest might follow. That’s why you came.”

He stared at her for a long moment. The torchlight caught the corner of his jaw as it twitched.

Then, without warning, he struck her across the face.

She crumpled to the floor, groaning through clenched teeth.

Draven rose slowly, brushing off his coat. “Hope is a disease,” he said coldly. “And I am its cure.”

He turned for the door.

But just as he reached it, her voice rose again—soft, broken, yet terrifying.

“You can chain my body,” she said, “but you will never chain my soul.”

He froze.

The silence stretched.

Then, without looking back, he left.

That night, James sat alone in his quarters, staring at a plate of untouched food. His hands trembled as he poured himself another cup of water, hoping it would still the storm within.

He couldn’t stop imagining her lying there.

Chained. Bleeding. Still speaking.

Still unbroken.

He clenched his fists. If he had gone with Draven, if he had seen her like that, he might have snapped. He would have killed someone. Maybe even Draven himself.

And everything, the mission, the plan, the wizard’s prophecy, would be ruined.

“You are not James. You are Garrick… until the time is right.”

But how long could he wear this skin before it devoured him from within?

Below, in the dungeon, Sara lay in the dark, the silence thick around her. She ached everywhere. Her bones felt like glass.

But her mind….her mind remained sharp.

Then, once more, it came.

That voice.

Soft. Ethereal. Slipping through the cracks of her thoughts like smoke.

“You are not alone.”

Her eyes widened. “Who’s there?” she whispered. “Show yourself.”

But there was no face.

No form.

Just the voice.

“You are flame. Remember that.”

Tears rolled down her cheeks, not from fear, but from something older. Something deeper.

Hope.

It was still alive.

And so was she.

James stood at the edge of the courtyard, his hands clenched behind his back. The morning fog still hung low, curling like whispers between the tall iron gates. He had not slept—not properly, at least. The image of Sara, chained and broken, burned behind his eyes like a curse. He knew what he had done. And now, Draven wanted more.

A knock sounded at his door.

He didn’t turn.

“My Lord,” the voice of a guard called gently, “Alpha Draven requests your presence in the dungeon. He is going to see the girl.”

James’s chest tightened. He remained still. His eyes stared at the pale sky. “Tell him… I’ll come shortly.”

But he wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

Because he feared what he would see when she looked at him.

Not as a slave to her master… but as a woman he loves.

Down in the stone corridors of the dungeon, the cold was unrelenting. Torches flickered against damp walls, and the stink of blood and mildew clung to the air like rot. Sara sat, slumped in her cell, her back barely supported by the wall. Her hair was matted with dried blood, her lip cracked. But her eyes… they burned with a defiance that still dared to shine.

She had not broken.

Not yet.

Later that afternoon, James stormed into the war chamber where Draven and Varek were speaking quietly over a map. The moment he entered, Draven’s face brightened with grim approval.

“You’ve changed,” Draven said. “You’ve finally begun to see what must be done. That girl, Sara, is it? She’s a fire you need to put out.”

James didn’t answer immediately. He pulled off his gloves and tossed them onto the table.

“She’s not just a slave. You know that.”

Draven gave a mocking smile. “She’s not just a slave, no. She’s a threat. But I’ve been generous.”

James looked up sharply. “How?”

Draven stepped closer, lowering his voice. “If she wants to live, all she has to do is kneel before me and pledge her loyalty. Accept what she is. A slave. That’s it. Do that, and she walks out free.”

“And if she refuses?”

Draven’s face darkened. “Then tomorrow at dawn, she hangs.”

The room fell still.

James’s heart pounded.

Then, Varek, leaning lazily against the wall, laughed coldly. “A slave has no time, Garrick. Why are we wasting ours on her?”

James turned so fast Varek barely saw it coming. He was in Varek’s face, fist clenched. “You will not interrupt me when I speak,” he growled. “You want her dead because she’s stronger than your cowardice.”

Varek stiffened but didn’t challenge him. He could see the storm in James’s eyes now. A storm that reminded him of the Garrick he once feared.

Draven stepped between them, sighing. “We give her until dawn. That’s all.”

James stood outside Sara’s cell for a long time, the key cold in his fingers. He inhaled deeply, then unlocked the door.

She didn’t look up.

Her head rested against the wall, her breath shallow, but steady.

“I don’t want to hurt you anymore,” he said softly.

Sara slowly turned her head. Her gaze was dull but alert. She recognized the voice. The man from the camp. The monster who slapped her, humiliated her. Her jaw tightened.

“You already have,” she said, voice hoarse.

James stepped closer. “They’ll kill you tomorrow. Draven gave me one condition. One only. Pledge your loyalty to him. Accept that you are a slave. Then you’ll walk free.”

She let out a sharp laugh, bitter and sharp. “You come to offer mercy after tearing my dignity from my bones? Is this the part where you pretend to be kind?”

“I’m trying to help you,” he said, and it sounded too desperate.

“Then help yourself, soldier,” she snapped. “You want me to kneel? You kneel.”

James’s hand gripped the iron bars of her cell so tightly his knuckles turned white. “You don’t understand….”

“No,” she cut in, “you don’t understand. You’re just like the rest of them. You wear power like armor, but inside, you’re all afraid of a woman who won’t bow.”

“I’m not afraid of you.”

“Yes, you are,” she hissed. “That’s why you hit me. That’s why you sent me here. Because something in me reminded you of what you lost. Or what you’ll never be.”

His face twitched. For a second, the mask nearly slipped. But he held it.

“You have until dawn,” he said, voice trembling, “Please. Don’t throw your life away for pride.”

“I’m not dying for pride,” she whispered. “I’m dying for my soul.”

James lingered at the door. He wanted to say more. Wanted to tell her the truth. That he wasn’t who she thought. That everything he’d done was part of something greater. That the man she saw—the one in black leather and cold eyes, wasn’t him.

But instead, he nodded, turned, and left her alone.

Again.

Back in the war chamber, the mood was tense. Varek paced like a dog that smelled blood. Draven stood by the window, watching the crimson sky.

“Well?” he asked as James entered.

James stared at them both. “She said she’d rather die.”

Draven didn’t flinch. “Then tomorrow, she dies.”

James’s jaw flexed.

Draven turned to him, his voice quiet but hard. “You asked for time. I gave it. A full day. That’s more than I’ve given anyone. We are not a kingdom built on mercy.”

James stepped forward. “Give her more time. A week. She’s been tortured, beaten—”

“She is a slave, Garrick!” Varek barked. “She gets nothing! Every moment we wait, we look weak. You of all people should know that.”

James’s eyes blazed as he turned to Varek again. “Speak out of turn one more time—”

Draven raised a hand. “Enough. Both of you.”

He walked slowly toward James, then placed a hand on his shoulder. “You’ve grown soft, Garrick. This war is not won with kindness. It’s won with fear. Order. Blood.”

“I’ve seen enough blood,” James said coldly.

“Then you better get used to seeing more.”

Draven walked past them and out of the room.

James stood there, fists trembling at his side.

He had a choice to make.

And time was running out.