C2

BRIONY ASHBRIAR woke up exactly the way a low-ranking human female in a high-tier werewolf territory did—her thin muscles screaming in protest, her head throbbing to the rhythm of a war drum, and her gut churning with the sickening weight of the pack debts hanging over her family.

The soft, thick wolf-pelt sheets beneath her white skin felt entirely wrong. The scent of roasted wild boar and rich, dark chicory coffee drifted from the open hearth, a luxury no normal human could afford in Frosthaven Moonreach.

Briony forced her left eye open, only for a blinding spike of agony to shoot straight through her skull. Her gaze immediately locked onto a corner of the room where a heavily carved white cane leaned against a dark timber post. Next to it sat a half-smoked silver-leaf cigarette resting on an ash stone, its faint, crisp aroma mingling with the heavy, dark musk of an apex predator.

"Garron," Briony hissed under her breath, her voice raw and cracking.

The realization hit her like a strike from a silver blade. She had spent the night inside the private Moonwatch Tower Den belonging to Garron Frostwarden—the powerful, muscular wolf who practically ruled the local guard, despite the pale, blind gaze that made him ten times more lethal than any sighted alpha.

Briony threw back the heavy furs, checking her torn human tunic. Her hunting boots were gone, but her clothes were completely intact, though the lingering scent of his territorial skin on her fabric made her chest tighten with a strange, unwanted heat.

"If you are looking for your leather bag, it is right by the washbasin," Garron said, his low, gravelly voice cutting through the quiet den.

Briony snapped her head toward the arched doorway. Garron stood there, his massive 5.8-foot frame filling the entrance, his broad chest completely bare and showing off the dark, black complexion of his skin against the morning light. A fresh cigarette was held loosely between his lips, unlit, while his strong fingers lightly traced the stone wall with practiced familiarity.

"Did you drag me up here just to humiliate me, Frostwarden?" Briony demanded, her skinny frame shivering as she stood up from the massive bed.

Garron let out a low, rumbling chuckle that vibrated through the floorboards, his sightless but piercing gaze turning directly toward her face. "You did enough of that yourself last night, little bird, unless you consider screaming lines from Bred by the Blood Moon to the entire tavern a dignified evening."

Briony felt the blood rush to her face, her white cheeks burning with absolute mortification. She tried to step past him toward her boots, but her foot caught on the heavy rug, sending her stumbling forward.

Before she could hit the stone floor, Garron’s massive arm shot out, catching her by the waist. The absolute heat of his bare skin burned through her thin tunic, his heavy alpha grip tightening around her slim waist until her small breasts pressed flat against his iron chest.

"Let go of me," she gasped, her human heart hammering wildly against her ribs as she felt the thick, hard line of his thigh press between her legs.

Garron didn't move an inch, his fingers sinking into her hip as he leaned down, his breath warm against her ear. "You smell like cheap tavern wine and pure terror, Briony. Tell me what happened at the Blood Moon Harvest Grounds before I lose my patience."

"It is none of your pack business," she spat, her hands pushing uselessly against the thick muscle of his shoulders.

"When an Ashbriar passes out in my tavern weeping over a piece of parchment, it becomes my business," Garron growled, his grip tightening just enough to make her gasp. "Drink the tea on the table. It clears the venom from your system."

He released her slowly, his hand sliding down her hip with a slow, possessive drag that left her skin tingling before he reached for his white cane.

Briony sank into a heavy wooden chair, her hands shaking as she grabbed the clay mug. The dark liquid was exactly how she liked it—sweetened with wild honey and crushed mint—a detail that made her stomach twist with defensive anger.

"Marshal Calder Rimewolf is going to hear about you keeping a human female captive in your den," Briony muttered after swallowing the hot brew.

"Calder won't do a damn thing about an alpha feeding a stubborn human who doesn't know how to take care of herself," Garron replied, leaning his muscular frame against the stone mantle, his unlit cigarette shifting as he spoke. "Now, give me the name. Who is this Elric Ravenscar you were sobbing about?"

Briony froze, her fingers locking tightly around the clay mug until her knuckles turned white. The memory of the previous afternoon hit her like an icy blast from the northern peaks—the sneering face of the high-ranking alpha, the legal scroll bearing the seal of the Alpha Council Hall, and the absolute ruin of her family's future.

"He is the new overseer for the northern territory," Briony said, her voice dropping into a harsh whisper. "He revoked our hunting lease on the Ashbriar Wolfstead."

Garron’s blind eyes narrowed, a dangerous, low vibration starting deep inside his chest that made her inner instincts want to flee. "That land has been under human tenancy since the first treaty."

"Not anymore," Briony said, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. "Elric invoked the sacred lineage clause. Because my father passed and my brother Oswin is across the sea in Ironfang Crossing, the Council claims a solo human female cannot hold the territorial deed. We lose the homestead by the next full moon unless I am wed to a pack member."

Garron took the cigarette from his lips, his dark face hardening into an unreadable mask as he stepped toward her, the light tap of his cane marking his progress. "So the bastard is trying to starve you out."

"He told me I could keep the Ravenfeather Roost if I became his secondary mate," Briony whispered, the sheer disgust making her stomach turn. "He wants to use my family's old name to secure his seat on the council, then dump me in the outer stables once he breeds an heir."

Garron reached the table, his large hand coming down flat on the wood right next to her plate, the sheer force of his presence causing the mug to rattle. "You are not touching that filth."

"I don't have a choice!" Briony shouted, standing up to face him, her 5.5-foot height making her look tiny against his broad form. "The Silver Pine Trading Post won't even give us credit for grain anymore. I am completely ruined, Garron."

"There is an easy way to break his lease," Garron said, his voice dropping into a smooth, predatory purr.

Briony squinted at him, her defenses instantly rising. "What are you talking about?"

"We sign the pack law papers at the Alpha Council Hall tomorrow morning," Garron stated, as calmly as if he were ordering a round of mead. "We get legally hitched."

Briony choked on her own breath, her eyes widening as she stared at the massive werewolf leader. "You have completely lost your mind."

"Think about it, hellcat," Garron said, a slow, wicked grin spreading across his lips, revealing the sharp edge of his elongated canine teeth. "An alliance with the Frostwarden family instantly protects the Ashbriar Wolfstead. Elric won't be able to touch a single blade of your grass without answering to my brothers and Torvald."

"You hate me," Briony stammered, her heart hammering so hard she was certain his sharp ears could hear every beat. "We have done nothing but fight since we were children."

"I don't hate you, little bird. I just like watching your temper flare," Garron murmured, leaning in so close she could feel the intense heat radiating from his bare chest. "Besides, if the marriage contract isn't enough to convince the Council, we could always try the other method your favorite scroll detailed so thoroughly."

Briony backed up until her spine hit the stone wall, her breath catching as Garron followed her, pinning her in place without even using his hands. "What method?"

"I could just skip the paperwork, claim your sweet human core right here on this bed, and put my pup inside you," Garron whispered, his voice thick with a sudden, dark lust that made her lower belly pool with sudden, betrayal-fueled wetness. "A pregnant human carrying a Frostwarden heir has absolute immunity under pack law."

Briony’s mouth dropped open, her eyes locked onto his dark lips. Before she could let out the scream of fury building in her throat, a sharp, frantic scratching sounded at the heavy oak door of the den.

Jessamine’s panicked voice cut through the thick, charged air from the hallway outside. "Garron! Open the door! Marshal Calder just arrived at the front gates with Elric Ravenscar—they have an eviction warrant signed by Lady Eirlys herself!"