CHAPTER 3: MARKED WITHOUT A MARK

The summons came at dawn.

A black car with tinted windows idled outside my apartment building. Marcus stood beside it, his winter-river eyes impossible to read. "The Alpha requires your presence at the quarterly leadership summit," he said. It wasn't an invitation.

"I'm not leadership," I said, my voice still rough with sleep. "I analyze data."

"Today, you are a guest of honor. Do not keep him waiting."

The car didn't take me to the silver tower. It drove across the river, up into the wooded hills where the city's oldest money hid behind iron gates. We stopped before a stone mansion that looked less like a house and more like a fortress. Blackthorne Manor.

Marcus led me inside. The entrance hall was huge, with a ceiling lost in shadows. The air smelled of old stone, pine, and something else something wild and musky.

And it was full of wolves.

Not in their fur, but in their eyes. Thirty or forty beautifully dressed men and women stood in small groups, holding crystal glasses. I recognized a famous tech CEO, a media owner, a celebrity surgeon. But here, they were something else. Their movements were too smooth. Their eyes tracked me as I entered, and every conversation died.

The silence in my head didn't just hum it roared. It was a hungry void, swallowing the room's invisible energy. A woman across the room dropped her glass. It shattered on the stone floor. A man in a tailored suit took a step back from me, a low sound catching in his throat.

I was a human-shaped bomb, and I'd just gone off.

Dr. Thorne appeared at my elbow, his face pale. "You shouldn't be here," he whispered, panic in his voice. "This is for pack only."

Before I could answer, a deep gong sounded. The sound vibrated in my bones. Everyone turned.

Rhydian descended the grand staircase.

He wore a suit the color of a midnight sky. He moved like he owned the ground, the air, the very attention of every person in the room. His pale gold eyes found me immediately. He walked through the parted crowd and stopped right in front of me. The silent bubble around me tightened until I could barely breathe.

"Ms. Vale," he said, his voice carrying to every corner of the still room. "Thank you for joining us."

"I wasn't aware I had a choice," I said, the words slipping out. A few people gasped at my tone.

His lips twitched, almost a smile. "There is always a choice. Today, yours is to be seen."

He raised a hand. A servant moved forward, holding a velvet cushion. On it lay a collar. But not of metal or leather it was made of twisted, living-looking silver vines, set with a single dark gem. It was ancient and savage.

A sharp breath swept the room. I didn't understand, but the shock and anger that followed were physical things.

"This," Rhydian announced, speaking to the room but looking only at me, "is the Torc of the First Alpha. Worn by the mate of every Blackthorne leader for eight centuries. A symbol of the bond. Of absolute claim and protection." He paused, letting the history of the thing crush the air. "It will not be worn today."

He took the torc. He held it up, letting the light catch the silver. Then, slowly, he closed his fist around it. He hid the ancient symbol in his hand.

"Nyxara Vale stands under my protection," he declared, and his voice changed. It became deeper, edged with a power that wasn't human. It was an Alpha's command. "Not by the old laws. Not by a bond decreed by instinct. But by my will. My choice. She is mine."

He opened his fist. The torc lay in his palm, gleaming but untouched.

"My word is her mark. My will is her shield. To challenge her presence is to challenge me. To touch her is to declare war on this pack."

Silence. Then, chaos.

A man with fiery red hair shoved forward. His eyes were blazing amber. "Rhydian! This is madness! You bring this… this nothing into our sanctum? You spit on the torc! You spit on the bond!"

"Kieran." Rhydian turned his head. The movement was slow, final. "Do you challenge me?"

It was a formal question. A death sentence question.

Kieran trembled with rage. He looked from Rhydian's calm face to mine, his expression pure hatred. Finally, with a wrenching shudder, he dropped his head, baring his throat. He submitted, but the fury rolled off him in waves.

Rhydian's gaze swept the room. One by one, under the weight of his will, people looked down. They submitted. But the air sizzled with their anger and confusion.

He had marked me without a mark. Claimed me without a claim. He'd made me the most protected and most hated person in the room with a few sentences.

He turned back to me. "You will stay at the manor as my guest. Marcus will show you to your rooms."

It wasn't a request. It was my new reality.

As Marcus led me away, up the grand staircase, I felt every hostile eye on my back. The whispers broke out like poison behind me.

From a shadowed doorway, a woman watched me pass. She was stunning, with dark hair and bright blue eyes. She smiled, but it was a snake's smile.

"Welcome to the den, little silence," she murmured, her voice sweet and deadly. "Let's see how long his will can keep you from being torn apart."

The door to a lavish bedroom suite closed behind me. It had a lock. I was inside a gilded cage, in the heart of the wolf's lair.

I walked to the window. It looked out over the forest. My reflection in the glass showed a woman caught in a storm she didn't understand.

The mark was invisible, but it was there. And I knew, with cold certainty, that the 30-day clock wasn't just ticking for me anymore.

It was ticking for all of us.