003

Elowen came back to herself slowly, like she was being dragged up from deep water.

The first thing she noticed was the smell.

Sweet. Thick. Almost suffocating.

Chocolate.

Her nose wrinkled faintly as her senses struggled to catch up with her body. Her head throbbed, a dull, pulsing ache that spread from her temple down to her jaw. When she tried to move, pain flared sharply across her face, and memory hit all at once—the glass, the spit, the punch.

Her eyes snapped open.

The light stabbed into them immediately.

Too bright. Way too bright.

She hissed under her breath and squeezed them shut again, blinking rapidly until the blur settled into something clearer. When she forced them open again, slower this time, the room came into focus piece by piece.

White. Cold. Wide.

Lights hung overhead—too many of them—casting a harsh glow over everything. The kind of brightness that didn’t warm, didn’t comfort. It exposed.

Her chest tightened as she shifted slightly—and felt the ropes.

Her wrists were tied behind the chair, pulled tight enough to restrict movement completely. Her ankles were bound too, legs fixed to the legs of the chair.

Her breathing sharpened and her gaze dropped.

The dress. Not the one she wore at the Manor. This was different… silk.

It felt soft, expensive and clean.

Her pale blond hair fell over her shoulders, brushed out, smooth. Her skin felt different too—oiled, perfumed.

Cleaned and prepared.

Her stomach turned.

“…are you certain this is necessary?” a voice was saying, his tone quieter, less rigid than Zevrian’s but still controlled.

“Yes.” another voice answered from across the room.

Zevrian.

Her head snapped up.

He sat at the far end of a long table, the distance between them deliberate. The chair he occupied was large, carved, almost throne-like. The table stretched between them like a barrier, polished to a mirror shine.

And he wasn’t alone.

Another man sat to his right. The resemblance hit her instantly.

Not identical—but close enough.

Same sharp features. Same composed posture. Same black hair.

Her eyes narrowed slightly.

Another one.

“This is not a minor decision.” The man continued. He was wearing glasses, which he adjusted from time to time. A habit.

“I’m aware.” Zevrian sounded bored.

The man leaned back slightly, studying him. “And you believe she is the one?”

Zevrian didn’t hesitate. “I do.”

Elowen’s stomach tightened.

The one for what?

Her fingers curled uselessly against the rope.

Then Zevrian’s gaze shifted and landed on her.

Held.

“She’s awake.”

The other man turned and when his eyes met hers, something changed.

It was subtle at first. A flicker.

Then his eyes slid shut for just a second.

When they opened again, something in them had shifted.

Sharpened and focused.

Elowen’s breath caught when he moved.

Fast. Too fast.

One second he was across the table, the next—

He was in front of her. Right in front of her.

The air around her shifted, pressure building as his presence closed in. He crouched slightly, his gaze locked onto hers with something intense, something consuming.

Her heart slammed against her ribs.

“What the…”

“Mate.”

The word came out low. Desperate.

Elowen froze and her pulse stuttered. What?

Behind him, she heard a faint sound.

Zevrian looked as laughing. Not loud. Just a chuckle.

“Told you,” he said. “Elowen,” he said calmly, “this is Ellion. The fifth brother.”

He knows her name.

Ellion stilled, like the word had just caught up with him. His expression flickered, something like realization—or shock—passing through it.

Then he stepped back slowly. Like he was forcing himself to.

He turned and walked back to his seat, sitting down again, though his posture had changed. Less composed now. Slightly shaken.

Zevrian watched him for a second before speaking again.

Her throat felt tight and her gaze flicked between them.

Five. There were five of them.

The thought barely settled before the doors opened.

Two men walked in mid-conversation.

“…not saying it’s impossible, I’m saying—”

They stopped.

Both of them at the exact same time and their eyes landed on her.

And just like before, that shift.

That flicker.

“Mate." They both chorused.

One of them—taller, broader, with a darker expression—went completely still.

The other…

Elowen’s breath left her in a sharp, broken exhale. Her voice came before she could stop it.

“Sorrian.” The name tore out of her raw and esperate.

All eyes snapped to her. Then to him.

Sorrian went rigid as recognition settled in his eyes and for a split second, something real crossed his face.

Shock. Fear.

Then it was gone. Replaced with control.

Cold.

“I think you’re mistaken,” he said smoothly, his tone flat. “I’ve never seen you before.”

Elowen stared at him.

Her chest tightened so hard it hurt.

“No,” she said, her voice shaking despite herself. “No, that’s not true…”

“You’re confusing me with someone else,” he cut in, sharper now. “The Manor is full of gossip. I’m sure you’ve heard names.”

Zevrian’s gaze moved between them. “I don’t think she’s confused,” he said quietly.

Sorrian didn’t look at him. “Then she’s lying.”

“Then tell the truth,” Zevrian replied, his voice just as calm—but colder now. “Or I’ll make you.”

Tension snapped through the room.

Before it could break, the third brother moved. He had been quiet until now. Watching and observing.

He stepped forward and dropped into a crouch beside Elowen, close enough that she could feel the heat of him.

“Let’s not get distracted,” he said, his voice lower, rougher than the others. “We’re getting ahead of ourselves.”

He looked at her. Really looked at her.

There was something unsettling in it. Something dark.

“Draven,” he introduced. “Second brother.”

She didn’t respond because she really doesn't give a fuck.

Her eyes quickly went back to Sorrian.

Sorrian.

Memories hit her all at once.

His voice. His hands.

The way he used to look at her. The way he kissed her and made love to her.

The night everything ended.

She had mourned him. Cried for him in those cellars. She thought he was dead. Gone.

But he is right there. Alive.

And he is one of them. He is a werewolf.

A werewolf?

And a Damaris. A fucking Damaris.

Her stomach twisted violently.

Why didn’t he come for her?

If she really wasn't dreaming, and he survived, why didn't he come for her? Why didn't he look for her?

Does that mean that everything he ever said to her was a lie? About himself? About his family?

Her voice broke through before she could stop it. “Sorrian!”

The room went silent again.

He turned slowly and his composure cracked, just a little.

“Stop saying my name,” he snapped. “I told you—I don’t know you.”

Her hands strained against the ropes.

“You’re lying!”

Draven rose slowly, turning toward him.

“You went to the Manor?” he asked, his tone almost amused. “Didn’t think you’d stoop that low.”

Sorrian’s jaw tightened. He stepped forward. “Watch your mouth.”

Draven smirked. “Why? Hit a nerve?”

“I don’t sleep with human slaves,” Sorrian said, his voice hard. “No matter what you think of me.”

Elowen flinched. The words hit harder than they should have.

Draven’s eyes flicked to her, then back to him. “We’ll see.”

“I said I don’t know her.”

“And I said I’ll find out the truth.”

Zevrian’s voice cut through the tension like a blade. “Sit down. All of you.” It wasn’t loud, but it carried authority.

Sorrian stepped back.

Ellion shifted in his chair.

Draven rolled his eyes—but moved anyway, dropping into a chair closer to Elowen this time, stretching out like he owned the space.

Draven leaned back, glancing between them. “Doesn’t exactly thrill me,” he muttered, “having to share a woman with any of you.”

Elowen stiffened.

“What?” she snapped.

No one answered her.

Draven continued, “But if that’s what’s required, I’ll do my part.”

Ellion exhaled slowly. “That’s assuming she matches with Kaelen.”

Sorrian scoffed. “That’s not even the problem. What happens when he refuses? You know he will.”

Zevrian didn’t hesitate. “He won’t.”

Draven glanced at him. “And how are you so sure?”

“Because I made a deal.”

“With?” Ellion asked.

“Grand Alpha Sylas.”

That got a reaction from all of them.

Draven sat forward. “You what?”

Zevrian didn’t flinch. “His freedom. In exchange for cooperation.”

“That wasn’t your decision to make,” Draven said, his tone sharpening.

Zevrian met his gaze. “I’m the first son. It is exactly my decision to make.”

Draven laughed once. Cold. “Kaelen doesn’t deserve freedom.”

Ellion shook his head. “He made a mistake. It was a mistake.”

“A mistake?” Draven snapped. “He slaughtered thousands of his kind.”

“He lost control,” Ellion insisted.

“And he’s never apologized,” Draven shot back. “Never shown regret.”

Sorrian leaned back, crossing his arms. “He doesn’t need to be here. We can do this without him.”

“No,” Zevrian said. “We can’t.”

“Why not?” Sorrian pressed.

Zevrian’s gaze hardened slightly. “Because the bond requires all five.”

The doors suddenly opened again but this time, slower.

Two soldiers walked in first. Armed.

And then, him.

Chains dragged behind him with every step.

Neck to ankles. Wrists bound together.

But he walked like none of it mattered. Like the restraints were decoration.

His gaze swept the room once.

Slow.

Lazy.

A smile curved his lips. Not friendly. Dangerous.

Elowen’s chest tightened.

Something about him felt different.

His eyes flicked to her.

And held.

The room seemed to still around that moment.

Like everything had just shifted into something far more dangerous.

And Elowen knew—

Without anyone needing to say it.

This was him.

Kaelen.