mate

The days had slowly bled into each other, and the only proof that time was passing at all was the single small window near the ceiling, letting in slivers of light I'd learned to count by.

I sat close to the wall, knees pulled to my chest, the pain at the back of my head throbbing hard where the soldier had struck me. I could barely sleep through the days I spent in that cell.

I wasn't the only one there. Five others shared the space with me — two males, three females. One of the females was human; the rest were werewolves like me.

Blood and dirt marred their skin, a record of however many days they'd spent in this cell waiting for judgment day, when they'd be killed. I shivered. Some of them had been beaten beyond recognition, faces swollen and split open.

The prisoners were no more than thirty, if that. One of them, a girl with hollow eyes, finally asked why I was here.

"I nearly killed the crowned prince," I said. "Lucian."

Gasps rippled through the cell. Wide eyes turned toward me, prisoners glancing at one another before one of them breathed, "You nearly killed the Lycan prince?"

"Surprise, aren't you," I scoffed.

Voices rose into murmurs. Someone finally asked, "Is he dead?"

"No. He was unconscious for some time. If I'd known he wasn't dead, I would have shot him dead myself."

My brother was in a cell somewhere in this place too — likely dead, given how many prisoners they executed every single day. A tear slipped free before I could stop it, and then I was crying, quietly, alone in that corner.

"Everything is going to be okay," the girl closer to me said.

"When?" It felt like that was all I'd been hearing my whole life, and yet my parents were gone. Sara was gone. Even furious as I still was at her betrayal, I never would have wished death on her. My little sister was dead. More tears came, and I didn't try to stop them.

Suddenly the prison gate groaned open. When I lifted my head, a Lycan guard stood at the entrance.

"You," the guard said, pointing at me. "On your feet."

I struggled upright, legs quivering as he gripped my arm and dragged me out. I felt so weak that if it hadn't been for his weight hauling me forward, I would have collapsed.

"Where are you taking me?" I asked, brushing a strand of matted hair from my face. My throat was so dry it felt like sandpaper.

The halls echoed with the guards' footsteps behind us as they led me past another corridor.

Light spilled from chandeliers overhead, brightening the place. Through a window I heard werewolf slaves crying out as they were tortured, the crack of a whip drawing each scream. It was Blackthorne's brand of brutality reserved for slave prisoners. Some were here for theft or some other petty act of survival, but lately more and more rebels had been dragged through these gates.

My mind drifted to my brother, and I shuddered, imagining what he must have endured. What if he was already dead, like so many other werewolves? Sickness coiled tight in my stomach.

At last we stopped before a red door. The guard holding me jerked his chin toward the two stationed at the entrance, and they pulled it open.

I fought against his grip with whatever strength I had left, and he frowned. "Would you rather go back to that pit, waiting to be executed?"

"Perhaps if you'd shed some light on what's about to happen, I wouldn't feel the need to resist." I observed him. Was he the soldier from that night? I could barely tell anymore.

"You'll find out soon enough," he said.

Oh, Moon Goddess. He was going to kill me. Just a different kind of death. Sweat broke over my skin, and I started to shake.

The door groaned open and the giant Lycan iron throne came into view. The throne was carved in the shape of a savage Lycan. The grandeur of it felt like a slap to my face. It was undeniable proof of how much they'd profited from our suffering.

"Your royal highness," the guard growled, shoving me forward. I hit the ground hard, groaning as I tried to balance myself. When I straightened, I found dozens of guards stationed at every corner of the room.

"Kneel before the king," the guard behind me ordered.

Lightheaded, my body heavy and unwilling, I knelt and faced the throne. Lycan King Malric sat upon the stone seat, and beside him, on a smaller wooden throne, sat his son — the heir, Lucian.

My heart slammed against my ribs at the sight of the man responsible for every tragedy that had gutted my life. Rage boiled through my blood, and I forced a breath, forced myself calm. These men were the reason my sister and, most likely, my brother were no longer alive. Had they dragged me here for the same purpose — to finish what that soldier had started?

I thought about limping forward, wrapping my hands around Lucian's throat. Why hadn't I finished him when I had the chance? If I'd killed him, at least my mind would be clear now that I'd already lost everyone else.

I turned to the King. His face gave nothing away, but I could feel the weight of his stare as surely as I could feel the guards at every corner, waiting for the order to end me.

When he finally spoke, his voice was cold, deep. "You are Rosewyn Ashford," he said. "A werewolf rebel."

I stared back at him in silence.

"Werewolf rebels have killed many of my people over the years. Your parents were rebels too, once — they destroyed property, tried to flee Blackthorne. And a week ago, you attempted to murder my son."

I swallowed hard.

"Do you know why you're still alive? Do you?"

"I don't care," I said. What did it matter now, with my family gone? Wasn't death the better option? "I'm not afraid of you. Or any Lycan in this room. You don't scare me."

"You're nothing more than a leech I could scrape off my boot," he said, glaring at me with open disgust. "The only reason you're still breathing is because I've found you useful.”

What could I possibly offer the King? A slave in his mines? His palace? What?

"I'm offering you to my son. As his breeding vessel — to carry the future heir of Blackthorne."

It took a long moment for the words to register. When they did, I snapped my head toward the crowned prince.

Like a bolt of lightning tearing through my blood, a tingling sparked at the scar on my waist and spread through my body until it felt like my skin might melt right off my bones. Something pulled at the center of my chest, dragging me forward — toward him. I looked up, my stomach clenching around the fluttering feeling rising inside me, and my eyes widened with shock as they locked onto the prince's red ones.

Mate.