CHAPTER 3 – Bound in Shadows

Selara’s POV

The fortress of Bloodfang rose before me like the bones of some great beast, jagged and unyielding, its towers piercing the starless sky. Black stone glistened wet under the moonlight, and crimson banners hung like veins against its body, pulsing in the wind. Every howl that echoed across its battlements reverberated in my ribs, a hymn both reverent and damning.

I sat stiff in the saddle of Ezekiel’s warhorse, my wrists raw from the ropes, my breath sharp in my lungs. Around us, wolves padded silently—some in fur, some in flesh—their eyes glowing amber and gold. They looked at me as though I were a stolen relic dragged into their temple. Some bowed their heads as Ezekiel rode past. Others pressed their hands to their chests, murmuring his name like a prayer.

But none of them looked at me kindly.

Their stares slid over my body with curiosity laced in contempt. They saw me as an intruder. Worse—as prey.

And then I saw her again.

Ravena.

She stood on the stone steps that led to the fortress gates, clad in scarlet silk that clung to her curves like molten sin. Her black hair gleamed, cascading over one shoulder, and her lips curved in a smile that held no warmth. She dipped her chin to Ezekiel, but her eyes—sharp, glittering, hungry—raked over me with open hostility.

“Another pretty bird for the cage,” she murmured, her voice carrying even across the distance. Wolves around her chuckled low, as if she had said something clever.

My stomach tightened, but Ezekiel didn’t glance her way. He dismounted, lifted me from the saddle as though I weighed nothing, and carried me across the threshold of his fortress.

The doors groaned shut behind us.

Inside, the halls were lit by torches that burned with an eerie crimson glow. Shadows crawled like living things across the vaulted ceilings. Tapestries depicted wolves devouring enemies, blood soaking the soil, and an alpha with obsidian hair standing above mountains of corpses. Ezekiel’s likeness, embroidered in every thread.

“This is your home now,” Ezekiel said, his voice rolling through the stone corridors like thunder contained.

I wanted to spit at him, scream, run—but the weight of his presence pressed down harder than the guards flanking us. His hand lingered on my hip, guiding me down endless hallways until we reached a chamber.

It was beautiful in the way of cages: velvet drapes, silken sheets, a fireplace glowing low. But my eyes caught immediately on the heavy chain bolted to the wall. A steel cuff lay waiting on the end.

My heart thudded painfully as one of his wolves snapped the shackle around my ankle. The iron was cold, merciless. The length was just enough to move about the chamber, but never enough to reach the door.

“Protection,” Ezekiel said softly, as though reading my thoughts. “And a reminder.”

I bit down on my tongue until I tasted blood. Protection? No. Imprisonment.

When the others left, silence thickened like a second chain. I paced the room, the clink of the shackle following me like a cruel echo. I thought of my pack, of the forest, of freedom. I thought of my mother’s voice telling me to run far and fast if ever the shadows came for me.

And yet here I was. Bound.

Hours passed. Or maybe minutes. Time warped in this place.

The door creaked open.

I froze.

Ezekiel stepped inside, the firelight painting his face in harsh gold and black. He didn’t speak at first. He didn’t come to me. He simply sat in a carved chair near the bed, his broad frame sinking into the shadows.

And watched.

Every breath I drew, I felt the weight of his gaze on my chest. Every shift of my body beneath the blankets, I felt the brush of his eyes against my skin. He sat like a predator guarding prey — patient, absolute, inevitable.

“Why?” My voice cracked the silence, brittle. “Why bring me here? Why chain me like an animal?”

His lips curved, not quite a smile. “Because you are mine.”

Heat rushed up my neck, anger and something darker twined together. “I am not yours.”

“You will be.”

His words landed with the certainty of prophecy.

I turned from him, curled onto the bed, willing myself to sleep. But sleep came like drowning—slow, heavy, inescapable. And when it did, it brought no mercy.

I dreamed.

In the dream, I felt him. Not sitting in the chair, but beside me. His hand brushed my throat, slow and deliberate, fingertips grazing the frantic pulse there. His breath ghosted against my ear, hot, ragged, claiming. His weight pressed into the mattress as he leaned over me, trapping me in silken sheets and shadows.

“Mine,” he whispered in the dream, his mouth trailing fire down my neck.

I writhed, my body betraying me, torn between terror and the molten ache that coiled low in my belly. My thighs clenched, my lips parted in a sound I would never admit to in the waking world.

His hands in the dream slid lower, rough palms branding my waist, my hips—so close to where I ached, too close. My back arched, desperate and horrified all at once.

And then—

I jolted awake.

The chamber was still.

Ezekiel hadn’t moved. He still sat in the chair, his eyes glowing faintly in the firelight, fixed on me.

But something in the air told me he knew. Knew what I had dreamed. Knew the traitorous heat still lingering in my veins.

Shame scorched me, but so did the memory of phantom touches I hadn’t truly felt. My breath came fast, shallow, as though I’d run miles.

Ezekiel rose, slow as a storm building. He stepped to the edge of the bed, his shadow falling over me. He didn’t touch me—not yet. But his presence pressed down, heavy and inescapable.

“You can hate me,” he said, his voice low, reverberating in the marrow of my bones. “Curse me. Fight me.” His gaze flicked to the chain on my ankle, then back to my face. “But you will never escape me.”

The fire cracked behind him, throwing sparks. My heart hammered, my throat tight.

And yet—beneath the fear, beneath the fury—something inside me trembled with a hunger I could not name.

I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms, willing myself to remember: I was not his. I would never be his.

But as his words coiled around me like chains of their own, I wasn’t sure if I believed myself.