CHAPTER TWO

CHAPTER TWO

I woke in a dimly lit room, the scent of smoke and pine clinging to the air like an uninvited guest.

Rough wood beams lined the ceiling, and soft golden light filtered through linen curtains. The warmth from a nearby fireplace wrapped around me like a blanket. It smelled clean. Earthy. Masculine.

Like him.

Memories of last night slammed into me. My heart thundered.

I shot upright—and pain exploded in my shoulder and abdomen.

I gasped, biting down a scream.

“Careful,” said a voice beside me.

I whipped my head toward the sound, nearly spraining my neck. An older woman stood there, tall, olive-skinned, with long hair braided down her back. She held a basin of water and a washcloth. Her face? Completely unreadable.

“You’re safe,” she said, setting the bowl down.

I narrowed my eyes. “Define safe.”

A humorless smile tugged at her lips. “Alive. Warm. Not bleeding out in the forest. That’s a good start.”

I threw off the blanket and swung my legs over the edge of the bed, ignoring the fire in my muscles. I looked down—bandaged legs, bare skin, a shirt that wasn’t mine.

A reminder of everything.

My claws nearly shredded the mattress. “Who undressed me?”

“You were unconscious. Bleeding. Do you prefer infection?” she asked dryly.

“I prefer consent.”

Her expression didn’t change. “No one disrespected you. I’m the healer. You were safe in my hands.”

I wanted to believe her.

But my wolf didn’t trust anyone—not with my body. Not even with my name.

“Where is he?” I hissed.

“You’ll see soon enough,” she said, lifting the bowl. “Try not to tear your stitches proving how tough you are.”

She left.

The second the door clicked shut, I stood. Weak, shaky—but standing.

My wolf howled in protest, but I pushed through the ache. The room was too tidy. Windows are large enough to escape without shattering glass. The door? Heavy. Thick. Probably locked.

Trapped.

My chest tightened.

Then the door opened.

And there he was.

Alpha Kael.

He filled the doorway like a shadow—tall, bare-chested, storm-gray eyes locked on me like I was a puzzle he meant to break open.

Doesn’t he own a shirt?

“Think you can keep me here?” I snapped, straightening.

“I’m not keeping you,” he said smoothly. “I’m letting you heal.”

“Same thing.”

“You collapsed at my feet. Bleeding.”

“And that gives you the right to strip me? Lock me up?”

“You’re not locked in.”

I stormed past him, yanked the door open, and glared down the hallway. Two guards stood casually at either end.

“Really?”

“They’re for protection. You’re a guest, not a prisoner.”

“Don’t insult me. I know a gilded cage when I see one.”

His jaw twitched. Just slightly. But I saw it.

“I saved your life.”

“I didn’t ask you to.”

“You were dying.”

“Then you should’ve let me die.”

The words sliced through the air like a blade. I didn’t flinch.

He stepped forward, slow. Controlled. Inches away.

“You don’t mean that,” he murmured.

“You don’t know me.”

“Not yet.”

His gaze flicked to my lips, then back to my eyes. I hated how my wolf stirred inside me—confused, tempted.

“You don’t get to play savior,” I said. “You don’t get to wrap me in soft sheets and call it safety.”

“I never said I was your savior.”

“Then what do you want?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he turned, walking to the window. Rain dripped from his hair down the scars across his back—long, brutal reminders of battles fought. Or won.

Finally, he said, “You’re not the only one fate has cursed.”

I froze.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He faced me again, slower this time.

“You think I wanted this bond?” he asked. “You think I chose a half-dead rogue with fire in her eyes and blood on her hands?”

“Then reject me.”

His jaw clenched. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“I do,” I snapped. “This bond doesn’t make me yours.”

He stepped closer again—quieter, more dangerous now. Like a predator circling prey.

“You want freedom. I understand. But freedom without direction is just destruction.”

My throat tightened. “I’ve been surviving alone since birth. I don’t need your help.”

“And where did that get you?” he asked.

I slapped him.

Hard.

His head turned slightly from the blow, but he didn’t retaliate. His arms stayed at his sides. Controlled.

“Don’t speak to me like I’m weak,” I said, voice trembling. “You have no idea what I’ve lost.”

“I know what loss tastes like,” he said calmly. “But if you keep fighting everything, you’ll lose yourself next.”

I turned my back on him. My fists clenched. My breath hitched in my throat, the sting of unshed tears burning behind my eyes.

But I refused to let them fall.

“You don’t get to break me down just to build me in your image,” I whispered. “That’s not strength. That’s control.”

Silence.

Then I heard the door open.

“You’ll have clothes by morning. And food. When you’re strong enough, we’ll talk again.”

“I don’t want to talk.”

“I wasn’t asking.”

The door shut behind him.

And I stood there—angry, shaking… but mostly furious at myself.

Because a part of me didn’t want to leave.

A part of me felt safe in his hands.