Chapter three: Chains and chandeliers

Selene’s POV

The cave was a damp, stinking hole—cold stone digging into my back, shackles chewing my wrists raw. I’d lost track of time, maybe hours, maybe days, slumped against that rusted ring like some kicked dog.

My braid was a tangled wreck, moonflowers long gone, and my silver gown was more blood and dirt than fabric now. My side throbbed where that wolf’s claws had ripped me open, a dull ache I couldn’t shake. I was a mess, yeah, but I wasn’t broken. Not yet.

Footsteps crunched outside—boots, not paws. I straightened, wincing as the iron bit deeper, and squinted into the dim light. Lucien stepped in, that bastard with his black leathers and ice-blue eyes, looking too damn calm for someone who’d just snatched me from my life. Two wolves followed behind him—Ragnar, the wiry creep with a smirk I wanted to claw off, and Vira, the braided one who smelled like moss and Sex for some reason.

“Rise and shine, princess,” Ragnar sneered, cracking his knuckles. “Time to move.”

“Call me princess again, and I’ll shove those knuckles where the light from the moon doesn't get to,” I snapped, voice hoarse but steady. He laughed, but Lucien’s hand shot up, silencing him like a whip crack.

“Enough,” Lucien said, low and sharp. “Unchain her.”

Vira moved fast, her claws clicking as she unlocked the cuffs. I yanked my wrists free, rubbing the red welts, and shot her a look—half thanks, half don’t-try-me. Lucien just watched, arms crossed, like he was sizing up a horse he’d bought. I stood, legs shaky but stubborn, and glared right back.

“What now? Another cave? A ditch? Or do you just toss me in a pit and call it a day?” My tone dripped acid—humor’s my shield when I’m this pissed.

Lucien’s mouth twitched, not quite a smile.

“Somewhere better. Move.”

They marched me out, Ragnar too close for comfort, Vira trailing like a shadow. The ravine air hit me—crisp, pine-heavy, with that faint whiff of blood still clinging from the chase. My gut churned, that weird heat flickering again, but I shoved it down. No time to figure out what’s frying my insides. A sleek black truck waited, engine rumbling—guess wolves drive too. Lucien shoved me into the back, climbing in beside me, while Ragnar took the wheel and Vira shotgun.

The ride was silent and bumpy, my head knocking against the window as we tore through the woods. I stared out, trees a dark smear, and muttered, “If this is your idea of a road trip, your Yelp reviews are gonna suck.” Lucien didn’t bite—just kept those cold eyes forward, jaw tight.

We pulled up to a mansion—sprawling, all stone and glass, perched on a hill like it owned the damn forest. My jaw didn’t drop, but it wanted to. This wasn’t some werewolf shack; it was money, power, the kind of place Dean would’ve drooled over. Ragnar parked, and Lucien hauled me out, his grip firm but not bruising. Weird.

Inside, it was all chandeliers and polished wood—ridiculous luxury for a guy who’d chained me to a cave wall.

He led me up a grand staircase, my bare feet slapping the marble, and into a room that screamed over the top: four-poster bed with silk sheets, a fireplace crackling, windows showing nothing but endless trees. A gilded cage, sure, but a cage.

Lucien stopped by the door, turning to face me. “This is yours now.”

I snorted, crossing my arms. “What, I get a spa day after the kidnapping on my bonding day? You’re a real gentleman, Lucien.”

His eyes narrowed, but his voice stayed even. “I don’t want to hurt you, Selene. That’s not the plan.”

“Oh, great. I feel so safe now. What’s the catch, huh? You gonna knit me socks next?”

He stepped closer, close enough that I could smell leather and something sharper—pine, maybe, or just him. “The catch is obedience. Absolute. You do what I say when I say it.”

I laughed, sharp and bitter. “Obedience? Me? Buddy, you snatched the wrong chick. I don’t roll over for anyone—especially not some sour-faced control freak with a fancy house.”

His jaw ticked, but his gaze softened—just a flicker, gone fast. “You’ll learn. Or you’ll suffer. Your choice.” He turned to leave, pausing. “Clean up. Clothes are in the wardrobe. We talk tomorrow.”

The door clicked shut, the lock snapping. I flipped it the bird, then flopped onto the bed, silk cool against my skin. My brain was in a tangle—why the mansion? Why the “don’t want to hurt you” line? And why’d my gut twist when he got close, like that heat wasn’t just anger? I groaned, muttering, “Selene, you’re losing it. He’s a kidnapper, A really good-looking one, but still a kidnapper.”

I raided the wardrobe—black jeans, a gray sweater, boots that fit too well. Creepy. After a shower in a bathroom bigger than my old den, I stood at the window, staring at the moon. That heat simmered, my nails tapping the glass, longer than yesterday. Something’s waking up in me, and I’m not sure I like it.

Lucien’s POV

She’s a damn wildfire, that Selene—burning through every plan I’ve got, and I can’t stop watching the flames. I leaned against the wall outside her room, the lock’s click still ringing in my ears, her voice bouncing around my skull.

“Sour-faced control freak.” Hmph. She’s got a mouth on her, sharper than any claw, and it’s digging under my skin in ways I didn’t expect.

I head downstairs, boots thudding on the marble, the mansion too quiet without her snapping back. Ragnar lounged by the fireplace, tossing a knife between his hands, that smirk of his begging for a punch. Vira perched on the couch, cleaning her claws, eyes flicking to me like she knew something.

“She settled?” Ragnar asked, not looking up.

“For now,” I said, voice flat. “Don’t test her. She’s not some pup to break.”

He snorted. “You’re soft on her already, huh? Thought this was revenge, not a courtship.”

My fist clenched, but I didn’t swing. “It’s revenge. Dean’s the target—her mate’s pride, his pack’s future. She’s the key, not the kill.”

Vira tilted her head, voice low. “She’s got fight. More than I figured. You sure she won’t turn that howl on us?”

I froze, just for a second. That howl—Selene’s mother had ripped my world apart with it, spared me once, then took my sister in the fallout. I’d seen the glow in her eyes and heard the earth crack. If Selene’s got even a spark of that… I shook it off.

“She doesn’t know. Not yet. We keep her tame, we’re fine.”

But tame? Her? I’d seen her claw that wolf, nails too sharp for a dormant. She’s waking up, and it’s stirring something in me—something I don’t want to name. I poured a whiskey, the burn steadying me, and stared into the fire. Her defiance shouldn’t pull me in—it should piss me off. So why’s my chest tight when I think of those green eyes glaring back?

I’d built this place—stone and glass, a fortress to prove I’m more than the rogue they left me as. Dean’s father gutted my family, scattered my pack, and this mansion’s my spit in his face. Bringing Selene here wasn’t just strategy—it felt right like she belonged in these walls. Stupid thought. She’s a tool, a weapon to wield against Ironclaw. Nothing more.

Ragnar twirled his knife. “She’s trouble. You smell it—blood and fury. You really think she’ll bend?”

“She will,” I said, sharper than I meant. “Or I’ll make her.”

But as I downed the drink, her voice echoed—“I don’t roll over.” Damn it, I need to fuck someone now, she’s already under my skin, a itch I can’t scratch. I caught her scent lingering—blood, moonflowers, something wild—and it hit me harder than the whiskey.

Revenge is the plan, but she’s turning it into a fight I didn’t sign up for.