A CRUEL IRONY

Anatolia laughed, blood dripping down her chin.

"You think I would tell you anything?" she said. "You think I would betray my people?"

Harolin looked down at her.

"I think you would do whatever it takes to survive," he said, "and I think that you are more interested in discovering the truth about me than you want to admit."

He then turned and walked away. Anatolia watched him go as her vision began to darken, and somewhere in the back of her mind, a small voice agreed with the Alpha King.  She was definitely more interested than she should be.

The Astengard Castle was unlike anything she had ever seen before.

Anatolia had seen it only on the maps that she had studied of Astengard's capital, Dhrakar. She already knew the layout of the entire castle by heart from her training. She also knew that it had stood for more than eight thousand years and had survived battle after battle because it was said to be protected by the Moon Goddess herself.

But knowing about a place and seeing it were two different things.

The castle was a fortress built with black stone and black metal. The walls were unnaturally high and thick. The gates were guarded by wolf warriors who looked like they could crush a human skull with their bare hands. At the center of the castle was a tower taller than anything else, with its tip buried in the clouds.

Anatolia was dragged through the gates, bound in silver chains.

The chains felt hot against her skin. Silver was poisonous only to wolves and not humans, but these chains seemed to have been enchanted with not only wolfsbane but also other herbs that made her head light and heavy at the same time.

She could barely walk or even think.  She was basically being dragged across the floor like a rag.

The throne room was packed to the brim with alphas and nobles from all across the Astengard who had gathered to witness her arrival.

Anatolia even recognized some of them from her old missions.

Lord Lorcan, the Alpha King's uncle, whose son she had killed during a mission on one of Astengard's strongholds. Then Lord Darrken, whose territory she had infiltrated two years ago and massacred half his pack. Then Lady Marisol, who no longer had a pack because of Anatolia.

They all wanted her head, making no effort to hide their hatred for the human.

"Kill the human filth!" someone shouted in the crowd.

"She murdered my son! Your cousin!"

Lord Lorcan's voice thundered above all the other voices. His eyes were sharp as he regarded her, then Harolin.

"She deserves to die!"

Anatolia's lips widened into a grin, feeling the satisfaction of the hatred in their eyes, in his eyes.

Yes, she had killed his son, Darius Draycott. He was a brutal alpha who had slaughtered an entire human village just to pastime.

It had taken her weeks to track him down and wait for the perfect moment before she pushed her silver sword right through his heart while he was asleep, and she had enjoyed every single moment of it.

But her satisfaction was short-lived as her eyes met Harolin Draycott, who was seated on his throne at the far end of the hall.

He raised his hand, and the room fell silent.

"I will question the prisoner alone," he announced.

"But, Your Majesty---" Lord Lorcan started.

"It is an order."

The Alpha King's command was final, but Lorcan hesitated, his face crumpling with anger. Still, he didn't argue. No one would dare.

Harolin stood up and descended from his throne.

He was dressed in black as usual, a dark tunic embroidered with silver thread. His black leather boots slapped against the stone floor as he walked closer.

His silver hair was pulled back from his face, tied into a bun behind his head, and those sharp golden eyes were fixed on Anatolia.

He looked exactly as he had in the temple, completely calm and controlled.  And it left Anatolia infuriated.

He finally stopped in front of her.

"Leave us," he ordered, and the room emptied in a few seconds.

When they were finally alone, Harolin pulled up a chair and sat down across from her, studying her for a long moment.

"You have been unconscious for three days," he said. "The healers said you should have died twice, but you didn't."

Anatolia tried to respond.

"The first time was during the battle," Harolin continued. "You lost so much blood that your heart should have stopped. And the second time was when the healers removed your armor. The corrupted wolfsbane you tried to use on me had seeped into your skin, and it should have killed you."

He paused.

"But it didn't. You healed faster than any human should be able to."

"What's your point?"

Anatolia clenched her fist.

"My point," Harolin said, "is that you're not ordinary. You're not just any human wolf slayer. There's something else about you. I can sense it, but I cannot identify it."

He leaned forward. And I want to know what it is."

"And I want to know why you're keeping me alive," Anatolia said.

Harolin smiled at her words. It was a cold, wolfish smile.

"Because you're valuable. I already told you."

"I'm a wolf slayer," Anatolia announced. "I've killed hundreds of your people. You should want me dead. "Your uncle is within his rights to want me dead, so why am I still breathing?"

Harolin's smile dropped.

"Because you're capable of breaking through Astengard's defenses, something no human has ever done in over a century, and because---"

He stopped himself before he finished his sentence.

"Because what?” Anatolia frowned.

Harolin didn't answer right away. His golden eyes searched her face as if looking for something. Then he suddenly grabbed her wrist, making her gasp. His grip was tight, and his fingers pressed against the wounds she had sustained during the battle. Blood seeped through the cuts, and Harolin pulled her hand toward him, sniffing the blood.

"What are you doing?" Anatolia demanded.

Harolin didn't answer. He was breathing hard now, his jaw clenched, and she felt him stiffen through his hold.

Beneath the blood and the wolfsbane that was smeared against her skin, there was another scent. A faint fragrance that had been haunting him since the moment they had first met.

It was a scent that made Harolin restless and made his wolf push against him with a restless need. It smelled like the moon and home, like a fated mate.

"No," Harolin whispered. "That can't be possible."