Gates of Hell

Anya's POV

The journey in the back seat of Azkarion’s armored SUV was in itself an exercise in psychological torture. During the two-hour drive north into the deep wilderness where the fortress of the Hunters pack stood, neither of them had spoken a single word. He had simply stared out the window at the forest landscape with an unchanging, cold expression, while I focused on pressing the small vial of my chemical blocker inside my coat pocket, praying that the extra dose I had taken before leaving would be enough for the welcome committee.

When the vehicle finally passed through the imposing wrought-iron gates that marked the Blackwood estate, my breath caught in my throat. The main mansion was not a house; it was a fortress of dark stone and fine wood, built into the slope of the mountain and surrounded by colossal pines that blocked most of the sunlight. The place exuded an aura of antiquity, power, and danger that made me instinctively hunch my shoulders.

“Keep your back straight, Anya,” Azkarion murmured in a cold tone, without even looking at me. “The moment that door opens, the omega servants and perimeter guards will record every single one of your movements. If you slouch, they will smell your submission before you even step out of the car.”

“I am ready,” I lied, forcing my spine to straighten as the vehicle stopped in front of the main staircase.

The driver opened my door. As I stepped out, the cold mountain air hit my face, carrying the scent of damp earth, pine, and the unmistakable territorial trail of hundreds of shapeshifters living in the surrounding area. A group of servants dressed in dark uniforms was already waiting at the entrance, their heads slightly bowed as a sign of respect, but their curious, sharp eyes were fixed on my figure.

Azkarion stepped out of the car and, with a perfectly choreographed movement, wrapped his firm, heavy arm around my waist, pulling me abruptly against his side. His body heat was overwhelming, but the pressure of his fingers on my hip was a silent warning: do not move, do not fail.

“Welcome, Alpha, future Luna,” said an older woman with gray hair, stepping forward with a perfect bow. “The rooms have been prepared according to your orders.”

“Thank you, Martha,” Azkarion replied, his voice resonating with that unyielding authority that made everyone around him lower their eyes. “Take Anya’s luggage directly to my suite. From today on, she will share my quarters.”

A barely perceptible murmur spread among the staff. In the world of shapeshifters, for an Alpha to bring a female directly into his private sanctuary before the Ancestral Council ceremony was a declaration of absolute possession. I simply swallowed hard, aware that the walls of this mansion must have eyes and ears everywhere.

We climbed the stone spiral staircase to the east wing of the mansion. When Azkarion opened the heavy double doors of his suite, I found myself in a vast space decorated in shades of gray, black, and dark wood. There was a stone fireplace roaring with fire, a huge window overlooking the dense forest, and in the center of the room, an imposing king-size bed with black silk sheets.

The doors closed behind us, leaving us alone. I let out a trembling sigh and stepped back a few paces from him, rubbing my arms to warm myself.

“There is only one bed,” I said, raising an eyebrow as I pointed to the furniture, trying to keep my tone practical. “The contract said we would share the room due to surveillance, but I assumed there would be a sofa or an extra bed.”

“You assumed wrong, little human,” Azkarion replied slowly, taking off his heavy black coat and throwing it over a chair. “The omegas clean this room every day. If they see a second set of sheets on the sofa, or if the scent of your blocker does not permeate my pillows, Gideon will know this marriage is a farce before sunrise. In this house, we sleep together. It is a non-negotiable rule.”

“Sleeping next to a predator who could break my neck if he has a nightmare was not part of my plans,” I protested, crossing my arms over my chest.

Azkarion walked slowly toward me, stopping at a distance so close that I could smell the scent of pine and winter from his skin. He leaned slightly forward, forcing me to look at him.

“If I wanted to break your neck, Anya, I would have done it already in the club,” he whispered, with a hint of dark amusement in his gray eyes. “I do not have nightmares. But you should be more concerned about keeping your human heartbeat under control. The guards in the hallway have hearing sharp enough to hear the beating of your heart from the other side of the wood if you get agitated.”

I fell silent, holding his gaze. I knew he was right; I was at a total disadvantage, in a hostile territory where my life depended on his protection and my own ability to act.

“Very well,” I finally said, stepping back. “We will share the bed. But keep your claws to your side.”

“Believe me, human, you are not my type,” he replied coldly, turning to face the window overlooking the forest.

The rest of the afternoon passed in tense silence. A pack designer arrived to take my measurements and left a pair of high-fashion dresses in dark green and black—the official colors of the Hunters. I also spent two hours memorizing the names of the elders of the Ancestral Council thanks to folders Azkarion left on the table.

As night fell, the atmosphere became even denser. The mansion fell into a deathly silence, broken only by the crackling of the fire in the fireplace and the whistling of the wind against the windows. I changed in the bathroom and came out wearing a loose satin t-shirt, feeling completely vulnerable. Azkarion was already in bed, leaning against the wooden headboard with his torso bare, revealing a collection of claw and bite scars that marked his tanned, flawless skin.

I slipped under the black silk sheets, staying as close as possible to the left edge of the bed, with my back turned to him. The heat radiating from his body was like a radiator in the middle of winter, a constant intrusion on my senses.

“Try to sleep,” I heard his low voice in the dim light. “Tomorrow is the official presentation to the inner circle. The banquet will be a minefield.”

“I am trying,” I murmured, closing my eyes.

Minutes passed. The night silence was absolute, heavy, almost unnatural. Just when I felt my eyelids growing heavy and physical exhaustion taking over, Azkarion’s body tensed instantly beside me, turning hard as rock.

Before I could react or ask what was happening, his hand closed over my mouth, stifling any sound, while with his other hand he pulled me abruptly by the arm, dragging me toward the center of the bed and pressing my back against his bare chest. Panic flooded me; I tried to struggle, but his grip was like steel.

“Do not move,” he hissed in my ear, in a tone so low and lethal that it made my blood run cold. His gray eyes glinted with a golden flash in the darkness. “Someone is on the private balcony of the suite. And they did not come to leave flowers.”