Chapter Two

Alpha Kieran Blackwood.

His presence sucked the warmth out of the room. He didn’t need to say a word; his gaze did all the speaking. Cold, sharp, and piercing, like it could see through skin, flesh, bone, straight into whatever was left of my soul.

His dark eyes flicked over me, unreadable, indifferent, like I was nothing more than a transaction. A name on paper. A deal sealed.

Alpha Kieran stood well over six feet, his body carved from years of relentless battles, not just training. His features were sharp and unforgiving—high cheekbones, a strong, chiseled jawline dusted with stubble, and a jagged scar slashing across his right brow, disappearing into his hairline like a permanent reminder of violence. It didn’t mar his face; it completed it.

But it was his eyes that rooted me to the spot—crystal green, cold and piercing, like shards of ice buried deep in a winter forest. They held no warmth, no flicker of kindness, just an emptiness that swallowed everything whole.

His scent hit me next, dark and crisp like pine after a storm, laced with something colder—metallic, like blood on steel. 

Nyx stirred.

“Mine,” She growled, wild and fierce but I shoved her down. Our mate can never be Kieran.

He didn’t speak right away. Just stood there, staring, his expression carved from stone. Then his jaw flexed, and when he finally opened his mouth, his voice was rough, like gravel dragged across concrete.

"Is this her?" he asked, his gaze never shifting from mine, as if I wasn’t even worth the courtesy of using my name.

My father scoffed behind me; his tone dismissive. "Yes. Take her."

Kieran’s eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn’t spare my father a glance. Instead, he stepped forward, his boots thudding heavily against the floor, every step a silent threat.

“Get dressed and meet me in the ceremonial hall.” He ordered before turning to leave.

His voice was deep and cold. He didn’t need to yell but the way he spoke left no room for disobedience.

My legs moved before I could think, as if his words had pulled invisible strings, forcing me to stand.

I stumbled towards the bathroom and washed quickly, the cold water stinging my skin with every touch. With trembling fingers, I combed through my tangled hair, crying as I pulled out the knots. I braided it loosely, trying to make it look presentable. 

“Elara you're strong, you can do this,” I said to myself trying hard not to cry.

I searched through the small wooden chest at the foot of my bed and found my mother’s old white gown she wore at her wedding. The fabric was faded with time, the lace frayed at the edges, but still as beautiful, like the memory of her.

I slipped it on, the material cool against my skin, the faint scent of her clinging to it.

With a deep breath, I stepped out of my room, my bare feet meeting the cold floor. Each creak of the stairs sounded louder than the last as I descended, the weight of the gown and the ceremony ahead pressing down on me with every step.

***

The ceremonial hall was already packed when I arrived.

Wolves stood in neat rows, their faces blending—a mix of blank stares and barely hidden curiosity. The whispers were like background noise, soft enough to pretend they weren’t meant for me, but sharp enough to feel like tiny cuts.

"Is that her?"

"The mute girl?"

I kept my eyes straight ahead, focusing on nothing and everything at the same time. My feet were numb against the cold stone floor, but it wasn’t the chill making me shiver.

And then I saw him. My father.

He stood at the front with the council, arms crossed, posture stiff like he was holding himself together with nothing but sheer pride. His face was the same as always—blank, distant like he’d forgotten how to feel anything at all.

But when his eyes met mine, they dropped.

Just for a second.

I caught it—the smallest shift. His gaze landed on the dress. Her dress.

His jaw tightened, a flicker of something passing over his face. Pain? Regret? No. It was gone too fast to be either. Like it had no right to be there in the first place.

He just looked away.

And somehow, that hurt more than if he’d said something cruel.

I made myself keep walking, step after step, until I reached the altar, standing exactly where they wanted me.

Kieran stood at the altar, towering and imposing, exuding an aura that scared everyone around him - no warmth, just indifference.

At the base of the stairs stood two men, unmistakably part of Kieran’s entourage. One was tall, almost as broad as Kieran, with sharp blue eyes and an easy smirk that didn’t reach them. His presence radiated authority, but there was a relaxed edge to him—Beta, probably.

Beside him, two guards flanked the door, their postures rigid and expressions blank,

The Oracle stepped forward, starting the bonding ceremony. As I looked into Kieran's eyes, her voice faded into the background, until the part that mattered; 

“And now, the blood bond.”

A ceremonial blade was passed to Kieran. He didn't hesitate, making a swift slice across his palm, like he couldn't wait for the moment to finish. Then he handed the blade to me. 

My hands trembled as I made the cut across my palm.

We joined our bloodied hands together and I felt a sharp pull, something unfamiliar like a thread tightening deep inside my chest. 

 “Mate!” 

Nyx, my wolf, roared in my mind, her voice fierce and undeniable.

“No.” I snapped back. He'll never be ours.

“Who would want a mute Luna for a mate?” I asked her.

My breath hitched. Kieran flinched, a shudder rippling through him. His jaw clenched tighter and for the briefest second, I saw it – confusion flickering across his face. 

His posture stiffened like the bond had stitched itself somewhere he didn't want.

He yanked his hand away, flexing his fingers as if shaking off the bond.

“It’s done,” he said flatly, turning away without another glance.

The Oracle continued speaking, but her words faded. The room erupted into polite applause, but it all felt distant, like I was standing underwater.

My father leaned in again, his breath hot against my ear.

"At least you’re useful for something."

I didn’t react. I couldn’t. My heart was too busy unraveling, stitched together by a bond I didn’t ask for with a man who clearly didn’t want it.

Kieran didn’t look back once as he left the altar.

And neither did I.

***

The driveway was lined with sleek black SUVs, with the Blackwood crest etched onto them.

Kieran slid into the passenger seat of one without a word. Tobias, his Beta, gestured towards the backseat.

“Get in,” he said flatly.

I climbed in, and the door was shut behind me. Tobias joined us, while the rest of the guards entered the other SUVs.

Minutes passed in tense silence before Tobias broke it.

“So,” he started, glancing at me with a half-hearted smirk, “is this as awkward for you as it is for me?”

I stared straight ahead.

“Not a talker, huh?” he tried again, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel.

Nyx growled softly in the back of my mind.

Tobias’s smirk faded, his brow furrowing slightly. He turned to Kieran. “Is she always like this?”

Kieran didn’t even glance back. “She can’t talk.”

Silence. Tobias blinked, the weight of Kieran’s words settling in.

“Oh,” he muttered, shifting in his seat. “Well, that explains it.”

I looked out the window, staring at the cold landscape blurring past and grateful for the silence.

We arrived at Blackwood Pack later that evening. The towering gates groaned as they opened, revealing dark stone buildings nestled under an overcast sky. Wolves stood in clusters; their gazes sharp, unkind. Some whispered, others didn’t bother lowering their voices.

"That’s her?" a woman scoffed, her lips curling in disdain. "The mute Luna? She looks like she’d snap in the wind."

"Our Alpha deserves better," another muttered.

Nyx snarled in my head; her fury sharp. “Let me out. I’ll show them who deserves what.” But I stayed still, my face blank, refusing to give them the satisfaction of a reaction. 

Beside me, Kieran was silent, his stride steady and unaffected, as if their voices were mere background noise.

We entered the packhouse—massive, cold, and eerily quiet. Kieran’s footsteps echoed down the long hallway, mine barely a whisper against the polished floors. He stopped abruptly in front of a door, pushing it open without a glance my way.

"This is your room," he said flatly, stepping aside.

I hesitated at the threshold, taking in the room. It was bare—just a bed, a dresser, and a small window that barely let in any light. No color, warmth or comfort. Just… emptiness.

"You’ll sleep here," he continued, his voice sharp and distant. "Mira will be assigned as your attendant. She’ll handle your needs—clothes, meals, whatever."

I turned slightly, watching him from the corner of my eye. His face was unreadable, carved from stone.

"You’ll eat here, alone, unless I say otherwise." His gaze flicked to me briefly, like I was nothing more than an obligation. "You’re to attend pack events, when necessary, but don’t expect anyone to care. They won’t."

My jaw clenched, but I remained silent.

"Stay out of the West Wing," he added, his tone darker, like a quiet warning.

I frowned slightly, curiosity sparking, but I didn’t dare ask.

He stepped back, hesitating at the door. For a moment, something flickered in his eyes—an emotion too quick to catch. Then it was gone, replaced by cold indifference.

"Don’t mistake this for a home, Elara," he murmured. "You’re here because of politics, nothing more.”

Then he left, the door shutting with a soft click.

Nyx whimpered softly, a sound of wounded pride. “He’s lying. He feels it too.” 

I stared at the closed door, my fingers brushing over the faint pulse on my wrist. The bond hummed softly beneath my skin, a constant reminder.

I was still mute. Still invisible.

But for the first time, I felt something louder than silence.

I felt him.

Nyx purred softly, a dangerous edge to her satisfaction.

I hated it.