Chapter 8

“You remind me of her,” Lucas growled, his voice low. “Her name is Lena. A rogue like you. Every time I look at you, I see her face, and I want to burn it to ash—tear you apart, piece by piece.” His fists clenched, veins bulging, his gray eyes blazing with a pain so raw it hit me like a punch.

I stood frozen, the choke chain collar making me feel like a dog, its weight still heavy on my neck, my wrists raw from the rope earlier. His scent twisted with the mate bond, making my skin itch, my wolf whimpering at the enmity and hatred his wolf was posing toward her.

“What did she do to you?” I asked, voice low, shaky, trying to piece together his hatred. “This Lena—who was she?”

He laughed, a harsh, croaking sound that echoed dryly in the vast hall.

“She was a liar,” he said, stepping closer, his boots thudding on the polished wood floor. “A rogue who hid what she was. I loved her, marked her, broke every rule for her. And she brought me curse. Curse on my bloodline. No heir, no future.” His voice cracked, “I killed her, but it wasn’t enough. Your clan paid for her sin, and you…” His eyes raked over me, hungry and hateful. “You’ll pay slow.”

My heart pounded, confusion knotting my gut as I tried to understand his pain.

So Lena, a rogue, hid her identity, had shattered him, turned him into this monster, and now I was her ghost, a stand-in for his vengeance.

“I’m not her,” I said, voice rough, my throat tight. “I didn’t do this to you.”

He smirked, cold and sharp, tugging the chain in his hand, making me stumble forward.

“Doesn’t matter,” he said, his voice low. “You’re a rogue queen. You’re close enough.”

He turned, pulling me down a hallway, the chain clinking, the air thick with tension, the walls lined with numbered doors.

Six rooms, each holding one of his wives.

He dragged me into each, the rooms heavy with silk and gold, but the women’s eyes were hollow, their silk dresses like shrouds.

“This is Mia,” he said to each, his voice flat, cruel. “The rogue who cursed us. No child for you, no heir for me, because of her kind. Do what you want with her.” Their glares burned with hate, disgust, some with tears, blaming me for a sin I didn’t commit.

I wanted to scream I wasn’t Lena, but my voice stuck, my head throbbing.

In the last room along the hallway, he stopped, his grip on the chain loosening. He opened the door and we entered, my eyes wandering around the small room.

It was bare, cold stone floor, a single bed with a thin, tattered blanket, a rickety table, and a chair that wobbled. The air was stale, heavy with dust and something sour, like old blood.

“Your new home,” he said, voice dry, scanning a rack of worn clothes, their fabric frayed and gray. “Lena died here months ago. She stayed only two days, and I couldn’t stand her breathing. Feel at home.”

I flinched as he stepped closer, his heat pressing against me, his scent overwhelming.

My breath hitched, my wolf whining as the bond spiked, “He’s our mate,” but I shoved her down, my hands trembling.

“This is no home,” I muttered, voice shaking, my eyes flicking to the bare walls, the ghosts in the air. “It’s a cell.”

He laughed, low and mocking, unbuckling the collar around my neck. The metal fell, clinking on the stone, and I cracked my neck, the relief sharp.

“Sit,” he said, gesturing to the chair, his eyes glinting, hungry in a way that made my skin crawl. “Let’s have a drink.”

I shook my head, stepping back, my feet scuffing the cold floor. “I’d rather stand,” I said, voice stuttering.

His hand cracked across my cheek hard and quick, the pain blinding, hot, numbing my face.

“Sit,” he growled, his voice a command that shook the room. I stumbled into the chair, clutching my cheek, pushing back tears, my breath ragged. Memories of my parents’ blows flooded back. Mom’s whip, Dad’s fists.

Was this my punishment, karma for their blood on my hands? I’d killed to escape, to survive, but now I was here, trapped again.

The demons in my head screamed to claw him, kill him, fight back, but something held me back. Fear? The mate bond? I don’t know. I’d had chances to strike, to make him bleed, but my hands stayed still, weak in a way I didn’t understand.

“You’re too calm,” he said, setting a bottle and two cups on the table, his voice low, almost amused, his eyes locked on mine. “Thought you’d fight the second the collar came off.”

He poured wine, the liquid dark, glinting in the dim light, the smell sharp and sweet, cutting through the dust. I glared, my throat dry, my heart racing.

“What’s in it?” I asked, voice rough, suspicious. “Poison?”

He smirked, filling a cup and drinking it down his throat, his eyes never leaving mine.

“Drink,” he said, sliding a cup toward me, his voice sharp, daring me. “Or I’ll make you.”

I grabbed the cup, my hand shaking, the wine’s scent strong, tempting my parched throat. I sipped, the taste bitter, burning, and he watched, his smirk growing. “More,” he said, leaning closer, his scent choking me.

Then he pulled a small bottle from his pocket—an antidote, the label clear. He swallowed a pill, his eyes glinting, cruel.

The cup slipped from my hand, shattering on the stone, the wine pooling like blood. My stomach dropped, my breath catching as I stared at him, realization hitting like a blade.

“You poisoned it,” I whispered, voice breaking, my heart pounding.

He laughed, low and cold, standing, the chain dangling in his hand. “Welcome to hell, Mia,” he said, his voice a purr that sent a shiver through me. And just then, the burning sensation spread through my stomach, an unimaginable pain that brought me down to my knees.