Chapter Three

The sound of the iron bolt sliding back filled the lower stairwell.

I didn’t stand or reach for the silver blade stitched into my sleeve. I stayed cross-legged beside the hearth, my blood-crusted knees in a basin of warm water I’d dragged from the washstand. Glass shards came free with small wet pops and dropped into the basin, turning the water dark red.

The oak door swung open. Cold air from the corridor hit the room.

Alpha Zion stepped over the threshold. He’d stripped off his ceremonial armor. He wore a dark linen tunic open at the throat and heavy leather trousers. Without the steel, he looked no less dangerous. His black eyes swept the room, stopped on the bloody basin, then locked on mine.

“The pack doctors were delayed by Elder Silas,” he said. His voice filled the room without effort. “I came to inspect the binding marks myself.”

“How generous.” I didn’t cover my torn legs. “I didn’t realize managing captives was part of an Alpha’s duties.”

Zion didn’t answer. He crossed the room in three strides.

Before I could move, he caught my wrist and hauled me to my feet. My wolf surged against my ribs, furious and afraid. I clamped my jaw shut and forced my body still. The basin tipped behind me and bloody water spread across the stone.

“You’re bleeding on my floor again, Emerald,” he said. He pulled me half an inch closer.

“It’s your glass,” I said. “If you wanted a pristine surrogate, you shouldn’t have forced me to crawl.”

His eyes flickered amber. He didn’t release my wrist. His free hand came up and traced the curve of my collarbone, then slid to the raised skin at the base of my throat where the blood-pact seal pulsed gold.

His scent—cedar, pine, ozone—filled my senses. My pulse hammered against his thumb on my neck. I stared straight into his eyes and didn’t tremble.

“Your body is fighting the mark,” Zion said. He pressed his thumb into the glowing skin. A low growl rose in his chest. “Your wolf is rejecting my aura.”

“My wolf doesn’t like monsters,” I said. “She’s selective.”

His mouth tilted. “She’ll learn. The ritual requires three nights of binding. If your body rejects the power by dawn, the contract dissolves, your father dies at the border, and you become nothing.”

“Then stop talking and check the seal,” I said. “Or are you afraid touching a traitor’s daughter will pollute your hands?”

His grip on my neck tightened for one breath. He leaned down, lips an inch from mine.

“You have a lethal amount of pride, little wolf,” he whispered. “I wonder how long it will take me to break it.”

“Try it,” I whispered back. “You’ll break your hands first.”

Neither of us moved. His gaze dropped to my mouth, then rose back to my eyes. Something dark and focused entered his expression.

“You think this is a bargain,” he said. “You think you traded your father’s life for your body and walked away with the better end of it. You didn’t. The Council will test the seal at dawn. Silas will demand it. If the mark has spread to your heart, they will call it proof that your bloodline is corrupt and that the contract is void. They will kill your father before he reaches the border and put your head on the gate beside his.”

“Then you’ll lose your heir,” I said. “And the Succession Mandate will strip your title within ninety days. Silas gets what he wants without drawing a blade.”

Zion’s jaw tightened. “You’ve read the Council’s laws.”

“I’ve read everything they let my father keep before they took his command,” I said. “I know what happens to an Alpha who can’t produce a mate. I know Silas has been waiting for it. I know Sylvia Sterling’s bloodline is poison to your wolf. I know you’ve spent six months testing Omegas and burying the ones who couldn’t carry your aura. You need me alive. That makes us even.”

“We are not even,” Zion said. “You are a captive. Your father is a condemned traitor. The only reason you’re standing in this tower instead of a cell is because I allowed it.”

“Then inspect the mark and leave,” I said. “Or are you going to stand here all night telling me how much power you have?”

His hand slid off my throat. He reached for my right hand—the one with the secondary binding mark on the palm.

I pulled back. My left hand came up to cover my right thumb.

Zion’s eyes narrowed. He seized my wrist and twisted it upward before I could hide my fingers. My right hand was exposed, raw and bloodied. His gaze didn’t go to the contract mark in my palm. It locked onto my thumb.

My heart increased it's pace.

I had been tracing the inner band of my silver ring—a nervous habit I couldn’t stop when cornered. The ring had shifted, tilting outward just enough to expose the inner face of the band.

There, etched in tiny detail and dusted with dried blood, was the forbidden crest of the Royal Kirby House. A lion and a star. Outlawed twenty years ago on pain of death.

Zion looked like he was mapping something in his head. My wolf went silent.

His thumb brushed the blood from the silver. He stared at the emblem. Then his gaze rose from my hand to my face, black and cold.

“Where did you get this ring, Emerald?” His voice was dangerously soft.

I opened my mouth to lie, but his grip tightened until the silver bit into my flesh.

“Don’t lie to me,” he growled. He stepped close enough that his chest pressed against mine. “This is the Royal Seal of the Kirby Lineage. Who are you?”