Chapter Two

The blood binding mark burned on my palm like molten iron, searing straight into my nervous system.

Zion didn’t give me a second to catch my breath. He wrapped his massive hand around my wrist, dragging me out of the grand hall and into the freezing corridors of Ironfang Keep.

Behind us, the oak doors slammed shut, cutting off the furious mutters of the Pack Council and the broken wheezing of my father as guards dragged him toward the northern transport cell.

My knees throbbed with every step. Shards of stained glass were still embedded deep in my flesh, tearing through my tunic with every stride, but I forced my legs to move, refusing to limp.

“Slower, Alpha,” I rasped. “Or do you prefer your surrogate crippled before the first night?”

Zion didn’t slow down. “You crawled through my gates to make a deal, little wolf. You don’t set the pace.”

He hauled me up the winding spiral stairs of the High Keep—the central spire carved directly into the mountain rock. This was the fortress’s heart, a place where unwanted guests were either executed or forgotten.

We reached the top landing, where a grand arched doorway led to the High Tower quarters. But before Zion’s boot could cross the threshold, a sharp, silk-clad figure stepped directly into our path.

Sylvia Sterling.

She wore a gown of rich crimson velvet, fitted with silver embroidery that caught the torchlight. Her dark eyes swept down from Zion’s face to my blood-soaked tunic, before settling on his hand wrapped tightly around my wrist. The disgust on her face was visceral.

“Zion,” Sylvia said, her voice dripping with smooth poison. She didn’t look at me; she addressed him as if I were a mud-stained hound he had accidentally dragged inside. “Tell me the rumors from the hall aren’t true. Tell me you didn’t just sign a blood-pact with this trash.”

Zion stopped, but he didn’t release my wrist. His aura flickered—a dangerous, heavy wave of pressure that made the torches sputter in their sconces. “Step aside, Sylvia.”

“I will do no such thing!” She took a step forward. “I am your betrothed, chosen by the High Elders! My bloodline is pure, my father controls the southern trade routes, and you set me aside for her? The disgraced daughter of a traitor who knelt and bled like a beggar on your floor?”

She finally turned her gaze to me, her lips curling into a sneer.

“Look at you,” Sylvia whispered, stepping close enough that I could smell her sickly sweet jasmine perfume. “A pathetic, broken thing. You think carrying his child makes you special? You are nothing more than a vessel. An incubator with a traitor’s name. The moment you drop his heir, Zion will toss you into the same ditch your father is rotting in.”

I felt Zion’s grip on my wrist tighten as hiis jaw flexed, an Alpha command rising in his throat to crush her insubordination.

I didn’t wait for him to fight my battles.

I pulled against Zion’s grip just enough to tilt my head up, meeting Sylvia’s glare with a stoic face.

“If your bloodline is so pure, Lady Sylvia,” I said, my voice quiet but sharp. “then why couldn’t your womb hold his mark?”

Sylvia froze, color quickly draining from her cheeks

“Six months,” I continued, taking a slow step toward her, forcing her to look into my eyes that held no fear and zero submission. “Six months you’ve paraded through this keep as his chosen betrothed, yet the Pack Council had to invoke the Succession Mandate because your body rejected his Alpha aura every single time he touched you. You call me an incubator? At least my body is strong enough to survive him. Yours is just expensive window dressing.”

“You little bitch—!” Sylvia raised her right hand, aiming a blinding slap straight for my face.

I didn’t flinch or even raise a hand to block it.

Zion moved faster than human eyes could track. His hand caught Sylvia’s wrist mid-air. He didn’t squeeze hard, but the absolute dominance pulsing through his fingers forced Sylvia to her knees instantly, her crimson gown pooling around her.

“Touch her again,” Zion rumbled, his voice dropping to a low, deadly register, “and I will cut off the hand that swung.”

Sylvia gasped, her eyes wide with shock and pure rage as she looked up at him. “Zion... she insulted my house! She insulted me!”

“She stated facts,” Zion replied coldly. He released her wrist, letting her hand drop heavily into her lap. “You failed to bind the blood. She didn’t. That makes her the mother of my heir, and that makes her untouchable to you.”

“The Council will not stand for this!” Sylvia spat, scrambling to her feet, her poise completely shattered. She glared at me with murderous hatred. “You think you’ve won, little wolf? This keep is a graveyard for arrogant women. You won’t survive the first trimester.”

“Then I suggest you watch closely,” I replied smoothly, pulling my tunic straight despite the blood staining the cloth. “You might learn how a real woman holds her ground.”

Sylvia let out a strangled choke of rage, turned on her heel, and swept down the spiral staircase, the rustle of her gown fading.

Zion didn’t waste a second watching her leave. He shoved open the heavy iron-reinforced doors of the High Tower quarters and threw me inside.

I stumbled forward, my boots catching on the edge of a thick fur rug. The room was massive, dominated by a heavy stone fireplace, a massive four-poster bed draped in dark pelts, and high arched windows overlooking the sheer cliff drop of Ironfang Mountain. How luxurious for a cage.

Zion stepped inside behind me, closing the door with a thud. His obsidian eyes were locked onto me as he slowly pulled off his heavy leather combat gloves, tossing them onto a side table.

“You have a sharp tongue, Emerald,” he murmured, walking toward me with slow, measured steps that set every alarm bell in my wolf’s instincts ringing. “Dangerous for someone who is entirely at my mercy.”

“I am at no one’s mercy,” I said, standing my ground as he closed the distance between us until his broad chest was inches from my face. “I made a business arrangement. My body for my father’s life. I don’t need your protection from Sylvia, and I certainly don’t need your pity.”

“Protection?” Zion let out a laugh that held no humor. “You mistake my actions, little wolf. I didn’t stop her from hitting you to protect your pride. I stopped her because anything that damages your body endangers my child.”

He reached out, his long fingers catching my chin and tilting my face back. His thumb pressed firmly against the small bruise forming near my jawline where he had held me in the grand hall.

“You think you’re clever,” he whispered against my lips. “You think you can play politics in my keep. But let me make one thing crystal clear: you don't step outside these doors without my permission. You don't speak to the Council. And you don't forget who owns the mark on your palm.”

He let go of my chin, turning his back on me as he walked toward the door.

“Get cleaned up,” he commanded over his shoulder. “The pack doctors will be here at midnight to verify the binding light. If you try to escape through those windows, it’s a six-hundred-foot drop to the sharp rocks below.”

He pulled the heavy oak door open and stepped into the hallway.

“Guards!” Zion’s voice boomed through the corridor, six fully armored elite warriors stepped into position.

“Alpha!” the guard commander barked, bowing his head.

Zion stood in the doorway, his massive frame blocking the light from the corridor, his dark eyes casting one final, possessive look at me over his shoulder.

“Lock the tower,” Zion ordered, his voice like a death sentence. “No one enters. No one leaves. If anyone from the Council, the nobility, or Lady Sylvia so much as breathes near this door... execute them on the spot. She is off-limits to the entire court.”

The commander slammed his fist against his chest. “Understood, Alpha!”

Zion pulled the heavy door shut. The lock clicked into place followed by the slide of an iron bolt on the outside.

I stood alone in the center of the vast room, then looked down at my bleeding hands, trembling from the sheer adrenaline coursing through my veins. Slowly, I lifted my thumb and traced the worn silver band of my ring, feeling the hidden edge of the Kirby crest carved inside.

They thought they had locked away a helpless surrogate.

I walked over to the stone fireplace, picked up a small silver blade left beside the mantle, and slid it into the hidden lining of my sleeve.

“Enjoy your cage, Alpha,” I whispered into the quiet room, my wolf raising its head inside my chest with a growl. “Because before this contract is over... I’m going to tear it down from the inside.”