Chapter 8: The First Night

The heavy oak door of the attic room groaned on its rusted iron hinges as the guard shoved it open. The space inside was small, sharp, and biting cold. Situated at the highest peak of the southern tower, the ceiling sloped drastically down to meet walls of bare, uninsulated black stone. A single, narrow slit of a window looked out over the jagged mountain crags, completely devoid of glass to keep out the elements. The howling northern wind blew straight through the opening, carrying with it fine, icy crystals of snow that dusted the floorboards.

Alpha Torin stood in the doorway, his massive frame completely blocking out what little warmth and light drifted from the torches in the stairwell. He crossed his thick arms over his broad chest, his jaw set, his golden eyes gleaming with a cold, sharp intensity. He had deliberately followed the guard up the winding staircase. He wanted to witness the exact moment the spoiled Ironwood princess finally broke. He wanted to see her scream, stamp her feet, and drop her pathetic, submissive act so he could finally treat her like the enemy spy she was.

"It’s small, it’s freezing, and the draft comes straight through the roof," Torin barked, his deep voice bouncing harshly off the stone walls. He gestured callously to the single piece of furniture in the room—a narrow wooden cot with a thin, straw-stuffed mattress and a single, threadbare wool blanket. "Don't bother complaining to me. You'll get no luxury in my home, princess."

Eva kept her head bowed, her vision still slightly blurred by the lingering fog of the silver-root poison. Her heart hammered against her ribs like a trapped bird, each thud sending a wave of adrenaline through her sluggish veins. Don't speak unless spoken to. Don't look him in the eye, her father's brutal warnings echoed in the dark corners of her mind. If you anger him, he will give you to his enforcers.

When she didn't answer immediately, Torin took a heavy step forward into the room, his leather boots crunching against the fine dust and snow on the floorboards. His massive shadow swallowed her completely. "What, no tears? No demands for a feather mattress or an internal hearth? Tell me, does Silas know how poorly his prized possession is being kept?"

Eva swallowed hard, her throat feeling as dry as sand. She forced herself to slowly lift her head, her pale eyes meeting his piercing golden gaze.

Torin completely froze. The smug, hard expression on his face fractured in an instant. He had expected to see furious arrogance, bitter resentment, or tears of petulant rage. Instead, he was met with a profound, exhausting terror. Her delicate features were pale, her lips trembling, and her eyes were wide with a vulnerability that looked entirely too real to be fabricated.

But it wasn't her fear that made Torin’s breath catch in his throat. It was the way she was looking at the room.

Eva looked away from him, her gaze sweeping over the damp stone walls, the drafty window, and the pathetic, hard cot. A soft, breathless gasp escaped her lips. Slowly, she walked past him, her oversized, frayed wool dress rustling against the floorboards. She reached out with a raw, split finger, gently tracing the heavy iron latch mounted on the inside of the thick oak door.

A single, hot tear slipped from her eye, cutting a clean path through the heavy powder on her cheek, followed quickly by another. She pressed her forehead against the cool, solid wood of the door, her shoulders shaking as a silent, ragged sob tore through her chest.

She wasn't crying because she was miserable. She was crying from the sheer, suffocating weight of relief.

A lock, she thought, her heart swelling with a desperate, frantic gratitude. An actual lock on the inside. For her entire life in the Ironwood Pack, she had slept on the cold flagstones of an open cellar, completely exposed to the whims of Silas and Victoria. Anyone could walk in. Anyone could drag her out in the middle of the night to punish her, to beat her, or to torment her. She had never known privacy. She had never known safety. But here, in this freezing, forgotten tower, she could slide an iron bolt into place and be entirely alone.

"It has a blanket," Eva whispered, her voice cracking with an emotion so raw and genuine it made the air in the room turn heavy. She wiped her face quickly with her oversized sleeve, turning back to face the Alpha, keeping her posture deeply submissive. "And... and a latch on the door. Thank you, Alpha Torin. It is more than I deserve. It is more than I have ever had."

Deep within the shadowed recesses of Torin’s mind, his inner wolf, Fenrir, suddenly reared up. The massive, golden-eyed beast slammed against his mental restraints, letting out a confused, mournful whine that echoed painfully in Torin’s skull. Protect, the beast demanded, its feral instincts turning violent. She is bleeding. She is cold. Protect her.

Torin stepped back, his brow furrowing in a mixture of anger and deep, maddening frustration. He shook his head slightly, trying to clear the sudden, electric jolt of heat that flared through his veins when her pale eyes locked onto his. No, he snarled back at his wolf, hardening his heart into a wall of stone. It’s a trick. Her father is a master manipulator. He taught her exactly how to play the victim to mess with my head. She’s trying to make me pity her.

"You'll start in the kitchens at dawn," Torin said, his voice dropping an octave, turning intentionally cold and harsh to mask the chaotic turmoil tearing through his chest. "You will earn every scrap of bread you eat under this roof. If you are late, or if I catch you slacking, there will be severe consequences."

Eva flinched violently at the word consequences, her survival instincts taking over. In a flash, she shrank back against the stone wall, her hands flying up instinctively to shield her face, her head tucking down into her chest. Her breath hitched in a sharp, terrified gasp. "I'll be early," she pleaded, her voice trembling so hard she could barely form the words. "I promise, Alpha, I will be early. I will clean whatever you want. Please... please don't let them hurt me."

Torin stared at her raised, trembling arms, his body locking up completely. He hadn't raised his hand. He hadn't even shouted. Why was she shielding her face as if she expected a devastating physical strike? Why did she look like a hound that had been beaten to within an inch of its life?

Fenrir howled in absolute rage within his mind, snarling at Torin for causing the girl such agonizing terror. The mate bond, still heavily muffled by the synthetic sweetness of the silver-root poison, gave a desperate, violent tug.

Unable to handle the suffocating, burning heat building in his chest, and furious at his own weakness, Torin turned on his heel. He stormed out of the room, slamming the heavy oak door shut behind him. His heavy footsteps thudded furiously down the stone spiral staircase, leaving Evangeline alone in the dark, biting cold.

Eva waited until the sound of his footsteps completely vanished. Slowly, her hands dropped from her face. Shivering, she rushed to the door, her numb fingers gripping the cold iron latch, and slid the heavy bolt into place.

The loud, solid click of the lock echoed in the quiet room. Eva leaned her back against the wood and slid down to the floor, pulling her knees tightly to her chest in the darkness. For the first time in her life, she was safe behind a locked door, praying she could survive the dawn.