‎THE PRISONER'S CABIN

The heavy iron locks slid home with a sound like a gunshot—clack, clack, clack.

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‎I stood in the center of the cabin, hugging my arms to my chest, my wrists still bound in front of me. The sound of the locks sealing us in made the air in the room feel suddenly thin.

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‎We were alone.

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‎Kaelen turned away from the door, rolling his shoulders as if testing a strained muscle. He walked to the wooden table in the center of the room, pushing aside a stack of maps to make space.

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‎"Come here," he said. His back was to me.

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‎I didn't move. "Why?"

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‎He turned, his gray eyes impatient. "Because I can't very well untie you if you're standing over there, can I?"

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‎I hesitated, then took a tentative step forward. My heels clicked loudly on the floorboards. I stopped a foot away from him, holding out my bound hands like an offering.

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‎Kaelen reached for a knife sheathed at his belt.

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‎I flinched, sucking in a sharp breath.

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‎He paused, the blade hovering an inch from the rope. He looked at my face, noting the fear in my eyes. A flicker of annoyance crossed his features.

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‎"If I wanted to hurt you, Celeste," he said, his voice low and rumbled, "I wouldn't need a knife."

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‎He slid the blade between my wrists with surgical precision. One quick, upward jerk, and the thick hemp rope fell away.

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‎The relief was instant. I rubbed my chafed skin, grimacing at the angry red welts the rope had left behind.

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‎"Sit," he commanded, pointing to a wooden chair by the fire.

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‎"I'm fine standing."

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‎"Sit." It wasn't a request. It was an Alpha command.

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‎My knees bent before I could stop them. I sank onto the hard chair, glaring at him. "Do you enjoy this? Ordering people around?"

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‎"I enjoy compliance," he muttered. He turned and walked to a basin of water in the corner. He dipped a rag into it, wringing it out.

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‎I watched him. Now that the adrenaline of the ambush and the entry was fading, I could truly see him.

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‎He was... magnificent. And terrifying.

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‎Without the leather vest, his upper body was on full display in the firelight. He was built like a siege weapon—broad shoulders tapering to a narrow waist, every inch of him corded with hard, functional muscle.

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‎But it was his skin that held my attention.

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‎It was a canvas of violence.

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‎Aside from the black tribal tattoos swirling over his pectoral muscle and down his left arm, he was covered in scars. Some were thin, silver lines—knife wounds. Others were jagged and puckered—teeth marks from wolf fights. But the worst one was on his back.

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‎As he leaned over the basin to wash the blood from his chest, I saw it.

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‎A massive, sprawling burn scar covered his right shoulder blade and wrapped around his ribs. The skin was twisted and melted, shiny in the firelight. It looked old. It looked like he had been branded with fire.

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‎"Staring is rude, Princess," Kaelen said, not turning around.

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‎I jumped, looking away quickly. "I wasn't staring. I was... assessing the threat."

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‎Kaelen snorted. He turned back around, pressing the wet, cold rag to the fresh wound on his palm—the cut I had given him.

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‎"And?" he asked, walking toward me. "Is the threat assessed?"

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‎"You're hurt," I said, looking at his hand. "Because of me."

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‎"It's a scratch," he dismissed. He stopped in front of me, leaning his hip against the heavy wooden table. He loomed over me, smelling of soap and rain. "You have terrible aim, by the way. If you're going to stab an Alpha, aim for the throat. The chest plate is too dense."

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‎"I'll remember that for next time," I snapped.

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‎"There won't be a next time."

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‎He tossed the bloody rag onto the table. Then, he crossed his arms, staring down at me. The silence stretched, heavy and uncomfortable. He was studying me again, with that same intense, hungry look he had in the car.

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‎"Why?" I asked, breaking the silence. "Why bring me here? If you hate Magnus so much, why not kill me? Or ransom me?"

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‎"I told you," Kaelen said, his voice hardening. "I don't sell people."

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‎"But you steal them?"

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‎"I liberate them."

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‎"Liberate?" I laughed, a harsh, hysterical sound. "You kidnapped me! You killed my guards! My fiancé is probably tearing the forest apart right now looking for me. He will come here, Kaelen. And when he does, he will kill you. He will burn this whole camp to the ground."

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‎Kaelen pushed off the table. He took a step toward me, invading my personal space. I pressed my back against the chair, but there was nowhere to go.

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‎He placed his hands on the arms of the chair, trapping me in a cage of his own body. He leaned down until his face was inches from mine.

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‎"Your fiancé," Kaelen whispered, his voice vibrating in my chest, "is the reason we are all here."

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‎"What are you talking about?"

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‎"Look around you, Celeste," he hissed. "The poverty. The hunger. The scars. Do you think we chose this life? Do you think we woke up one day and decided to live in the mud?"

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‎"You're Rogues," I said, my voice trembling. "You were banished for crimes."

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‎"Crimes?" Kaelen laughed darkly. "My crime was existing. My crime was being born in a pack that possessed something Magnus’s father wanted."

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‎He pulled back a fraction, his gray eyes burning into mine.

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‎"Your fiancé isn't a hero, Celeste. He's a parasite. He drains the blood of the weak to feed his own power. Those 'guards' I killed? They weren't protecting you. They were transporting you. Like cargo."

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‎"You're lying," I whispered, though the memory of Dr. Aris and the vials of blood flashed in my mind. "Magnus loves me, he can be demanding at times but he loves me."

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‎"Does he?" Kaelen challenged. "Does he love you? Or does he love what you can give him?"

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‎He reached out, his rough thumb brushing my cheekbone. The touch sent a jolt of electricity through me so strong I gasped.

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‎Kaelen froze. His pupils dilated.

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‎"He doesn't know you," Kaelen murmured, his voice dropping to a velvety rough timbre. "He doesn't know the fire you hide. He doesn't know that you would stab an Alpha to save yourself. He sees a doll. I see the knife."

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‎My breath hitched. I should have pulled away. I should have slapped him. But I was paralyzed by the intensity of his gaze.

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‎"And what do you want with the knife?" I breathed.

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‎Kaelen’s eyes dropped to my lips. For a terrifying, heart-stopping second, I thought he was going to kiss me. The air between us crackled with static.

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‎Then, he pulled back abruptly. 

He stood up, turning his back on me as if he couldn't stand to look at me anymore.

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‎"I want to keep it out of his hands," he said coldly.

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‎He walked to the small door on the far side of the room—the bedroom. He threw it open.

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‎"Get inside."

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‎"What?"

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‎"I'm not sleeping with one eye open," he said. "Get in the room. There's a lock on the outside. Use the bucket if you need to. Don't pound on the door."

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‎I stood up, my legs shaky. "You're locking me in?"

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‎"It's for your own safety," he said. "My men... not all of them are as disciplined as I am. If they find you wandering around at night..." He let the threat hang in the air.

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‎I walked to the bedroom door. I paused on the threshold, turning to look at him one last time.

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‎He was standing by the fire, staring into the flames. The scars on his back twisted in the light, a map of agony.

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‎"Magnus will come," I said softly.

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‎"I'm counting on it," Kaelen replied.

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‎I stepped into the small, dark room.

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‎Click.

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‎The lock slid home on the outside.

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‎I was trapped.

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‎I sank onto the narrow cot, listening to the heavy footsteps of the Butcher moving around on the other side of the wall. I pulled the thin wool blanket up to my chin, shivering.

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‎I was a prisoner in the house of a monster.

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‎So why, as I drifted off to sleep, did the scent of rain and pine make me feel safer than I ever had in my father’s palace?