Chapter 4

ELYSIA’S POV

The wind howled through the darkened forest, as sharp as a blade against my skin. The movements of the horse were jarring, not nearly as bad as the weight of the man behind me.

His arm locked around my waist, his grip possessive, frightening. Heat radiated from him, seeping through my thin dress, and I hated it. Hated how my body recognized the warmth when my mind recoiled from him.

I could hear his heartbeat. Slow and calm which is in contrast to mine that rattles inside my ribs like a caged bird. His breath fanned against my neck with each jolt of the horse. Too close. Too solid. Too much.

"You are a quiet, human." His voice cut through the wind, deep and serrated. "I expected more of a fight."

I bit the inside of my cheek and refused to answer.

Because what could I say? That I wasn’t the woman he thought I was? That my father had tricked him, given him the wrong daughter?

No.

I had seen what he did to my father who betrayed him. If he ever realized the truth—that I was not Sybil, that I was no chosen mate, no sacred breeder—I wouldn’t live to see the next sunrise.

If he thought I was her, then for now till I can think of a plan, I was her.

I forced my body to still, ignoring the way my pulse betrayed me, wild and fitful against his. "Good," he murmured against my ear, his voice close, too deep.

"Obedience will make this easier for you." I clenched my jaw.

—

My plan was already formed by the time we stopped to rest.

His warriors moved around us, their voices swallowed by the rushing of a nearby river. I slid from the saddle and bare feet into the Humid earth.

Just this once. I bolted.

The forest blurred around me, my vision distorting with each desperate step. My throat burned

from ragged breaths, but I pushed forward. Just a little more… a few more steps. Then, something hit me from behind, hard.

I didn’t even have time to scream before I was yanked backward and slammed against solid muscle. An arm locked around me like steel, crushing me against him.

“I do not like to chase.”

His voice was low, warm against my ear, his jaw grazing my skin.

I twisted, and fought, but his grip had only tightened. His fingers turned into my hair, tilting back the head until my throat was bared to him.

“Do that again, and you won’t like what happens next,” he murmured, his hold unrelenting. His thumb brushed slowly along the side of my throat, lingering—feeling my pulse hammer beneath the skin.

As if he could sense my fear. As if he liked it.

A shiver curled down my spine. Not in fear.

Certainly not from fear.

Danearo threw me back onto the horse-this time holding me closer, tighter.

"You will master soon enough that running is useless," he said, his fingers trailing down my arm. I wanted to jerk away. I wanted to snarl, to spit at him.

But my body betrayed me.

My breath hitched not in terror, but in confusion from the way his grip held mine, his thumb brushed slowly over my wrist.

"What is it, human? Afraid?" he murmured, amused.

I forced my voice to stay even. "No." A lie.

And we both knew it.

—

The castle ahead was dark, thrice the size of my father's castle, and the size of it made my stomach tighten.

I expected a prison cell. Shackles. Even chains.

But I was led through stone halls into an extravagant, candlelit chamber instead.

The bed was massive, furs placed across it, and the fireplace with blue flames. Everything about this place smelled of him.

I noticed him standing at the edge of the door, I turned to him, steel entering my spine. "What do you want from me?"

Danearo's gaze swept over me slowly, assessing. Then he stepped closer.

"Everything. I expect Loyalty. Submission. And, more than anything else, truth." His voice was low, serrated. "I do not tolerate deception. You would do well to remember that."

And then he left me alone.

I exhaled shakily, my hands curling into fists as I stared at my reflection in the polished mirror of the room.

Golden-brown curls. High cheekbones. The same eyes. Sybil's face.

It was almost a laughable irony.

My father had picked simply the daughter he loved and damned the one he referred to as cursed.

My father was probably long gone by now. He wasn’t a fool—he had likely known there was a chance Denaro would uncover his lie and come for her.

And if Denaro discovered this little piece of knowledge? I wouldn’t survive it.

But until then…

I would play my role. And I would find a way to escape.

—

I paced in front of the fireplace, my mind racing. The door wasn’t locked.

Which meant he wasn't worried.

Which meant he was confident that I could not escape.

My stomach curled as I recalled the way that he had spoken to me earlier. "Everything."

That was all he had expected from me. Submission. Obedience. I clenched my fists. He would have none of it.

The door swung open before I could form a plan.

Danearo entered the chamber, filling that space too easily. I hated the way his gaze wandered over me, assessing, cataloging, stripping me down to nothing but a prey beneath a predator's eye.

"Come." He commanded. I didn't move.

His expression remained Unbothered. But I saw it-the slight flex of his jaw. The impatience. "If you do not walk, you will be carried."

Heat coiled beneath my ribs.

"Where are you taking me?" I forced my voice to stay cold. "To be claimed."

The words landed like a blade to my chest.

"Wait what? I belong to no one," I spat.

"You belong to me." Stepping close, he said this. "And it's high time the rest of my clan knows it."

He brought me to kneel before the pack.

The great hall of his castle was vast and cold. Its towering stone walls are lined with warriors… Danearo's wolves. They stood in a wide circle, their eyes fixed on me. Some curious, others expectant.

They knew what I was supposed to be.

The Shadowfang Luna. The Sacred Breeder. His. I was shaking, but not from the cold.

Danearo towered over me. His voice remained calm. "Gra'ak tor varesh."(She is to be claimed.)

A hum of appreciation oscillated through the wolves, of satisfaction and acceptance. I dug my fingernails into my palms.

This was not my fate.

It was never supposed to be me. But I could not reveal that.

Thus, I tilted my chin up, meeting his gaze.

"Burn in hell," I spat venomously. "I will never be yours."

Danearo smirked, and his grip tightened on my wrist. "You are already mine." Then he sliced the palm of his hand open.

Before I could flounder away, before I could think, he yanked my hand in front of him, with the blade Swooping across my skin with Accuracy.

I gasped as a hot sting sliced through my palm. My breath shivered as my fingers bunched in his hold, but he held on.

My blood welled.

Then—he pressed our hands together.

The moment our blood joined, the fire was set off within me.

A savage and burning storm of heat tore through my veins, plowing upward into my spine and through my chest like wildfire. I choked back a scream, knees buckling, but his hold was too firm, keeping me upright.

With each heart's slam against my ribs, the pulse thrummed through my skull, into me, binding me, claiming me in ways I couldn’t tell.

I could not breathe.

There was such deep silence when Danearo looked at me. It was as if he were feeling the same thing, only expressed differently.

I would rather have torn my skin apart, clawed my flesh, attempted to lessen what was happening to me-

But I couldn't do any of that.

"Norak, gra'ak tor'vak ma'kai," (Now, she belongs to me) Danearo growled, voice like the final toll of a death bell.

Some of the pack members let out a low, howl of approval. While others remained silent then there came a voice.

"She is human. She cannot rule."

The words rang out down. The kind that needn't be shouted in order to be heard. There was silence.

His grip on my wrist changed just slightly—he had heard it as well. And he did not appreciate being questioned.

Then he spoke. "Who said it?"

The hostility in the hall became electric in an instant. No one moved. No one spoke. His eyes swept over everyone. Waiting.

There was a heartbeat of silence. Then—someone stepped forward. A tall, beautiful woman.

Danearo looked at her, stoic.

"Teyva," he said, bending his head slightly. "You of all people should be smarter." The woman—Teyva—did not blink.

"She is weak my king," she said, and though her voice was still a bit organized, there was something in it. Something bitter. "A human cannot stand the line. You need a she-wolf—"

Danearo laughed.

"You think I need permission to decide who becomes my breeder."

I saw before I knew it—the way the color rose in Teyva's face, the way her fists tightened at her sides.

And then Danearo spoke again. "You mean like you?"

The hush that followed was instant.

I didn't understand, But the way Teyva's body stiffened, the way her jaw tightened… the way some of the other wolves avoided her eyes—it told me everything. She must have been one of his women.

"Or perhaps Lyria?" Danearo continued, pointing to another woman in the crowd. "Or should I say, Maren? I've lost count at this point."

The hall remained silent as a tomb.

I swallowed hard, my skin crawling with discomfort.

He was accusing them. All the women he had slept with—each and every one of them who had not given him an heir.

"All of you, wolves. All of you had said you could ensure my bloodline." His hand on my wrist once more, hard, possessive. "But none of you did."

Teyva's lips parted to speak, but Danearo simply nodded his head a little, considering her. "Tell me, Teyva," he breathed. "Did you imagine yourself in her place?"

A barely concealed wince. She had.

She did.

Danearo breathed slowly, his gaze returning to the pack. "I decide who rules, I decide who bears my blood." Nobody broke the silence.

Not one wolf dared to challenge him again. "And none of you will challenge it again."

I glanced down at the floor, my own heart beating too fast. “He doesn't know I can't have children?”