The Iron Chain

The first thing I felt was cold.

A heavy, damp chill seeped straight into my bones, sucking the life right out of me.

Where was I?

I tried to move, and a sharp, metallic clink echoed through the darkness.

My breath caught. I pulled my arms toward my chest, stopping short as heavy iron chains bit into my wrists. I was chained to a rusty metal ring in a wall that smelled of wet mold.

Everything started flooding back memory.

The Lycan Dungeons.

I squeezed my eyes shut, my head spinning. My stomach twisted, a feeling like being cut open by a , rusty knife. The sickness from no pills was starting. For nineteen years, I had filled my body with those black pills to hide what I was.

Now, without them, my body was a war zone. My skin felt too tight, every nerve raw and screaming. Every drop of water hitting the floor in the distance sounded like a hammer against my skull.

I curled into a ball as much as the chains would let me, tucking my nose into the bend of my elbow. I could still smell it. The vanilla. The honey. It was stronger now, thick and heavy in the small, cramped prison. It was the scent of an Omega in distress, a calling signal for any Alpha within a mile.

And I was in a palace full of the most dangerous Alphas in the world.

"Please," I whispered, my voice a broken rasp. "Please, Goddess, just let me die."

The heavy iron door at the end of the hall groaned open. The sound of boots — slow, steady, and heavy — came toward my cell. Each step shook through the stone floor and into my spine. I knew that walk. I would know it in my sleep. It was the walk of a hunter who knew his prey had nowhere to run.

The shadow fell across the bars of my cell first. Then he stepped into the dim light of the flickering torch.

Cillian Vane.

He stood in the shadows looking like an executioner. He wore a dark shirt that left his arms bare, covered in the shifting tattoos of the Lycan bloodline.

He didn't speak. He just stood there, his nose working as he breathed in the air. I watched his throat move as he swallowed, his jaw tight enough to snap bone. His eyes burned with that haunting, melted gold, cutting through the dark.

"How long?" he asked. His voice was a low, dangerous growl that made my inner wolf whimper and tuck its tail.

I missed a breath.

I shivered, pressing my back against the cold, damp stone. "I... I don't know what you mean."

oh moon goodness, why me?

In a blur of motion, Cillian was at the bars. His hand shot through the iron, grabbing the front of my torn shirt and pulling me toward him. My chains snapped tight, jerking my arms back, and I gasped as my bruised ribs hit the cold iron.

"Don't lie to me, little wolf," he hissed, his face inches from mine. The heat coming off him was painful the mate bond was screaming at me to lean into him, to beg him for the warmth I had been denied my whole life. "You have no scent. No strength. You're a weak Gamma. Why did Thorne keep a useless mouth to feed around?"

oh moon goddess, he was not talking about me being an omega. I thought.

"Answer me!. why did Thorne Keep you". He barked at me.

The thought of Thorne made me feel sick. "He... he used me for the dirty work. I just wanted to live."

Cillian's eyes narrowed, searching my face. His gaze dropped to the dark bruises on my neck and the thin, scarred skin of my collarbone. He looked ready to rip the bars out of the stone. He looked ready to kill me.

"A weak male," he muttered, more to himself than me, his voice dripping with disgust. "A freak of nature."

The word freak hit me harder than any of Thorne's kicks ever had. I lowered my head, my hair hiding the tears starting to blur my vision. "I didn't ask for this. I didn't ask to be your mate."

The air in the cell suddenly felt thin. Cillian let go of my shirt, taking a slow breath.

"You are a problem I don't need, Elian," he said, using my name for the first time. It sounded like a death sentence.

"My people expect a Queen who can lead an army. Not a broken, scentless runt from a pack of traitors."

"Then let me go," I choked out, looking up at him through my lashes. "If I'm such a letdown, throw me out. Let me take my chances in the woods."

Cillian's laugh was a dark, sharp thing. "And let every rogue within fifty miles catch a whiff of you? You wouldn't last an hour before you were caught, collared, and broken into the dirt."

He stepped back, the gold in his eyes flashing with a cruel, possessive light.

"The Fates gave me a mate. I won't have it said the Lycan King couldn't keep what belongs to him. But don't mistake this for a fairy tale."

He turned toward the guard standing in the shadows.

"Take him to the kitchens. Strip him of those rags and put him to work. If he wants to live like a Gamma, he can work like one. He stays in the servant's quarters. He is not to be touched, not to be spoken to, and he is never to leave the palace grounds."

"Cillian, please," I begged, reaching out as far as the chains would let me. "Don't do this. Just kill me. Please."

He paused at the door, looking back over his shoulder. His face was a mask of cold stone, but for just a second, I saw a flash of raw pain in his eyes.

"Death is too easy, Elian," he said coldly. "In this palace, you will learn what it means to belong to a King who hates the very sight of you."

The door slammed shut, leaving me in total darkness.

I fell to the floor, the heavy iron chains dragging me down. My body was shaking so hard I could hear my teeth rattling. The heat in my blood was rising, brought on by his nearness and my lack of pills.

I was a slave in a golden cage, bound to a man who looked at me with hatred. As I lay there in the dark, my body was already starting to want the very monster who had just broken my soul.