two

Chapter Two — The Alpha’s Prisoner

"Kneel."

The command struck the dungeon corridor like a whip. Two guards forced me down, but I kept my chin lifted even as the stone bruised my knees. I would not give Kieran Voss the satisfaction of watching me beg.

He stood several paces away, his black shirt open at the throat and his expression carved from ice. The feast had ended in chaos. Guests had been escorted from the hall, the doors sealed, and every Silver Creek servant questioned. Iris was somewhere beyond the guard line, and not knowing whether she was safe made my fear sharp enough to swallow.

"You tried to poison me in my own house," Kieran said.

"I did."

The guards shifted, startled by my answer. Kieran’s eyes narrowed.

"Who ordered it?"

"If I tell you, will you let Iris go?"

"You are bargaining from a cell."

"And you are asking questions you already know I cannot answer without putting someone else in danger."

He came closer. The air changed with him, carrying the scent of cedar, smoke, and rain over stone. My wolf—small, battered, and usually silent—stirred for the first time in years. It pressed toward him with an instinct so sudden that I nearly lost my breath.

Kieran stopped moving. His jaw tightened as though he had felt the same invisible pull.

"What are you?" he demanded.

"An Omega from Silver Creek."

"That is not what I asked."

I looked away. I had no answer. The warmth beneath my ribs had become a steady ache, and the fang in my pocket pulsed against my thigh. I tried to ignore both.

Kieran dismissed the guards with a gesture. They hesitated until he repeated the order, then retreated to the far end of the corridor. When the door shut, silence filled the cell.

"My wolf recognized you," he said. "It has not reacted to anyone that way before."

"Perhaps it recognized the poison."

"Do not insult me."

"Then do not expect honesty from someone you have chained to a wall." I lifted my wrists. The iron cuffs had already rubbed the skin raw.

For a moment, I thought he would strike me. Instead, he looked at the blood on my wrists, and something unreadable crossed his face. He took a key from his pocket and unlocked one cuff, leaving the other attached to the wall.

"You will tell me who sent you."

"Gareth Flint, my stepfather. He controls Silver Creek’s council and my life. He threatened someone I care about if I refused."

"And you believed killing me would save her?"

"I believed refusing would get her killed immediately."

The answer seemed to unsettle him more than a lie would have. He turned away, then pressed a hand against his chest. A dark vein appeared beneath the skin at his throat, spreading briefly like ink before fading.

"What is happening to you?" I asked.

"Nothing that concerns you."

He said it too quickly. The same pain had flashed through him at the feast, right after he looked at me. I remembered old stories about the Voss bloodline: an Alpha’s curse, a wolf that devoured its own strength, heirs who died before their time. The stories had always sounded like warnings meant to frighten pups into obedience.

Kieran noticed my expression. "You know something."

"Only rumors."

"Speak."

"They say your family is cursed."

His eyes went flat. "Rumors are useful to people who want a ruler weakened."

"Then why did you look as if something inside you was tearing apart?"

He crossed the space between us so quickly I flinched before I could stop myself. His hand caught the wall beside my head, not touching me, but leaving nowhere for me to look except at him.

"You will not discuss my bloodline again."

My fear turned, briefly, into anger. "Then stop asking me to explain things I do not understand."

For one suspended second, we stared at each other. The bond tugged at my chest, strange and unwelcome, and I saw a flicker of confusion behind his anger.

The door opened. A silver-haired woman entered, followed by two guards dressed in the Voss colors. She looked at me as if I were a stain on the floor.

"This is the assassin?" she asked.

"Cordelia," Kieran said, his voice hard. "Not now."

"Not now? She tried to murder you. The council will demand her execution before sunrise." Cordelia’s gaze moved to the cuff on my wrist. "Why is she still breathing?"

"Because I have not finished questioning her."

"Or because your wolf has decided to be foolish."

The insult struck too close. Kieran’s face darkened, but Cordelia did not retreat. She turned toward the guards.

"Move her to the lower cell. No visitors, no food until she gives us the names of everyone involved."

Kieran caught her wrist before she could finish. "I give the orders in Night Shadow."

Cordelia’s expression tightened. "Then remember what your father’s curse has already cost this family."

She left without another word. Kieran released her wrist and stood very still, as if holding himself together by force.

When he finally looked at me again, the anger had returned. "You will remain here until I decide what to do with you."

"And Iris?"

"If she is innocent, she will be questioned and released."

"You expect me to trust you?"

"No." He turned toward the door. "I expect you to survive long enough to answer my questions."

The guards dragged me into a smaller cell. As the iron door slammed, I pressed my fingers against the fang in my pocket. It was warm enough to burn.

Then a voice whispered through the darkness—not from the corridor, but from somewhere inside my own mind.

Run, White Wolf.

I stumbled back against the wall. My wolf had never spoken to me. It had never even stirred this strongly before tonight.

Outside, a howl rose from the courtyard, deep and agonized. Another answered it, then another, until the whole fortress seemed to tremble.

Through the narrow window, I saw Kieran collapse to one knee beneath the moon. Black veins spread across his throat, and his guards rushed toward him.

The curse had awakened.