Taken by the Enemy

POV: Ilyra

Rough hands grabbed me before I could even think about fighting back. A wolf shifted mid-lunge, becoming a man with wild eyes and bared teeth. He slammed into me, driving me to the ground. The impact knocked the air from my lungs. I tried to summon magic, but another wolf clamped its jaws around my wrist, not breaking skin but applying enough pressure to make me scream.

"Don't even think about it, witch," the man growled in my face. His breath was hot and rank. "One spell and I'll rip your throat out."

More hands seized me, yanking me upright. They bound my wrists with iron chains that burned against my skin, disrupting my magic. The metal was spelled, designed specifically to suppress witch powers. I'd heard of such things but never felt them. The sensation was horrible, like being suffocated from the inside.

"Get her up," someone commanded. "The Alpha will want to see this."

They dragged me forward. I tried to find my footing, but they moved too fast, hauling me through the forest like a sack of grain. Branches tore at my clothes and scratched my face. I could barely see where we were going.

Behind us, Vaelor's voice cut through the chaos. "Bring her to the fortress. Now."

His tone left no room for argument.

The journey to Rauvenhollow felt endless. My captors didn't speak to me, only to each other, debating in harsh whispers what should be done with me. The words I caught made my blood run cold.

"Kill her."

"Burn her."

"Witches can't be trusted."

"She probably came to finish what her kind started."

By the time we reached the fortress gates, my legs were shaking and my wrists were bleeding where the iron had cut into skin. The massive stone structure loomed above us, all sharp angles and dark windows. This was a place built for war, not comfort.

They threw me into the main hall like I was nothing. I hit the stone floor hard, pain exploding through my shoulder. When I looked up, I saw them. Dozens of wolves in human form, all staring at me with undisguised hatred. Warriors lined the walls. Others crowded the doorways. And at the center of it all, sitting on a carved wooden throne, was Vaelor.

He'd dressed since the clearing. Leather and furs covered his powerful frame, and a thick cloak draped across his shoulders. But his eyes were the same. Ice blue and burning with barely controlled fury.

"A witch," someone spat from the crowd. "In our territory."

"Kill her," another voice called. "Make it slow."

"She crossed our borders deliberately," a woman snarled. "That's an act of war."

The crowd's anger built like a wave, crashing over me from all sides. I forced myself to stand, even though my legs threatened to give out. I wouldn't die on my knees.

"Silence," Vaelor commanded.

The hall fell quiet instantly. His authority was absolute.

He stood from his throne and descended the steps slowly, deliberately. Each footfall echoed in the sudden stillness. When he reached me, he stopped just out of arm's reach, studying me like I was some fascinating but dangerous creature.

"What's your name?" he asked.

I lifted my chin, meeting his gaze despite the fear clawing at my insides. "Ilyra."

"Ilyra what?"

My mother's name sat on my tongue like a weapon. I knew what would happen when I said it. Knew it would change everything. But I was already dead. What did it matter?

"Ilyra Morwen."

The reaction was immediate.

Gasps rippled through the crowd. Wolves shifted uneasily, hands moving to weapons. And Vaelor, his entire body went rigid, his eyes widening with something that looked almost like shock.

"Morwen," he repeated slowly. "Lyseth Morwen's daughter."

"Yes." The word came out stronger than I felt.

A man stepped forward from the crowd, older than Vaelor, with silver streaking his dark hair. "My lord, this changes nothing. She's still a witch on our lands. She must die."

"Serik is right," another voice agreed. "Her mother tried to curse our bloodline. We can't let this one live."

"Tried?" The word burst from me before I could stop it. Rage flooded through my veins, hot and reckless. "My mother didn't try anything. She succeeded. She cursed you." I pointed at Vaelor, my bound hands shaking. "And you murdered her for it."

The hall erupted.

Wolves surged forward, shouting, demanding my immediate execution. But Vaelor raised one hand, and they froze.

"Everyone out," he said quietly.

"Alpha, you can't be serious," Serik protested. "She just admitted..."

"I said out." Vaelor's voice dropped to a growl that made my skin prickle. "Now."

They left, though not without throwing murderous glares in my direction. Within moments, the hall was empty except for Vaelor and me. And two guards flanking the doors, their hands on their sword hilts.

Vaelor circled me slowly, and I forced myself not to turn, not to track his movements like prey watching a predator.

"You're right," he said finally. "I killed your mother."

The casual admission hit me like a physical blow. I'd known it, had read it in my mother's notes, but hearing him say it so calmly, without remorse, without even a hint of regret, made something inside me crack.

"You don't even care," I whispered.

"Should I?" He stopped in front of me, his face carved from ice. "She cursed me. Bound something dark and terrible into my soul without my consent. She was dying anyway. I just made it faster."

"She was trying to help you." Tears burned behind my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. "There's something inside you, something dangerous. She was trying to seal it before it could wake up."

"And look how well that worked out." He gestured at himself, bitter and angry. "I've spent five years fighting this curse. It's eating me alive, destroying everything I touch. Your mother didn't help me. She damned me."

"Then let me fix it." The words tumbled out desperately. "That's why I came. The spell is breaking. I can feel it from here. If it shatters completely, whatever she sealed will be free. Let me finish what she started."

"No."

"Please, I can..."

"I said no." His voice was final, absolute. "I don't trust witches. I don't trust you. And I certainly don't trust anything with your mother's blood."

He turned to the guards. "Take her to the cells. Maximum security. No one sees her without my permission."

"You're making a mistake," I said as they grabbed my arms. "The curse will kill you. It's only a matter of time."

"Then I'll die on my own terms." He walked back toward his throne without looking at me. "Not dancing to a dead witch's tune."

They dragged me from the hall, down stone corridors that grew darker and colder with each turn. The dungeon was exactly what I'd expected. Damp, freezing, reeking of mold and old blood.

They threw me into a cell and slammed the iron door shut with a clang that echoed forever. The lock clicked with terrible finality.

I was alone. I sank onto the stone bench that served as a bed, my whole body shaking. The iron chains still bound my wrists, still burned against my skin, but that pain was nothing compared to the crushing weight of failure.

My mother had died trying to save that man. And now I would die too, and for what? He didn't want saving. Didn't want help. He'd rather burn than accept it from a Morwen.

I closed my eyes, exhaustion pulling at me like a tide.

That's when I felt it. Something brushed against my mind. Not physical. Not even magical, exactly. But present. Aware. Watching.

A voice whispered inside my skull, low and ancient and hungry.

"You feel familiar."

My eyes snapped open, terror flooding through me. The cell was empty. The shadows were still. But I knew with absolute certainty that I wasn't alone. Something was in here with me. Something that recognized my blood..