Chapter 3

Reya

The journey to the northern border took three agonizing days. By the time the heavy wooden carriage finally ground to a halt, the warm green fields of the south were completely gone. I looked out the small window and saw nothing but dark pine trees and a freezing mountain rainstorm that looked completely miserable. The driver did not even bother to open my door from the outside.

"We go no further, Lady Reya," the Oakwood pack driver shouted from his high seat, his voice shaking through the wooden panels. "The Blackwood border guards told us to drop you right here at the outer iron gates. We are turning back immediately. Good luck."

I grabbed the handle of my small suitcase and pushed the door open myself. The second I stepped down, my cheap shoes sank ankle-deep into freezing black mud. The icy rain drenched my thin wool coat in less than two seconds, making me shiver violently. Behind me, the driver slammed the carriage into reverse, turned the horses around, and sped away down the muddy mountain pass without a single look back. They left me out in the storm like a piece of unwanted trash.

I turned around, wiping the freezing rainwater out of my eyes, and stopped dead in my tracks.

Standing on the other side of the massive stone and iron gates was a man who looked absolutely terrifying. He was easily six-foot-three, with a massive, muscular frame that made him look like a solid wall. He wore a heavy, dark fur cloak that was soaked from the storm. His short, pitch-black hair was completely messy, and his sharp jawline was covered in dark stubble. But it was his eyes that made my breath catch in my throat. They were a piercing, glowing ice-blue, and they looked completely ruthless. Dark tribal warrior tattoos snaked all the way up his thick neck, disappearing under his sharp jaw.

This was Alpha Killian Blackwood. The monster of the North.

He did not open the gate for me. He just stood there in the pouring rain, staring down at me through the iron bars like I was a bad delivery. He knew exactly what had happened. He knew he had been swindled by my greedy parents.

"You are not the white wolf," Killian said. His voice was a deep, gravelly baritone that vibrated right through the muddy ground beneath my feet. He sounded incredibly hostile.

I gripped the handle of my suitcase tighter, refusing to let him see me shake from the cold. I looked right back into his icy eyes. "Astute observation, Alpha Killian. I see the rumors of northern intelligence were vastly exaggerated. Did you expect me to wear a nametag?"

A dangerous, quiet tension filled the air between us. Killian’s eyes narrowed into slits. Suddenly, a heavy, suffocating pressure exploded from his body. It was his Alpha aura, and it slammed into me like a physical punch. It was a dominant energy designed to force any normal omega to drop to their knees and beg for mercy.

But the second his power hit me, the ancient shadow magic sleeping inside my bones woke up. It coiled tightly around my core, absorbing his crushing pressure and neutralizing it completely. I did not bow my head. I did not drop to my knees. I just kept standing perfectly straight in the mud, staring right back at him with a flat expression.

A flash of genuine surprise crossed Killian’s face, but he hid it quickly. He reached out with a massive, scarred hand and unlocked the heavy iron gate, pushing it open with a loud screech.

"Your family thinks they can play games with the Blackwood pack," Killian growled, stepping directly into my personal space. He loomed over me, smelling like rain, steel, and wild mint. "They kept the pure white wolf for the wealthy south and sent me a discarded, plain omega instead. They broke the original treaty."

"If you have a problem with the contract, take it up with my father," I replied, crossing my arms over my chest. "I was forced onto that carriage at gunpoint. I didn't exactly buy a ticket to this frozen wasteland for fun."

"Watch your mouth, girl," Killian warned, his voice dropping to a dangerous whisper. "You are not a guest in this territory. You are a political prisoner. Nothing more. Your father sent me a fraud, and I have zero intention of treating you like a real Luna."

"Good, because I have zero intention of acting like your wife," I shot back instantly. "So we are completely on the same page. Now, are you going to keep me standing in the mud all night, or does this stone fortress actually have a roof?"

Killian stared down at me for a long, silent moment. His ice-blue eyes scanned my face, trying to find any sign of fear or weakness, but I kept my defensive sarcasm up like a shield. He aggressively snatched my small suitcase from my hand, turned around, and walked toward the grand, dark stone fortress that loomed in the thick mist.

"Follow me," Killian commanded without looking back at me. "And stay out of my line of sight. The North has absolutely no room for soft, whiny southern princesses. If you break under the weight of our winter, I will not waste my time saving you."

I followed him through the heavy wooden doors of the fortress. I expected to see a grand ballroom or a warm parlor like the one back home, but this place was built strictly for war. The stone walls were bare, torches flickered in the drafty hallways, and the air smelled like smoke and wet fur. Killian did not lead me toward the main living areas. Instead, he dragged me deep into the cold stone corridors of the isolated guard wing, far away from everyone else.

He stopped in front of a small wooden door, pushed it open, and threw my suitcase onto the floor inside.

I looked around the room and felt a dull ache in my chest. The space was completely barren. It had nothing but a narrow, hard bed with a thin blanket, a small wooden chair, and a ceramic washbasin in the corner. The stone walls were freezing to the touch, and there was no fireplace to keep the winter chill away.

"This is your room," Killian said coldly, standing in the doorway and completely blocking the exit with his massive frame. "You do not enter the main pack house without my explicit permission. My warriors do not trust outsiders, and they like southern traitors even less."

I walked over to the bed and sat down on the hard mattress, looking up at him with a sarcastic smile. "Wow. Thank you for the five-star hospitality, Alpha Killian. The view of the blank stone wall is truly stunning."

Killian did not appreciate the joke. His face remained completely stoic, his jaw clenching tightly as he looked down at me. "Save your smart mouth for someone who cares, Reya. You are a useless pawn in a game your father already lost. You are completely alone up here."

"I have been alone my entire life," I said, my voice dropping its sarcastic edge for a brief second, turning flat and honest. "A cold room isn't going to make me cry."

Killian stepped back into the corridor, his heavy hand gripping the edge of the wooden door. His ice-blue eyes flashed with a brutal, unyielding light as he delivered his final warning. "We will see how tough you are when the real winter storms hit us next week. Remember your place here, girl. You are a mere political prisoner under my thumb, and if you break under the harsh winter, I will gladly send your frozen corpse back to your family in a casket."