All Chapters of The Alpha's Bargain: Chapter 41 - Chapter 50

"She doesn't understand what she's gotten herself into," I said, hearing the defensive edge in my own voice. "If she knew what I really was, what this place really is—""She'd run." Lucas's interruption was sharp, unforgiving. "Of course she'd run. Any sane person would run from a man who imprisons women in dungeons and calls it protection."Any sane person. The phrase stung more than it should have, carrying implications I didn't want to examine. Because if sanity meant fleeing from what I represented, what did that make Catherine's presence here? What did it say about the bargain her father had struck, the circumstances that had made such an arrangement seem preferable to alternatives?"Her father understood the necessity," I said, though the words felt like ash in my mouth."Her father was terrified," Lucas corrected. "Desperate enough to trade his daughter for gold and too frightened to refuse whatever terms you set. That's not understanding—

Catherine -I woke to the sound of voices in the corridor—hushed, urgent conversations that carried the particular tension of servants receiving orders they didn't entirely understand. After a night spent on the narrow bed in that stone cell, my body protested every movement, joints stiff from sleeping on a mattress that felt more like penance than comfort.How long was I meant to stay there? I wondered. Days? Weeks? Until I learned to be grateful for whatever scraps of courtesy Lord MacAllister chose to offer?The lock turned with a sound that had become familiar overnight—heavy iron mechanisms that spoke of age and purpose and the kind of security that wasn't meant to be bypassed. I sat up on the bed, smoothing my skirts and trying to arrange my features into something approaching composure.Don't let them see fear, I reminded myself. Whatever's happening, don't let them see weakness.The door opened to reveal

The silence that followed stretched between us like a blade. In those two words—you won't—I heard everything he'd been too careful to say directly. This wasn't hospitality. This wasn't even a business arrangement between civilized people.This was captivity, however elegantly disguised.Say something, I commanded myself. Challenge him, defy him, make it clear that you won't be cowed by pretty threats.But what could I say that wouldn't make my situation worse? What argument could I make that would change the fundamental reality of my powerlessness here?"I understand," I said finally, the words feeling like swallowing glass.I understand that you're holding me prisoner while pretending to offer me freedom.I understand that my family's survival depends on my compliance with rules I'm not allowed to question.I understand that you have the power to enforce your will, and I have none to r

"The bread is baked fresh every morning," William said with the pride of someone who took genuine pleasure in his work. "Cook has a particular talent for it. And the preserves are made from fruit grown in our own gardens."Our own gardens. The possessive phrasing caught my attention, suggesting these servants saw themselves as part of the estate rather than simply employed by it. That kind of loyalty was either earned through exceptional treatment or enforced through means I preferred not to contemplate."Everything is delicious," I said, and meant it despite my circumstances. "Please give my compliments to the cook."And perhaps, later, I'll find an opportunity to speak with this cook myself. Servants often know more about their employers' secrets than the employers realize.Louis poured tea with movements that suggested ritual, ceremony, the kind of careful attention that elevated simple tasks into art. "Lord MacAllister is quite parti

Kieran -The sound of claws on stone echoed across the training yard as two of my younger wolves circled each other, muscles coiled for the next strike. Sweat beaded on their foreheads despite the autumn chill, and their breathing came in short bursts that misted in the cold air. They were pushing themselves harder than usual—a sign of restlessness that had been building in the pack for days.Since she arrived.I stood at the edge of the yard, arms crossed, watching the sparring match with the kind of focused attention that twenty-seven years of leadership had taught me to maintain. But my mind was elsewhere, cataloguing tensions I could feel building like pressure before a storm.Marcus—barely twenty and still prone to letting emotion override strategy—feinted left before driving his shoulder into his opponent's ribs. The impact sent both wolves tumbling across the stone, and I caught the scent of blood where someone's claws had found purchase.