Chapter 2 — Chapter Two

First Person

The Blackthorn Hold is quiet, most of its inhabitants sleeping or at the dog fight, so I reach the staircase leading down to the Iron Pits undetected. My heart thuds unevenly as I pause at the top, gripping the cold stone railing. I shouldn’t be here—every step risks exposure, betrayal, even death. But I can’t turn back. Not when I’ve seen the Wolves torn apart in the ring, their blood staining the sand for sport. Not when I’m bound to Malric, a man whose cruelty mirrors the chains that bind these creatures. If I can ease even one of their pains, perhaps I can defy the cage closing around my own life.

As I descend, the air grows colder, damper, heavy with the reek of coppery blood and wet stone. Each step echoes faintly, accompanied by the drip of unseen water and the distant, guttural snarls that seem to seep from the walls themselves. It’s as if I’m walking into the jaws of a great beast—the darkness below a hungry mouth waiting to swallow me whole.

At the bottom, two guards flank the heavy iron door. I adjust my hood, ensuring my telltale red hair is hidden, and trace a quick symbol of the Sun Goddess under my cloak, a silent plea for protection. My mother taught me the gesture during her long illness, a ward against harm. I pray it shields me now. Beneath my cloak, the satchel weighs against my thigh, laden with stolen goods from the apothecary—fabric for bandages, alcohol, willow bark blessed by a hedgewitch, and water. Items that scream my intent to aid the enemy.

“Alright, lass?” one guard drawls, his tone slick with suspicion. “What’re you doing down here?”

I steady my trembling hands, swallowing the bitter taste of deceit. Malric’s words echo in my mind—how the Wolves are rewarded for their wins. I force my voice low and husky. “I’ve been sent from the brothel.”

The guard snickers, leering as he swings the door open and hands me a key. “It’s silver,” he says as I take it, careful not to let it graze bare skin lest it burn any Wolf nearby. “Burns if it touches their kind. But if they try anything, give us a knock. We’ll come put ‘em down.”

The other guard’s gaze rakes over me with disgust as I slip inside. My stomach churns, mirroring his revulsion—not at them, but at myself for playing this role, for sinking to lies to save a life. I’m no better than the shadows I skulk through. The door locks behind me with a clang, trapping me in a long corridor. One side is damp stone, flickering with torchlight; the other, tall iron bars caging the darkness.

The air reeks of mildew, sweat, and blood, my breath misting before me. Growls and crude jeers follow me from the shadows as I hurry past empty cells, my cloak pulled tight. Ahead, a man’s snarl cuts through whimpers, chilling my spine.

In the next cell, the Wolf who won the fight before the alpha’s leans against the bars, a bloody grin splitting his face. I quicken my pace, ignoring the male with dark tangled hair in the following cell who paces alongside me.

“Hello, sweetheart. Got something for you,” he sneers, grabbing himself through his green kilt. “Wanna see?”

I avert my eyes, reaching the final two cells. The alpha sits against the wall, arms resting on raised knees, snarling through the bars at a shuddering form huddled in the middle of the last cell. My jaw tightens. Hasn’t he tormented the boy enough?

His growls cease as I near, his gaze pinning me with unnerving intensity. My hands shake as I slip the silver key into the lock, mindful not to let it brush against any bars or skin. The click echoes as I enter the cell.

“You shouldn’t be here, Princess,” the alpha rasps, voice rough as gravel, thick with the northern accent beyond the border.

My hood conceals my face, yet his words unnerve me. Does he know me somehow, or is it just a taunt? I kneel on the straw beside the young Wolf, shrugging off my cloak to access my supplies. The male in the green kilt whistles at the sight of my nightgown. A low growl rumbles from the alpha’s throat, silencing him.

I focus on the satchel, ignoring them both. Healing is no stranger to me—my mother’s endless bruises and scrapes taught me well during her sickness. But this boy looks wretched. His face is bloody, body writhing in pain.

“Shh.” I brush coppery hair from his sticky forehead, my fingers trembling slightly. “It’s okay. What hurts? Tell me.”

The alpha’s stare burns into me. “I dislocated his arm,” he says.

“Be quiet,” I snap, sharper than intended.

I dampen a rag with water, wiping blood from the boy’s face. Beneath, the bruising isn’t as severe as I feared. A cut over his eyebrow has scabbed over, and his nose, though crooked, shows little swelling. I glance at his arm—red, swollen, clearly out of joint.

“Haven’t you done enough?” I glare at the alpha, who now stands, leaning against the bars between us, his muscled arms dangling through the gaps. The cold bites at me, yet his nearness radiates heat, even in nothing but a kilt. A shiver races down my spine as I realize how close he is—if he reached further, he could graze my hair.

“You’re brave to come here,” he murmurs, his tone unreadable.

On my knees, vulnerable in my nightgown, he towers over me, more imposing than he was in the ring. Even with bars between us. My jaw sets. “I’ve faced worse monsters than you.”

A flicker—perhaps a smirk—crosses his face in the torchlight. “Bring the lad to me, Princess. Let’s see that bravery.”

I turn away, lifting my leather flask to the boy’s lips. He sips, grimacing, then lays his head back on the dirt, clutching his arm. I pull the willow bark from my satchel, murmuring, “For the pain.”

“They said you were a beauty, but I didn’t know you were a redhead,” the alpha remarks.

“What does that matter?” I retort, irritation flaring.

“Not a hair color seen often south of the border. Maybe you’ve got Varethwild blood.”

“I don’t,” I say curtly, placing the bark in the boy’s mouth. He chews, eyes bloodshot as he stares up at me.

“My people say red hair means fire in the soul,” the alpha adds, his voice low, probing.

I shoot him a glare over my shoulder, throat dry under the weight of his gaze. “I don’t.”

“Hm.”

“Stop your whining,” he growls at the boy.

Fury surges, untamed, and I’m on my feet before I can stop myself, whirling to face him. Even at my full height, my eyes meet only his shoulders, forcing me to tilt my head back. “How dare you speak to him like that. Look at him—a boy! And you did this. You’re a bully. A monster. A bloody horrible brute.”

His lip quirks, though his eyes hold no warmth. “No fire, eh?”

“He’s a child. You nearly killed him. Have you no shame?”

The faint humor vanishes, his face darkening. “It was your betrothed who threw me in that ring.”

“So you bear no blame? None at all?”

A growl rumbles deep in his chest. “I had no choice.”

“There’s always a choice,” I snap. “It may not be easy, but it’s there.”

His breath comes hard, jaw tight, as if my words strike deeper than I intended. “What would you know of choices, Princess?”

“Enough.”

He drags his teeth over his lip. “Bars won’t hold me forever, Princess. Remember that.”

My chest tightens at the veiled threat, the certainty in his tone. Does he hear my racing pulse? He shifts his gaze to the boy. “Get over here,” he snarls.

“No,” the boy whimpers.

“Stop being a bloody wuss.”

“I told you to leave him alone,” I hiss.

“And I told him to get over here.” His eyes narrow. “Second time he’s defied me in as many days.”

“Why would he obey you?”

He sighs, exasperation etched in the sound. “What’s he wearing?”

I glance at the boy’s pale chest, then the red tartan kilt—matching the alpha’s own, I realize now, a symbol I should’ve recognized sooner. Loyalty, perhaps, or kinship.

“They’re the same, aye?” he says. “You lot destroy our lands, steal from us, experiment on us, kill us, cage us, and still know nothing. We’re of the same clan. He’s mine. The wee shite’s called Kian.” He glares at the boy. “And if he doesn’t move, he’s not coming with me when I leave.”

I frown, arms crossing. “When you leave? You’re not going anywhere.”

He shifts, forearms corded as they rest through the bars. “No?”

“No.”

“Why do you think I’m here, Princess?” He glances around the dank cell. “For the view?”

“You’re here because you’re an enemy of the kingdom. A prisoner. A Wolf. And,” I add, voice rising, unsure why he provokes me so, “because you killed three men and nearly this boy.”

He shrugs a broad shoulder. “Be that as it may, I’m not staying long.”

I grit my teeth, breath shallow. I’ve mastered my emotions all my life, buried them deep. Why does this prisoner—this Wolf—stir such wildness in me? “You actually think you’ll escape?”

“Aye.”

“Then why tell me? That’s hardly wise.”

“What’ll you do, Princess? Tell your betrothed?” He shakes his head. “No. That’d mean admitting you came here. And you don’t want him knowing that, do you?”

My blood chills, his wicked smile cutting through me. “Now you’ve a choice. Bring the lad so I can fix his arm, then make him a sling. Or let him suffer.”

“That’s why you want him over there?” I ask, skeptical.

“His shoulder’s dislocated.” He nods at Kian’s twisted arm. “If I don’t pop it back, he’ll lose use of it till a healer up north can help. And that’ll slow me down. Bring him. Now.”

His tone brooks no argument, though he’s in no position to command me. “You were going to kill him,” I counter.

“And you stopped me. Now I’ll save him—if you listen.”

I narrow my eyes. “If this is a trick for the key, it’s silver, and there are guards outside.”

“I reckoned as much. It’s no trick. I don’t need you to get me out of the Iron Pits.”

He spits the name with the same disgust I feel. I meet his gaze, evergreen in the dim light, and something tugs at me—a strange trust I can’t explain. I sigh, yielding despite myself. He inclines his head, as if sensing my surrender. “Bring the lad.”

I crouch beside Kian. “You need to get up so we can help you.”

He groans. “I don’t want to.”

“You’ve a choice,” I say softly. “But if you stay down, you might not survive.”

“I wish I’d never come here,” he mutters, glaring past me at the alpha.

“Aye, I wish you hadn’t either,” the alpha growls. “But you’re here. Stop acting the pup and move.”

Kian’s jaw sets, defiance flickering, but he sits. His shoulder is swollen, arm unnaturally angled. I help him stand, guiding him across the cell.

“Good lass,” the alpha murmurs.

Heat flares in me—anger, not flattery. Who is he to speak to me thus? A prisoner, a Wolf, while I’m the king’s daughter. I shoot him a glare, but he’s already focused on Kian. He turns the boy, pulling him back against the bars, one arm bracing his chest, the other gripping his good shoulder. Kian’s breath quickens as the alpha slides a hand down the injured arm.

“Why do the guards think you’re here?” he asks, eyes flicking to mine.

I force myself to meet his gaze, warmth creeping up my neck. “I told them I was from the brothel.”

A smirk tugs at his lips. My cheeks burn. “That’d do it.”

With a swift jerk, he moves. “FUCK!” Kian roars.

The vile Wolf in the next cell chuckles. The alpha grins darkly. “Ah, quiet, you wuss.” He ruffles Kian’s hair as the boy curses under his breath, then nudges him toward me. “You’ll need a sling—”

“I know,” I cut in, sharp.

I guide Kian to the wall, sitting him down. His face is flushed, breathing ragged, as I slide fabric from my satchel beneath his forearm, looping it around his neck. My fingers fumble slightly, the distant echo of boots on the staircase above spurring my haste. I can’t be caught here.

“You don’t like orders,” the alpha observes as I work.

“No one does,” I mutter, tying the bandage above Kian’s collarbone.

“Some do.” His tone carries a smirk. I glance up, puzzled. He shakes his head. “Never mind.”

The main iron door screeches open. I freeze, panic coiling in my gut as I brace for Malric’s wrath. But a woman’s sultry laughter spills through the dark, and I exhale shakily.

“Who’s been a good boy?” she coos, as if to a pet. “Who deserves his treat?”

The vile Wolf chuckles. “I’ve been good, sweetheart. Come in here.”

“Oh, yes?” Her rose-scented perfume cuts through the dank air as her steps near. “And you, alpha? I’ve always wanted an alpha.”

I glance back. A blonde woman, lips painted red, leans against the alpha’s bars. Her cloak slips off one shoulder, revealing bare skin beneath. She flutters her lashes, but he keeps his back to her, gaze fixed on me.

“No?” she pouts. “Sure? How about now?”

She drops her cloak, baring herself. My eyes widen—I’ve never seen such exposure. A muscle ticks in the alpha’s jaw, yet he doesn’t look at her. “Very well, pet. You’ll just watch.”

She unlocks the next cell, sauntering inside, hips swaying. “That’s it, sweetheart,” the vile Wolf leers. “Get over here.”

He pushes her down, and my pulse hammers too fast, too hard. What is she doing? The alpha shifts, partially blocking my view. “Time to leave, Princess.”

His low growl can’t drown the wet, sickening sound that follows, nor the vile snarls from the shadows. My vision blurs as Malric’s threat roars louder than the grunts beside me: *If you wish to be taken like a common mutt, that can be arranged tomorrow night.* My heart thrashes, a caged bird, as I see her flipped over, mounted like an animal. Tomorrow night, this will be me—trapped, stripped of agency, just as I’ve always been a prisoner.

Dots swarm my sight. The darkness binds me. I can’t move, can’t breathe. *Who knows, perhaps I’ll throw you into the Iron Pits after.* Her moans pierce the air, high and sharp. *Perhaps I’ll even let this alpha have a go with you.* My throat closes. I clutch my chest, drowning in liquid shadow.

“Princess,” the alpha barks. “Look at me.” His rough voice slices through the whirlpool dragging me under, demanding I obey. “Focus on my voice, nothing else.”

I turn my head slowly, latching onto his face.

“That’s it. Eyes on me. Deep breaths. In. Out.” His tone steadies me, the raging waters calming to waves. “In. Out. Easy now.”

He’s crouched, hands gripping the bars, level with me. I don’t know when he moved. The horrible echoes fade to a distant hum as I breathe with him. “Good lass,” he murmurs, softer than before. “Are you okay?”

“Fine,” I rasp, voice raw, clipping the word. I’m not, and he knows it. Weakness exposed, I look away, but something draws my gaze back. “I’m fine.”

He studies me, and I him. Beneath the grime, the warrior build, the wild hair, he’s younger than I thought—mid-twenties, maybe, with a brightness in his eyes, a youthful glow to his skin despite everything. The sounds behind him grow louder, urgent. “You’d best leave now, Princess. The lad’s okay. You did a brave thing.”

I glance at Kian, who watches with an odd look. “Thanks,” he mutters, barely audible, nose wrinkling. “Wish I’d never fucking come here.”

I draw a shaky breath, repacking my satchel with spare bandages and the flask, fingers fumbling on the cloak’s fastening. I hurry out, locking the cell behind me. The alpha prowls his own as I pass, eyes dark. A few steps on, he speaks, voice low.

I stop. “What?”

The vile panting from the next cell nearly drowns him out.

“Malric won’t touch you,” he says, barely a whisper, yet heavy with certainty.

I turn, meeting his gaze. “He is to be my husband,” I murmur.

His stance is unyielding, face like rugged stone, a mountain against the dark. Yet his eyes—those evergreen depths—flicker with something like regret. “No,” he says, quieter still. “No, he isn’t.”

Does his escape plan involve killing Malric? I should feel something—sorrow, relief. I feel nothing. Perhaps I’m turning to stone, a statue for men like Malric to ogle, devoid of purpose or desire. Yet, as the alpha holds my gaze, a faint stir ripples through me.

I swallow hard, then turn away, avoiding the vile scene in the next cell. I rush to the main iron doors, casting one last glance at Kian, huddled against the wall. As I’m let out of the Iron Pits, the warmth of the alpha’s steadying voice lingers in my mind, an anchor I didn’t expect to need.