The Blood Alpha’s Curse

Chapter Two

The Cage

"Eat something before you starve and make my life harder."

Kaelen slammed a tray onto the mahogany nightstand. The sound was like a gunshot in the small, silent room. Lyra didn't move from the corner of the bed. She had pulled the black silk duvet around her like a shroud, her eyes fixed on the door.

"I'm not hungry," she said. Her voice sounded like it had been dragged over gravel.

Kaelen leaned against the doorframe, his hand resting on the hilt of his blade. He looked at her with pure, unadulterated loathing. "I don't care. The Alpha wants you alive. If you die on my watch because you're throwing a tantrum, I'll be the one who has to explain it. Just eat the damn bread."

"Is that what he is? An Alpha?" Lyra's eyes flickered to the black veins on her wrist. They had settled now, fading back into the skin, but she could still feel them pulsing. "What is this place? What are you, people?"

Kaelen laughed, but there was no humor in it. "You saw what we are in the woods. Don't play stupid. It doesn't suit you."

"I saw a man kill his brother," Lyra snapped, her fear momentarily losing ground to a sharp, biting anger. "I saw a pack of animals. That's all."

In a blur of motion, Kaelen was across the room. He didn't touch her, but he slammed his hand into the headboard right above her ear. The wood cracked. "We are the only thing standing between the world and the things that crawl in the dark, girl. And right now, you're the biggest threat we've seen in a century."

"Because of a smell?"

"Because of the blood." Kaelen leaned in, his scent—stale tobacco and cold steel-clamping down on her. "Darius thinks you're his mate. The pull blinds him. But I see you. I see the way the shadows move when you walk. You're a parasite. You're feeding on him."

He stood up straight, wiping his hand on his trousers as if touching the air near her had made him dirty. "The tray stays. Eat it or don't. But don't think for a second that those gates are the only thing keeping you here. If you try to run, I won't wait for his order to stop you."

He walked out, the heavy oak door thudding shut. The click of the lock felt like a physical blow.

Lyra waited until his footsteps faded down the hall. She crawled to the edge of the bed and looked at the tray. A bowl of soup, a hunk of bread, and a glass of water. Her stomach cramped, but the thought of putting anything into her body made her nauseous.

Hungry.

The voice was back. It wasn't Kaelen. It wasn't the wind. It was a low, vibrating hum at the base of her skull.

"Shut up," Lyra whispered.

Not for bread. For him.

Lyra stood up, the duvet falling to the floor. She walked to the large floor-to-ceiling window. It wouldn't open, just like Darius had said, but she could see the courtyard below. The moon was high, nearly full, casting a sickly silver light over the black stone of the driveway.

Darius was down there.

He was shirtless, despite the biting mountain cold. His back was a map of scars-deep, jagged lines that told stories of battles he shouldn't have survived. He was training. He moved with a fluidity that was terrifying, his fists striking a heavy wooden post with enough force to make the ground vibrate.

He looked up.

Lyra didn't pull back. She couldn't. The pull was like a physical wire hooked into her sternum, dragging her toward the glass.

Darius stopped mid-swing. His chest was heaving, sweat glistening on his skin. Even from the third floor, she could see the gold starting to bleed back into his eyes. He stared at her, his expression a mix of agony and obsession.

He didn't wave. He didn't smile. He just watched her, his fingers curling into claws.

Suddenly, the door behind Lyra creaked.

She spun around, expecting Kaelen.

It was Darius. He was standing in the doorway, still breathless from his training. He was covered in a fine sheen of sweat, and the smell of him-the pine, the blood, the raw animal-hit her like a physical wave. He closed the door behind him, but he didn't lock it. He didn't have to.

"You're supposed to be sleeping," he said. His voice was a low growl.

"I can't sleep in a prison."

Darius walked toward her. He didn't stop until he was inches away. He was so much larger than her, a mountain of muscle and heat that made the room feel tiny. Lyra backed up until her heels hit the glass of the window. There was nowhere left to go.

"You're not in a prison, Lyra." He reached out, his hand trembling as he tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. His skin was burning. "You're in the only place in the world where you're safe."

"Safe from what? You?"

Darius let out a ragged breath. He leaned his forehead against hers. "From everyone. The Vane pack is already moving. They felt the surge in the woods. They know the Blood Alpha's mate has been found. They think you're a weapon."

"Am I?" Lyra looked up at him, her heart hammering against her ribs. "Darius, my hands... they turned black. I heard a voice. Tell me the truth. What is the prophecy?"

Darius pulled away, his face hardening into a mask of stone. "It's an old story. It doesn't matter."

"It matters to me! It's my life!"

"It's not your life anymore!" Darius roared, his voice shaking the glass behind her. He grabbed her arms, his grip bruising. "It's our life. The moment that bond snapped into place, your destiny became mine. If you burn, I burn. If you destroy this pack, I'm the one who has to watch them die."

He shook her, just once, his eyes wild. "I have spent ten years building this pack from nothing. I killed my own father to stop the slaughter. I won't let a girl with shadows in her blood take it away from me."

"Then kill me," Lyra challenged, her voice trembling. "If I'm such a threat, why am I still here? Why did you stop Kaelen?"

Darius's gaze dropped to her lips. His anger didn't vanish; it transformed. It turned into something much more dangerous.

"Because I can't," he whispered. "Every time I look at you, I want to break your neck. And every time I touch you, I want to crawl inside your skin and never come out."

He crushed his mouth against hers.

It wasn't a romantic kiss. It was an assault. It tasted like sweat and salt and desperation. Lyra's first instinct was to fight, to push him away, but the moment their lips met, the black veins in her wrists flared to life. The cold in her chest met the fire in his, and the explosion was deafening.

She didn't push him away. She pulled him closer, her fingers digging into his bare shoulders, drawing blood. She needed him. She hated herself for it, but she needed the heat he provided to keep the shadows at bay.

Darius groaned, a deep, guttural sound that started in his chest and ended in her mouth. He backed her against the window, his hands sliding down to her hips, lifting her.

"Lyra," he gasped against her neck. "Tell me to stop. Please."

"Don't," she whispered, her eyes fluttering shut. "Don't stop."

The voice in her head laughed. Yes. Feed on him. Take what is yours.

Darius buried his face in the crook of her neck, his teeth brushing her pulse point. He was right on the edge of shifting. She could feel his heart beating like a trapped bird.

Suddenly, he stiffened.

He pulled back, his eyes darting to the door.

"What?" Lyra asked, her breath coming in hitches. "Darius, what is it?"

"Kaelen," he hissed.

A second later, a frantic pounding hit the door.

"Alpha! The perimeter is breached! They're through the south gate!"

Darius didn't look at Lyra. He grabbed a shirt from the chair and threw it on, his face back in "Alpha" mode in an instant. The heat was gone. The man who had just been desperate to touch her was replaced by the executioner.

"Stay here," he ordered.

"Darius-"

"If anyone who isn't me or Kaelen opens this door, you kill them," he said, his voice cold and flat. "Do you understand? You don't scream. You don't hide. You use whatever is inside you and you end them."

He didn't wait for an answer. He disappeared into the hall, the sound of his boots echoing like thunder as he ran toward the fight.

Lyra stood alone in the center of the room, her lips bruised and her skin crawling. She walked over to the tray Kaelen had left. She picked up the knife-the small, dull butter knife meant for the bread.

It wasn't much.

But as she looked at her reflection in the glass, she saw her eyes flash. They weren't grey anymore. They were solid, bottomless black.

She gripped the knife until her knuckles turned white.

"Let them come," she whispered to the empty room.

The shadows in the corner of the ceiling began to drip like ink.