The room I was put in was bigger than the entire cottage the slaves stayed in at Dane's territory.
Soft lights. Thick curtains on talk windows. The curtains were thick and embroidered with silver threads.
There was a firehouse that warmed the room with a gentle wave of heat.
Everything smelled clean.
Fresh.
Safe.
And I hated it.
I sat at the edge of the bed, my back straight. My hands on the blankets tightly.
Nothing about the whole thing felt real.
No dungeon.
No chains.
No insults whispered in my ear.
No Dane barking orders at me like I was some stray dog he had picked up out of pity.
I was sold to him. It didn't come as a surprise.
The silence in the room was almost unbearable.
My wolf was also uneasy.
This is wrong. She whispered. I agreed.
We've been through hell. It
