HER THREE CRUEL MATE

Chapter 6

ISLA POV

The moment our lips met, the world tilted on its axis.

At first, it was pure, unadulterated shock. My eyes widened, staring at the dark lashes of the boy who held my life in his hands. But then, a traitorous heat flared in my chest. Before I could stop myself, before my brain could scream no, I found myself kissing him back. It was a reflex, a desperate response to the sheer intensity of him.

The realization hit me like a bucket of ice water. What am I doing?

I shoved against his chest, my palms flat against the expensive fabric of his shirt. I managed to break the seal of the kiss, gasping for air that tasted of smoke and mint. "Stop!" I breathed, trying to duck under his arm to reach the door.

But Rowan was faster. He didn't just grab me; he ensnared me. His hand caught my waist, yanking me back into the hard planes of his body. He slammed me against the stone wall again, harder this time, pinning me with a territorial weight that made it impossible to move. He leaned down, his mouth crashing against mine a second time, more forceful than before. It wasn't a request; it was a conquest.

He pulled away just an inch, his lips grazing my jawline. ”You smell nice,” he whispered directly into my ear. The heat of his breath made my skin prickle, but then I felt the sharp graze of his teeth. He bit down on my earlobe—not enough to draw blood, but enough to make me yelp in a mixture of pain and startled shock.

”What are you doing? Let go of me!” I yelled, my voice echoing off the high ceilings of the Blackwood dorm. I thrashed against him, trying to bring my knee up or shove my elbows into his ribs, but he didn't budge. He was a mountain, solid and immovable.

”Why should I let go of you?” he asked. He pulled back just enough so I could see his face. He was smirking, a dark, predatory tilt of his lips.

Then, I saw them.

His eyes, usually a cold, stormy gray, began to bleed color. A vivid, pulsing red swirled from the pupils, bleeding into a jagged ring of molten yellow. My heart stopped. I felt the blood drain from my face as my eyes widened. Red and yellow.

Was he an Alpha? He was so young—barely eighteen. It was unheard of. To have the eyes of a True Alpha at his age meant he wasn't just powerful; he was a monster in the making.

”I want you,” Rowan uttered, his voice dropping into a guttural growl that vibrated through my very bones.

He started leaning in to kiss me again. I jerked my head to the side, my hair whipping across my face. ”No!” I cried, but he simply followed the movement, his hand coming up to cup my jaw and force my face back toward his. He locked our lips together once more. I tried to shout, to tell him to stop, but I could only mumble against him as he swallowed my words, his tongue tracing the seam of my lips with a terrifying hunger.

Inside, a war was raging. Every survival instinct I had was screaming that this guy was bad news, a hurricane that would level everything in my life. I needed to stay away. I needed a peaceful life, a way to pay my debt and disappear. But a darker, more primitive part of me—the part that responded to the Alpha gold in his eyes—was fighting to kiss him back again.

Gosh, who does he think he is? The anger finally won. It surged up from my gut, hotter than the shame, hotter than the fear. I gathered every ounce of strength in my small frame and gave one massive, desperate shove. His grip loosened for a split second, surprised by the sudden violence of my movement.

CRACK.

I swung my hand with everything I had. My palm connected with his cheek in a stinging slap that sounded like a gunshot in the quiet room.

Rowan’s head snapped to the side. He stood there, frozen, the red-gold fire in his eyes flickering in pure, stunned disbelief. He looked as if he had been struck by an arrow—shocked that a "peasant" like me would dare to draw blood from a king.

I didn't wait for the shock to turn back into rage. I spun around, ripped the door open, and made a run for it.

I didn't stop running until I reached the gates. I didn't care about the mud splashing onto my stockings or the way my lungs felt like they were bursting. I saw the black Vance carriage waiting, the driver looking bored. I threw myself inside, slamming the door and huddling in the corner, my hand still stinging from the impact of his face.

The ride back to the Vance estate was a blur of panic. By the time the jagged stone towers of the house appeared through the fog, I had managed to straighten my hair, but I couldn't do anything about my swollen lips or the frantic light in my eyes.

I stepped into the grand foyer, hoping to slip away to the servant’s attic unnoticed. I was a maid here, a ghost in the hallways. I just needed to disappear.

But the house was not silent.

"So, the stray finally returns."

The voice came from the top of the stairs. I looked up and felt my stomach drop. Sera was standing there, her arms crossed over her silk dress. She looked down at me with a smirk that was dripping with malice. Next to her, looking like a statue made of ice, was Lady Vance.

"Isla," Lady Vance said, her voice low and sharp. "Step into the drawing room. Now."

I walked with leaden feet. Inside the room, the fire was roaring, but the air felt freezing. Lady Vance sat in her high-backed chair, while Sera paced the floor like a cat who had just caught a mouse.

"Mother, I told you," Sera said, her voice high and mocking. "I saw her lingering near the Blackwood wing. She wasn't doing 'studies.' She was following the boys around like a common dog. She has no shame."

"Is this true?" Lady Vance asked, her eyes scanning me. She paused, her gaze narrowing on my face. "Your hair is a mess. Your clothes are disheveled. And your mouth..."

"I—I was just at the library," I lied, my voice trembling. "I got lost coming back. Rowan Blackwood... he just had questions about the proctoring."

"Rowan Blackwood doesn't have 'questions' for girls like you, Isla," Sera spat, stepping into my space. "I saw the way you looked at him in the cafeteria. You think you're special? You think a Blackwood would actually want a debtor's daughter?"

"Sera, enough," Lady Vance commanded, but she stood up, walking toward me with a slow, rhythmic grace. "Isla, you were sent to that school to represent this house. Not to be a distraction. Not to be a harlot."

"I wasn't!" I cried. "He trapped me! He—"

"He trapped you?" Sera laughed, a jagged, ugly sound. "A Blackwood wouldn't waste his breath trapping a servant. You went looking for it. You wanted to see if you could get a piece of that power, didn't you? You're just like your mother—always looking for a way to cheat the bill."

"Don't talk about my mother!" I snapped.

The silence that followed was deafening. Sera’s eyes went wide, and Lady Vance’s face hardened into a mask of pure fury.

"You forget yourself," Lady Vance whispered.

Before I could breathe, Lady Vance’s hand flew out. SLAP.

It was harder than the one I had given Rowan. It sent me reeling back against the side table, the sharp edge of the wood digging into my hip. My cheek screamed in pain, the heat of the blow matching the one I already had from the cafeteria earlier.

"You will return to your room," Lady Vance said, her voice cold as the grave. "You will not eat tonight. And if I hear one more word about you and a Blackwood, I will send you to the mines tomorrow morning. The contract has a 'conduct' clause, Isla. Do not tempt me to use it."

Sera leaned in close as I moved toward the door, a triumphant glint in her eyes. "Go back to your attic, maid," she whispered. "And stay away from Rowan. He belongs to people who actually have souls."

I stumbled out of the room, my face throbbing, my heart shattered. I climbed the narrow, creaking stairs to the attic, the darkness of the house closing in on me. I reached my tiny cot and collapsed, the tears finally coming.

I was caught between two fires. Rowan Blackwood wanted to claim me like a trophy, and the Vances wanted to crush me like a bug.

I touched my lips, the ghost of Rowan's kiss still there, fighting the sting of Lady Vance’s slap. I didn't know which was more dangerous—the boy who saw me as a toy, or the family who saw me as nothing at all.

As I stared out the tiny attic window at the moon, I realized one thing: the peaceful life I wanted was dead. And if I was going to survive the Vances and the Blackwoods, I couldn't be a peasant anymore. I had to become a wolf.