The Alpha's Christmas Captive

Chapter 3

The door slammed open at dawn.

Riley jerked awake, disoriented. A woman strode in—tall, muscular, with dark hair pulled into a severe braid. Her eyes were cold as winter ice.

"Up. Now."

Riley blinked. "Excuse me?"

"I don't repeat myself." The woman grabbed the blanket and yanked it away. "Get dressed. You have two minutes."

"Who the hell do you think you—"

"Scarlett Dawn. Grayson's Beta. Your new worst nightmare." She threw clothes at Riley's face. Rough denim. A worn sweater. Heavy boots. "One minute fifty seconds."

Riley's temper flared. "I'm not—"

Scarlett's eyes flashed gold. Wolf rising. "Get. Dressed."

The Alpha command in her voice made Riley's knees buckle. She hated it. Hated that her body responded. But she grabbed the clothes and changed, fumbling with the unfamiliar fabric.

No silk. No designer labels. Just plain, rough clothing that smelled like pine soap.

When Riley emerged from behind the changing screen, Scarlett looked her up and down with disgust.

"You'll do. Let's go."

"Where?"

"To work."

Scarlett dragged her through stone corridors. The fortress was massive—all rough-hewn walls and narrow windows. No luxury. No warmth. Just cold stone and colder faces.

They emerged into a courtyard.

Riley stopped dead.

Wolves everywhere. Dozens of them. Training, hauling supplies, sharpening weapons. All of them stopped to stare at her.

"That's her?" someone muttered. "The princess?"

"Look at those soft hands."

"Bet she's never worked a day in her life."

Riley's face burned. She lifted her chin. "I don't have to take this from—"

"Yes, you do." Scarlett shoved her forward. "Welcome to the real world, princess. Here, everyone works. No exceptions."

The morning was hell.

Scarlett put Riley in the kitchens first. "Cook breakfast for the warriors."

Riley stared at the massive pots, the unfamiliar tools. "I don't know how to—"

"Figure it out."

She tried. She really did. But the fire was too hot. The porridge burned. When she tried to make bread, it came out hard as stone.

The rogues laughed. Openly mocked her.

"My grandmother cooks better, and she's been dead five years!"

"Alpha's really scraping the bottom of the barrel with this one."

Riley wanted to scream. To throw something. But she bit her tongue and kept trying.

Next, Scarlett dragged her to the training yard.

"You need to learn to defend yourself."

"I know how to fight," Riley protested.

Scarlett tossed her a wooden practice sword. "Show me."

Riley caught it. Raised it. She'd had training—basic forms, elegant techniques taught by palace instructors in controlled environments.

Scarlett disarmed her in three seconds.

Riley hit the dirt hard. The breath knocked from her lungs.

Laughter erupted around them.

"Pathetic," Scarlett said. "Again."

They went again. And again. And again.

By the tenth time, Riley's arms shook. Her pride was in tatters. But she got up. She always got up.

"Better." Scarlett's expression softened slightly. "You're weak. Slow. Completely unprepared for real combat. But you don't quit. I'll give you that."

It wasn't much of a compliment. But it was something.

As the day wore on, Riley noticed things.

The rogues were thin. Not starving, but lean in a way that spoke of rationed meals. Their clothes were patched. Their weapons well-used. Many had scars—deep ones, the kind that came from real battles, not practice.

A child ran past, laughing. His coat was too small. His boots held together with rope.

These weren't monsters. They were survivors.

By evening, Riley was exhausted. Every muscle ached. Her hands were blistered from the practice sword. Her ego was thoroughly demolished.

Then a guard appeared.

"Alpha wants to see you. Private chambers. Now."

Riley's heart jumped. She didn't know if it was fear or something else.

Scarlett gave her a long look. "Don't do anything stupid."

"Like what?"

"Like forgetting he's dangerous." Scarlett's voice dropped. "My brother isn't like the males you're used to. He doesn't play games. And he doesn't lose."

The warning sent shivers down Riley's spine.

---

Grayson's chambers were at the top of the fortress. Larger than her room. A fire crackled in the hearth. A table was set for two.

He stood by the window, staring out at the mountains. Still in training gear—black pants, a fitted shirt that showed every line of muscle. His hair was damp, like he'd just bathed.

Riley's mouth went dry.

"Sit." He didn't turn around.

"I'd rather stand."

Now he turned. His silver eyes gleamed in the firelight. "It wasn't a request."

Riley sat. Mostly because her legs hurt too much to keep standing.

Grayson moved to the table. Poured wine. Set a plate in front of her—roasted meat, vegetables, fresh bread. Simple food, but it smelled incredible.

Riley's stomach growled. She hadn't eaten all day.

"Eat," Grayson commanded.

"I'm not hungry."

"You're starving. I can hear your stomach from here." He sat across from her. "Eat, Riley."

The sound of her name on his lips did something to her. Something she didn't want to examine.

She picked up her fork. The food was good. Really good. She tried not to show how desperately hungry she was.

Grayson watched her with those intense silver eyes. "How was your first day?"

"Wonderful," Riley said through gritted teeth. "I love being humiliated and mocked by strangers."

"They're not strangers. They're wolves your father tried to destroy."

"My father—"

"Has been stealing from rogue territories for decades." Grayson leaned forward. "While you lived in luxury, our packs scraped by on nothing. While you had servants, our children went hungry. While you planned elaborate weddings, we buried our dead."

Riley's appetite vanished. "You're lying."

"Am I?" He pulled out documents. Spread them on the table. Territory maps. Shipping manifests. Records. "These are from your father's own archives. Stolen by my spies over the years. Look at them."

Riley didn't want to. But her eyes caught on the numbers. The dates. The signatures.

Her father's signature.

"No." She shoved the papers away. "This doesn't prove—"

"It proves everything." Grayson's voice was hard. "Blake Cameron built his empire on the backs of rogues. He exiled anyone who opposed him. Stole their resources. Left them to die in the wilderness."

"If that's true, why didn't anyone stop him?"

"Because he's the Alpha King. Because he has power and armies and allies." Grayson stood. Circled around the table. "Because spoiled princesses like you never asked questions."

Riley shot to her feet. "I'm not spoiled—"

"You are." He was right behind her now. Close. Too close. "You wear dresses that cost more than most wolves earn in a year. You've never gone hungry. Never been cold. Never fought for anything."

"That's not my fault!"

"Isn't it?" His breath stirred her hair. "You benefited from the system. You never questioned it. You were going to marry into it, perpetuate it—"

Riley spun around. Big mistake. Now they were face to face. Inches apart.

"I didn't know," she whispered.

"Now you do." His eyes burned into hers. "Now you see what your perfect life cost."

The air between them crackled. Riley's heart hammered. She should step back. Should put distance between them.

She didn't move.

Neither did he.

Grayson's gaze dropped to her lips. His jaw clenched. "You need to leave."

"You invited me here."

"That was a mistake." His voice went rough. Dangerous. "Go back to your room, Riley."

"Why?" The question came out breathy. Challenging.

His eyes flashed. "Because if you stay, I'm going to do something we'll both regret."

Heat flooded through Riley. Her wolf pressed forward, wanting, needing—

She stepped back. Fast.

Grayson's hands fisted at his sides. Every muscle in his body was tense. Coiled. Like he was barely holding himself back.

"Go," he growled. "Now."

Riley fled.

She made it to her room, slammed the door, and pressed her back against it.

Her whole body shook. From fear? From anger?

From want?

No. She couldn't want him. He was her kidnapper. Her enemy.

But her body didn't care about logic. It remembered his closeness. His heat. The way his eyes had darkened with hunger.

Riley slid to the floor, her head in her hands.

Six more days until Christmas.

Six more days of this torture.

She was going to lose her mind