Chapter 8
1685 Words
Emma
By the time I’d demolished the gingerbread wolf and half a plate of eggs, I’d almost forgotten I was sitting in a room full of werewolves.
Almost.
At the head of the hall, Lucian listened to an older man talk about some winter patrol issues, nodding occasionally, quiet but very, very present. Every now and then his gaze slid back to me, a quick check-in, like he was making sure I was still breathing.
I was. Barely. On caffeine and sugar and sensory overload.
The meal wound down in a slow ripple—chairs scraping, people laughing their way out in small groups. I was licking a smear of icing from my thumb when a young man in a dark uniform approached our table and bowed his head.
“Alpha,” he said. “Urgent matter from the southern patrol. Beta Kieran requests your presence.”
Lucian’s jaw tightened a fraction. “Now?”
“Yes, Alpha.”
He glanced at me, then pushed his chair back. “Give me a moment.”
We stepped away from the table, toward one of the side doors. The noise of the hall blurred a little.
“I have to go,” he said. “It may take some time.”
“That’s fine,” I said quickly. “You have… king things to do.”
His mouth almost twitched. “You shouldn’t walk back alone if you’re unsure of the way.”
“I’ll be fine,” I said. “I’m not made of glass.”
He didn’t look convinced. “From here,” he said, patient, “you go through that door, follow the corridor to the end, up the main staircase to the third floor landing, turn left, then up the east stairwell to seven. If you get turned around, ask any guard or staff member to escort you. Tell them I sent you.”
“I’m not going to get lost,” I said, maybe a little too sharp. “It’s just stairs.”
“Emma.” His voice softened. “This place is a maze even for people who grew up in it. There are wings it’s better you don’t wander into yet. I’d rather you ask for help than hurt yourself.”
The old, prickly part of me bristled—at ask for help, at better you don’t wander. I’d spent too much of my life being told where I could and couldn’t go, when I could eat, who I could talk to.
“I’ll manage,” I said. “Really. Go. Your duty awaits.”
He studied me for a long heartbeat, something unreadable in his eyes.
“If you need anything,” he said, “send word. Or call for me through the staff.”
“Okay,” I said after a moment. “I will.”
He nodded once, then turned and crossed the hall. The messenger fell in at his side. Conversations dipped as he passed, then resumed as the doors shut behind them.
I stood there for a second, hugging my arms around myself. I’m only staying because I have nowhere else to go, I’d told him. I repeated it in my head like a shield. I didn’t need him walking me up the stairs like a fragile package.
Proving it turned out to be harder than saying it.
I found the first hall easily enough—arched ceiling, paintings, garlands. The main staircase wasn’t hard either. Broad, central, impossible to miss. I climbed slowly, breathing carefully around my ribs.
Third floor landing. Left turn.
Then things got messy.
The “east stairwell” was apparently not the only stairwell. I picked one that felt right, up another floor, then another. The stone steps curved; the light changed. On the fourth landing, two hallways split in opposite directions, both lined with doors and tasteful Christmas decorations.
“A maze he said,” I muttered. “He wasn’t kidding.”
I picked a corridor at random and walked.
Everywhere I looked, there was something. Wreaths with tiny silver wolves. Candles in niches. Ribbons. It was beautiful, in a way that made my chest ache, but also overwhelming—too much input, too many choices. In group homes, my world had been narrow: shared kitchen, shared bathroom, stale common area. Here there were endless paths, endless doors, and somehow I still wasn’t sure any of them were actually mine.
After a few turns, I realized I had no idea which way the main stair was anymore.
“Great,” I said to no one. “Lost in the werewolf castle. Totally fine.”
I doubled back, or tried to. Another staircase appeared, twisting down into a shadowed passage that didn’t have any decorations at all. No garlands, no ribbons, just bare stone and old-looking sconces. It felt… different. Quieter. The air cooler, like fewer people came this way.
Which probably meant “restricted,” my common sense whispered.
My feet kept going anyway.
Maybe it was stubbornness. Maybe it was the part of me that could never explore anything without an adult hovering nearby. The hall curved; a heavy door with iron bands loomed ahead, slightly ajar.
“Hey!” a voice snapped.
I stopped.
A man in uniform stepped into view from a side alcove. Tall, broad-shouldered, late twenties maybe. Light hair cut short, eyes sharp. His hand rested near the knife at his hip, not quite touching it but close.
“This area is restricted,” he said. “Turn around.”
His tone wasn’t “hey, wrong way.” It was “caught you.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I got turned around. I was trying to get back to my room.”
His gaze flicked over me, studying, probably already sensing from ten feet away that I was human.
“Name,” he said.
My hackles rose. “Emma.”
“Emma what?”
“Brooks.” I crossed my arms so he wouldn’t see my hands shake. “I’m a guest.”
“Humans aren’t allowed in the palace,” he said flatly. “Who authorized your movement?”
“My movement?” I repeated. “I went to breakfast. Now I’m trying to get back to my room. I didn’t realize your hallway layout was a military operation.”
His expression didn’t change. “Which pack are you with?”
“I’m not with any pack.” The words felt weird in my mouth. “I’m—” I gestured behind me, vaguely, toward the outside world. “From Boston. Human. I’m with the Alpha King?”
His eyes narrowed. “The Alpha King doesn’t bring human strays into the heart of the palace.”
Stray. The word landed like a slap.
“He did this time,” I said tightly. “He brought me here from a car crash. I’m staying in a room on the seventh floor. He gave me directions, I got lost. That’s all.”
“Convenient story,” he said. “Especially for someone already somewhere she shouldn’t be. You should have asked for an escort.”
Something hot and familiar flared in my chest.
Of course. Of course the minute I tried to do something alone, I ended up being treated like I’d broken a rule on purpose. Just like the foster parents who had insisted I was “sneaking” when I went to the kitchen for a snack, or “acting out” when I sat on the porch steps too long.
“I don’t need an escort to walk down a hallway,” I snapped. “I’m not five. I told you—I got lost. I’ll go back.”
“You’ll go where I tell you,” he said, stepping closer. “Until I verify your story with the Alpha, you’re not roaming the palace unattended.”
Something about the way he said verify made my skin crawl.
“I’m not lying,” I said, voice rising. “Lucian pulled me out of a wrecked car himself. He brought me here. He gave me a room. He invited me to breakfast. Do you really think I broke into your castle because I wanted to sightsee?”
His mouth pinched. “Lower your voice.”
“Why?” I demanded. “So I don’t disturb anyone with the sound of a human existing? I’ve been here five minutes and I’m already in trouble for walking in the wrong place.”
“You are in the wrong place,” he bit out. “This wing is for security, not for—”
“Not for what?” I shot back. “Not for humans? Not for guests? Not for people who didn’t grow up knowing every hidden stairwell?”
My heart was pounding now, anger and old hurt mixing until I couldn’t separate them. “I have spent my entire life doing everything I’m told, staying where I’m supposed to, and it has never once stopped people from treating me like I’m about to break something. I asked no one to bring me here, and I will not stand here and be treated like some kind of criminal because your architecture sucks.”
His jaw clenched. For a second I thought he might actually grab my arm. His fingers twitched near my elbow, like he was very sure he had the right to move me if he wanted to.
“If you refuse to cooperate,” he said, “I’ll have you detained until the Alpha—”
“That’s enough,” a calm voice said from behind him.
The guard went stiff.
I looked past his shoulder.
A man stood at the end of the corridor, hands in his pockets, posture relaxed but attention razor sharp. Short dark blond hair, warm brown eyes, and a pale scar running along his jaw that caught the light when he moved.
I didn’t know him, but the guard clearly did.
Color drained from the man’s face. He straightened and bowed his head, hand over his heart.
“Beta,” he said.
- Writer
