Bound To the Cruel Alpha

Chapter Thirteen

Seraya

The dungeon swallowed her whole.

Each step down the winding stair seemed to leech more warmth from her bones. The stone was damp beneath the soles of her feet, slick in places where water bled from the walls. The deeper they went, the heavier the air grew, thick with mildew and rust and the metallic tang of old blood that clung to the back of her throat. Even the torches struggled, their flames low and sputtering, throwing shadows that stretched long and grasping across the walls as though eager to close around her.

Seraya’s wrists burned where the silver dug into her flesh, each link of the chain heated by her skin until it blistered. The guards had no pity; when she slowed, they shoved her, the iron bite jerking her shoulders forward. She stumbled, caught herself, and straightened again. Her legs ached from hours of kneeling in the council chamber, her back screamed for rest, but she kept her spine rigid, her head high.

She would not cower. Not here, not now.

The air thickened further as they reached the lower levels. The smell struck her like a blow. Sweat, rot, straw gone sour with damp, and beneath it all the rank stench of hopelessness. Her stomach lurched, but she forced it down, swallowing hard against the sour taste rising in her mouth.

Then came the eyes.

They gleamed from the black mouths of cells lining the corridor. Hollowed faces pressed to the bars, catching the firelight in sallow skin and teeth too sharp from starvation. Some prisoners sneered at her, their lips pulling back in humorless grins. Others whispered among themselves, hissing words she couldn’t catch. A few stared with wide, unblinking eyes, their silence worse than any curse.

Mutters followed her like gnats. “A rogue.” “Filthy.” “Death-walker,” followed by cruel laughter.

She ignored them all, kept her eyes forward, counted her steps. If she let herself meet those gazes, if she gave even one insult her attention, she would be lost. She had learned long ago that silence was its own blade. Even so, her jaw locked tight, the ache crawling up into her skull. Her body trembled with the effort not to react.

The guards were less restrained.

“Never thought I’d see the day,” one muttered, his voice carrying easily in the close stone hall. “Our Alpha shackled to filth.”

The other chuckled, boots echoing against the damp. “It’s a curse. Look at her eyes.”

The first glanced at her sidelong, squinting. “What about them?”

“You don’t know?” The second guard’s tone dripped with mockery. “All rogues have that red rim round their irises. Do you know why?”

The first grunted. “Why?”

“Because every one of them spilled family blood. That’s the price of becoming rogue. Family blood severs the bond to pack, leaves them hollow, soulless. It stains the eyes for all to see. That red isn’t just bloodshot. It’s betrayal.”

Their words burrowed under her skin, but she gave them nothing. She looked ahead, though her pulse thundered in her throat, quick and hard. She wanted to spit in their faces, wanted to laugh at their superstitions, but silence was her shield. Let them think she is unbothered.

The one who had spoken slowed his steps until he stood in front of her, blocking her path. His shadow swallowed her face. His hand shot out, rough fingers clamping her jaw. The silver chain between her wrists clinked as she tried to jerk back, but he forced her head up, pinching until her teeth ached. His breath stank of onions and old mead, hot against her cheek.

“You don’t deserve to live,” he whispered, voice sharp as broken glass. “None of your kind do. You should have been gutted before you grew teeth. And when the Alpha breaks from your spell, he’ll gut you himself. I’ll see to it.”

Her vision pulsed at the edges, fury coiling tight in her chest, hot enough to burn through the silver. She stared at him, her silence a blade. If she had her strength, if she were not bound, she would have shown him exactly what a rogue could do.

“Enough.” The second guard shoved his companion back by the shoulder. “Don’t be a fool. She’s still under his protection, like it or not. You think the Alpha would thank you for bruising his mate before he decides her fate?”

The first guard’s lip curled, but he released her jaw with a shove that rattled her teeth. She staggered back a step, the chains biting deep into her raw wrists.

“You’re not worth the chains you wear,” he spat.

The second grabbed her arm and hauled her forward again, quickening the pace. The corridor stretched on endlessly, lined with the broken, the damned, the forgotten. The murmurs of the prisoners swelled as she passed, their voices weaving into a chorus of contempt.

At the far end of the hall, an iron door screeched open, the sound slicing through the murmurs. The cell inside was bare. A slab of stone jutted from one wall with a thin mattress of straw atop it. The walls glistened with damp, the air colder still. A place meant not to house, but to break.

They shoved her inside, the silver links pulling her arms back as they shackled her to the wall. The metal was colder here, heavier, the bite of it a fire licking her skin raw. She gritted her teeth, refusing to give them the satisfaction of a sound.

When the locks clicked shut, she swallowed and forced her chin high. Her voice came out rough. “And how am I supposed to ease myself?”

One guard barked a laugh. The other kicked a dented metal bucket across the stone floor. It clanged loudly, rolling to a stop against her feet. “Better than you deserve, rogue.”

Their laughter chased them as they turned away, pulling the door shut with a shriek of iron. The lock clanged into place, final as a coffin lid.

Silence fell.

The dungeon pressed close on every side, damp and cold, the scent of mold and rust thick enough to choke. Chains pulled heavy at her arms, cutting into her shoulders until they burned. The mattress sagged with mildew, its straw rotting to mush.

She stood motionless, her body taut with restraint. She had held herself together through the council chamber, through the jeers and accusations, through the burn of silver and the humiliation of being dragged like a dog. She had sworn to herself she would not break. Not here. Not in front of them.

But now, alone in the dark, her armor cracked.

Her knees gave way. The chains dragged her down until she sagged against the wall, shoulders screaming. Her head bowed, hair falling across her face. A sound broke free, low and ragged, torn from somewhere deep in her chest. She bit it back, but another came, and another, until the dungeon rang with the quiet, broken rhythm of her grief.

Tears scalded her cheeks, hot against the cold air. Her breath hitched, caught in her chest. She wept until her throat ached raw. Wept not only for the chains, not only for the cruelty of men who despised her, but for the bitter truth behind their words. Her life was not her own. Even her freedom had been stripped the moment the bond snapped into place. Her soul—whatever remained of it—was no longer hers.

For the first time in years, Seraya broke down and cried.