Bound in chains
900 Words
Chapter 2: Bound in Chains
The shadows fell around her, thick and oppressive, as Freya fought against the metal grip of the werewolf king. Alaric's golden gaze burned into hers, his fingers closing a fraction tighter around her throat, as if testing for the weakness of her life.
Freya had never felt tiny in her life—not even when she was in danger. But here, beneath the weight of his dominance, she was sharply aware of how powerless she was. Her magic remained quiet, locked in some secret cell within her.
And he knew it.
A slow smile creased at the edge of Alaric's mouth.
"Strange," he said quietly. "A witch who does not fight."
Freya ground her teeth. "Let me go."
His smirk was gone. "I should. But I won't."
In a single fluid motion, Alaric pulled her in close, forcing her to pound against his granite chest. A gasp burst past her lips as the heat of him enveloped her, the scent of cedar and something deeper—something animal-like—wrapping around her senses.
"You trespassed on my land, little witch," he whispered. "And you will pay the price.".
Before she could speak, a shrill whistle cut through the air. Sounding footsteps approached, and she spun her head in time to see them—the pack.
Five wolves emerged from the darkness, their enormous bodies merging seamlessly into men. They wore baggy pants, their chest hair streaked with dirt and blood, muscle wrapped around sinister purpose. Their eyes glinted silver in the moonlight, burning with almost contained hunger.
One of them, a dark-skinned, lanky man with braids in his hair, approached to stand beside Alaric. Beta Zayden.
His eyes flashed over her, mysterious. "You found her," he said. His voice was cold.
Alaric remained silent. He simply studied her, his golden eyes peeling away layers she didn't even realize existed. And then, just as quickly, he released her throat.
Freya staggered back, winded, her heart racing as blood rushed into her limbs. But before she could move, strong arms clamped around her arms from behind.
She spun violently, to find herself caught in the grip of another wolf. Gamma Wilson.
He wasn't like the rest—his hold was firm but not cruel, his brown eyes raking hers as if looking for something beneath the terror. But he didn't let go.
"She must be imprisoned," Zayden snarled, his voice heavy with contempt. "The council will want answers."
Alaric's face darkened. His eyes raked Freya once more before he turned sharply on his heel. "Take her to the dungeons."
The words hit her like a slap.
“No,” she breathed, panic rising in her chest.
But Wilson was already dragging her forward, his grip firm as she dug her heels into the dirt. The pack moved around them, forming a deadly perimeter, cutting off any chance of escape.
She thrashed, desperate. “You don’t understand—I don’t even know why I’m here!”
Alaric didn’t spare her a glance as he strode ahead. “Then you’ll have plenty of time to remember.”
The Dungeon
The scent of damp stone and iron filled her nostrils as she was shoved into the cold cell. The heavy metal door slammed shut behind her with a finality that sent a shiver down her spine.
Freya sprang to her feet, racing towards the bars. "You can't just throw me in here like some—"
Alaric's towering figure appeared in the doorway behind her cell. He leaned against the bars, arms crossed over his chest, eyes blazing with something inscrutable.
"Like some criminal?" he drawled. "You trespassed on my border. You reek of magic. You're where you belong."
Freya swallowed hard, clenching her palms against the cold metal. "If you think I'm a threat, then why didn't you kill me?"
For the first time, Alaric hesitated. It was a brief—almost unnoticeable—glint of something in his eyes, but she caught it.
"You should be dead," he said finally. "And yet. something stays my hand."
His fingers curled around the bars, and Freya sucked in a breath at the sight of his claws extending—sharp, lethal. He could snap the bars in half if he wanted to.
Or her neck.
The realization sent a strange thrill through her.
“Perhaps,” Alaric murmured, tilting his head, “I’m just waiting for the right moment.”
Freya stared at him, hating the way his presence seemed to settle into her skin, her insides revolving in ways she did not understand.
"You will not kill me," she stated, balancing the words.
Alaric's smirk returned, slow and deadly. "Won't I?"
She stepped forward, her hands holding the bars between them. "No." Her voice was unyielding now. "Because you have no idea what I am."
The smirk faded.
The air between them thickened, charged with something so much more deadly than fear. Alaric's grip on the bars tightened, his knuckles paling.
Then he turned and went away without a word.
The sound of his footsteps echoed down the cold stone passageway.
Freya breathed out shakily, her body still vibrating with the resonance of his touch.
She had been abducted, held captive. But she wasn't afraid.
Because one thing was starkly apparent.
Alaric was just as trapped as she was.
And whatever force had brought them together…
It wasn't finished yet.
- Writer
