Bound to the Beast

CHAPTER 3

Freya

The cold metal cuffs bit into my wrists as I shifted. My body ached from being shoved around for hours, my stomach twisting in knots—not from fear, but from rage.

A hundred million.

Some sick bastard had bought me for a hundred million dollars.

I clenched my fists, my nails digging into my palms. Whoever he was, he was wealthy. Powerful. Dangerous. He thought that price tag meant he owned me now. He was wrong.

The room smelled like rust and damp stone, the air thick with the scent of too many bodies that had been trapped here before me. I wasn’t the only one being sold tonight. There were others. Terrified girls. Some barely clinging to consciousness from whatever drugs they’d been given.

But not me.

I had played along, let them believe the sedatives had dulled my mind and body. Let them think I was just another weak human, resigned to my fate. They didn’t know I was waiting. Watching. Calculating.

The sound of footsteps echoed down the hallway. Heavy. Purposeful.

I straightened, forcing my breath to steady as the door creaked open. A broad-shouldered man stepped inside, his face shadowed by the dim lighting. He smelled like old blood and sweat—one of the guards.

“You’re up.” His voice was gruff, disinterested, like he was just completing another transaction.

My lips curled in disgust, but I said nothing. Not yet.

He grabbed my arm, hauling me to my feet. I didn’t fight it. Not yet. My chance would come.

As he dragged me down the hallway, the air grew colder, the distant sound of chopper blades slicing through the wind sending a shiver down my spine. A helicopter.

My stomach twisted.

Who the hell had bought me?

We reached a metal door at the end of the corridor. The guard pushed it open, and the sudden gust of night air hit me like a slap. The landing pad was bathed in blinding white lights, the helicopter’s blades still spinning as a group of men stood waiting.

One of them was different.

Him.

Even with the shadows stretching around him, I knew. I felt it.

Tall. Dark. Lethal. His suit hugged his broad frame like a second skin, and even from this distance, there was something about him—something unsettling.

His head turned slightly, and then…

Our eyes met.

A sharp jolt ran through me, like my body was trying to warn me, like something deep inside recognized him before my mind could.

But I didn’t look away.

Instead, I smirked, letting defiance burn through my gaze.

If this man thought he could break me, he was in for a surprise.

ALARIC

The wind howled through the helipad, the cold night air cutting through the heat simmering beneath my skin. The city sprawled beneath me—its flickering lights stretching into the darkness like a beast waiting to devour itself. But I wasn’t thinking about the city. Or the empire I had built.

I was thinking about her.

I rolled my shoulders, adjusting the cuffs of my suit, though it did nothing to ease the tension locking my muscles tight. The unease crawling through me was foreign, unwelcome. I had done this a hundred times. Bought humans. Broken them. Forgotten them.

So why the f**k did it feel different this time?

The helicopter descended, kicking up a whirlwind of dust and city grime. My wolves flanked the landing area, standing at attention, waiting. I exhaled slowly, my face impassive, unreadable.

Then the doors slid open.

And she stepped out.

A sharp, unseen force struck me deep in my core, something primal, something wrong. Something I refused to name.

Her hair whipped around her face, long and wild, catching the light in a way that made it look like molten fire. She was small compared to my wolves, compared to me—but she carried herself like she was untouchable, as if the chains around her wrists were merely an inconvenience, not a sentence.

A fighter.

My jaw ticked as I took her in—the delicate curves, the long legs, the fullness of her mouth, the way her lips were slightly parted as she drew in sharp, controlled breaths. Not shaky, not panicked. Measured. As if she was assessing. Calculating.

Her eyes locked onto mine, burning with something I didn’t understand. Something feral.

No fear.

None.

Humans always cowered. They trembled under my gaze. They knew their place.

But this one?

This one smirked.

And then she spoke.

“A hundred million dollars just for me? I hope you’re not expecting a thank-you.”

A growl rumbled in my chest, low and dangerous, cutting through the roar of the wind.

I heard Viktor shift beside me, probably uneasy at my reaction. My wolves tensed, sensing the shift in the air.

But I didn’t care.

Because she had just f*****g smirked at me.

The tension stretched between us like a taut wire, humming with something dark, something electric.

Then movement—a flicker to my right.

One of my wolves.

His eyes dragged over her body, assessing.

Something inside me snapped.

The growl that tore from my throat was instant, instinctual. Loud enough to make the bastard flinch and avert his gaze. The others followed, dropping their heads in submission.

I didn’t share.

I sure as f**k wasn’t about to start now.

The wind whipped past, but my focus remained locked onto her. Freya.

She wasn’t trembling.

If anything, her chin lifted higher, her smirk curling just slightly at the edges, like she had just witnessed something she shouldn’t have—but it intrigued her instead of scared her.

Viktor cleared his throat beside me, speaking low enough that only I could hear.

“She’s… different.”

No s**t.

He waited, knowing better than to press too hard. But I could sense the unspoken question: What now?

I exhaled sharply, pushing back the raw, unshaped thing clawing inside my chest.

“Take her to my estate,” I ordered, voice flat. "I’ll handle her myself."

Viktor hesitated. A mistake.

My head turned toward him, slow and deliberate, my gaze locking onto his.

That was all it took.

He stiffened, lips pressing into a thin line before giving a sharp nod. “Understood.”

I stepped forward, closing the last of the distance between me and the human. My shadow swallowed hers whole.

She looked up at me. Bold. Unwavering.

I reached out, brushing my fingers over the chain wrapped around her wrists.

She didn’t flinch.

She didn’t pull away.

I should have liked that.

Instead, it unsettled me.

I let the chain drop and straightened my suit, turning away with the easy confidence of a predator that knew everything belonged to him.

“Have her taken by my private helicopter,” I added without looking back.

Viktor blinked. "You want her at the estate tonight?"

I didn't answer.

I simply walked away.

And as I did, I felt her eyes on my back, burning, branding, marking me in a way I didn’t f*****g like.

FREYA

The helicopter blades slow, their deafening roar fading into the night. My heart is a hammer in my chest, but my face remains impassive. I don’t let myself react as the door is wrenched open and a sharp gust of wind sweeps through, whipping my hair around my face.

A hand wraps around my arm, pulling me forward. I don’t stumble. I don’t hesitate. I refuse to show weakness.

The moment my feet touch the black stone helipad, a strange unease settles in my stomach. Not fear—no, I don’t get scared. Not anymore. But something is off. Something is wrong.

The air here is different. Too crisp. Too thick. Like it carries secrets meant to stay buried.

Then I see it.

The estate.

No. Not an estate. A fortress.

It looms in the darkness, a behemoth of black stone and towering iron gates. Too grand to be a home. Too imposing to be anything but a warning. This place is meant to intimidate. And it does. Not me—but I can see why it would crush others.

The driveway is endless, lined with tall, ancient oak trees, their branches curling like skeletal fingers against the night sky. The estate itself is a masterpiece of wealth and power, sprawling with gothic architecture, its darkened windows glowing faintly from within.

Everything is cold. Sharp. Unforgiving.

A place built for a king. Or a monster.

And then I notice the wolves.

They’re everywhere.

Etched into the wrought-iron gates, carved into the pillars that hold up the grand entrance, even embroidered into the deep crimson banners hanging from the balconies. Stone wolves, their eyes glowing under the dim exterior lighting, mouths open in frozen snarls.

A chill crawls up my spine.

Werewolves.

The thought is ridiculous. My grandmother used to tell stories of them—whispered tales of beasts who once roamed the earth, stronger and faster than any human. But they were killed. Hunted. Wiped out.

Weren’t they?

I shake the thought away.

It doesn’t matter.

What matters is that whoever owns this place—whoever bought me—is obsessed with them.

I don’t have time to dwell on it. The double doors swing open, and I’m shoved forward.

I step inside, and for the first time, my breath catches.

It’s immaculate.

The grand foyer stretches out before me, an expanse of marble and obsidian, the ceiling impossibly high, adorned with an ornate chandelier that glows like captured starlight. The walls are lined with black and gold accents, the furniture pristine and luxurious, the entire space exuding power. Elegance. Authority.

But none of it matters.

Because I feel him.

Watching. Waiting.

I don’t know how I know he’s here. But I do.

And then I see him.

He stands at the top of the grand staircase, his presence suffocating.

Alaric.

I don’t need to ask. I know it’s him.

The man who spent one hundred million dollars to claim me.

He’s taller than I expected, his broad shoulders filling the space like he was born to command it. His black suit is tailored to perfection, the crisp lines hugging his frame in a way that shouldn’t make my stomach twist—but it does.

His features are sharp, striking—lethal. A face carved by the gods themselves, with a jawline sharp enough to cut glass, cheekbones high and pronounced, and eyes…

Dark. Deep. Watching me like he already owns me.

Something about him is wrong. Not in the way other men are. Not in the way I’ve seen in traffickers and criminals.

Worse.

It’s in the way he stands, unmoving, but radiating something I can’t name. In the way his fingers twitch at his sides, like he’s resisting the urge to do something.

And in the way I feel it.

The pull.

The danger.

The unexplainable urge to run.

But I don’t.

Instead, I lift my chin.

I won’t be caged. I won’t be owned.

I meet his gaze with every ounce of defiance I have left, and a smirk tugs at my lips.

He expected me to be scared. I won’t give him the satisfaction.

For a moment, silence stretches between us. Thick. Heavy. Electric.

Then his lips twitch. Not a smile. Not a smirk. Something darker.

Something that makes my pulse slam against my ribs.

He takes a slow step forward, his movements controlled, deliberate.

I should look away.

I don’t.

I can’t.

Because for the first time since I was dragged into this nightmare, I realize something terrifying.

I don’t fear him.

But I should.