Bound To The North

It is dark and cold. Even with my eyes open, I cannot see. My body shivers as I lie in the darkness. My wrists are bound to my ankles in chains — not enough to cripple me, but enough to stop me from running. My mouth is taped shut. I don’t know how I got here, or what I’ve been through. The last thing I remember is being tucked into my bed, fast asleep, waiting for my eighteenth birthday — the day I finally shift for the first time. Instead, I am here. Frightened. Alone. With no way of knowing where I am — except for the steady vibration beneath me. The hum of an engine. I am in a car. Most likely the trunk. My head throbs dully, pain pulsing behind my eyes. I smell iron in the stale air, sharp and unmistakable. Blood. I must be bleeding. The car screeches suddenly, tires screaming as my body is thrown violently into the back of the trunk. Pain flashes through me. I suck in a breath through my nose, bracing myself. A door slams somewhere above me, close enough to make me flinch. Pull it together. I may be young, but I am not weak. When these fuckers realise who they’ve taken, they will return me home. They have to. I am the daughter of Alpha Dorian Vale — the most notorious Alpha in the country. “Maybe they need money?” my wolf murmurs sleepily in my mind. I roll my eyes, unseen. “They’ll get what’s coming to them,” I shoot back. Footsteps crunch around the car. Slow. Deliberate. I listen carefully, straining for anything that gives them away — weight, rhythm, hesitation. The trunk opens with a metallic shriek, the sound tearing through the dark like a blade. Cold air crashes in immediately, violent and alive, flooding my lungs before I can stop it. I inhale sharply and regret it — the air burns, sharp and clean and far too cold to belong anywhere familiar. Icy breeze instantly biting against my skin. Hands grab me roughly, hauling me forward. My body lurches as I’m dragged upright. Then, Cold. Sharp. Biting. It slams into my feet without warning. Sharp, wet, biting straight through to bone. Something gives beneath me, brittle and uneven, crunching softly as I shift my weight. Is this… snow? The thought hits as the cold clings to every toe, numbing them instantly. I am far from home. “Walk,” a man orders. His voice is rough, thick with an unfamiliar accent — smoker’s gravel, impatient. A shove between my shoulders forces me forward. The air around me feels wide, open, exposed. Nothing blocks the wind. No walls. No shelter. I smile behind the tape. “So this is how you do it?” I mutter through it, my words muffled but clear enough. “Blindfold a girl and drag her into the cold?” His grip tightens painfully on my arm.I laugh softly. “What’s wrong?” I taunt. “Afraid I’ll recognise you? Or are you just pathetic enough to hide?” There’s a pause. A shift in his breathing. Irritation. I push harder. “Must be terrifying,” I continue calmly, “knowing exactly what will happen to you if I ever see your face.” His reaction is instant. “Shut up,” he snaps — and yanks hard at the fabric around my head. The blindfold tears away. Light burns my eyes for a split second, but I force them open anyway — straight into his face. A black ski mask. Only his eyes visible. Deep blue. Flecked with green. I lock onto them immediately, memorising every detail. There you are. I smile slowly, viciously. “Too late,” I say. I don’t give him time to react. I throw my head forward with everything I have. Bone cracks against bone. He roars, stumbling back as blood pours freely from his nose. A punch slams into my cheek in retaliation, sending pain flashing across my skull — but I’m smiling. Because now I know. And I will never forget those eyes. Another car door slams. A tall, impeccably dressed man steps out, cigarette in hand, grinning with smug amusement. “They said you’d be feisty,” he says, waving a forefinger. Smoke curls lazily from his lips. I frown. “I don’t know you,” I murmur. “But you look… afraid.” He blinks, irritation flashing across the brief glimpse of skin around the mask. I grin. “Pathetic,” I say. “Hiding behind a mask from a girl who can see you anyway.” The first man — Italian, rough hands — growls behind me. “Enough. Move.” A shove in my back pushes me forward, chains clinking. Snow crunches underfoot, cold and wet. I trudge onward, muscles coiled, defiant. I wasn’t used to this environment, I live in warmth, baking under a hot sun. The cold is brutal. It seeps into my toes and fingers, crawling up my legs and arms. My wolf stirs, low and insistent, warning me: Frostbite will take you down. Keep moving. Her protective instinct fires through me, heat surging to my extremities, but it doesn’t make the pain any less real. If frostbite came, at least the numbness would give me some relief. Instead, every step burns, muscles stiff, skin raw against the icy ground. Chains clink against my wrists and ankles as I stumble forward. I grit my teeth, forcing my body to move. Each step leaves a sharp sting on my soles and knees, snow biting like tiny shards of glass. The pain forces me to stumble, I shriek in disappointment at myself. I take a shaky step forward, then another, muscles coiling against the sting, chains rattling. My wolf growls softly in my mind, frustrated at my human hesitation. Move. Don’t give them an excuse. I glance at the Italian man trailing behind, confident and smug. “Pathetic,” I mutter under my breath. “Hiding behind me like a coward.” He tenses, but my words earn only a narrow glare before the shove in my back sends me stumbling again. My body burns from the cold, every joint screaming. Yet I push forward, because I am Lyla Vale. I survive. I fight. I endure. And still, the open land stretches endlessly ahead, white and unforgiving, leading to some unknown fate. The snow crunches beneath my feet for what feels like an eternity. The open land stretches endlessly ahead, white and unforgiving. Then, rising from the horizon, I sense a wall — massive and ancient, stones worn smooth by time. Torches flare along its top, flickering shadows that dance across the snow and echo in the silence. The gate groans open slowly, revealing a town — ghostly, silent. Buildings stretch along empty streets, windows dark, doors shut tight. Every crunch of my boots echoes between the walls, the clinking chains amplifying my presence. We move forward. The snow thins beneath my feet, giving way to cold cobblestones. I feel the subtle rise and fall of the street underfoot, the faint shiver of marble beneath that signals we are nearing something larger. A building looms ahead, larger and more imposing than the rest. Marble steps, polished floors, and tall, heavy doors. My chest tightens. “That’s far enough. Don’t ruin the master’s floors,” the Italian snaps, tugging at my shirt to halt me. Two guards flank me, eyes scrutinizing my every movement. One reaches for my chin, lifting it slightly. I jerk away, unafraid. “I suppose the blemish on your cheek explains all this feistiness,” the first guard mutters, noticing my broken nose. They chuckle quietly between themselves. I let out a short, mocking laugh. “Pathetic. Hiding behind masks and armor from a girl who can see everything anyway.” The Italian man’s jaw tightens. “Enough of your mouth, girl. Inside. Now.” A firm shove drives me toward the doors. Chains clink, echoing off the polished marble. Every step sends jolts of cold up my legs. The doors swing open, groaning in protest, revealing a vast foyer inside. Marble gleams, white walls sparkle, minimalistic statues dot the space. My chest rises and falls, muscles tense, ears straining for any sound that might betray weakness. The Italian steps close, smoke curling from his cigarette. “Careful where you step. We wouldn’t want to damage anything… especially for the master.” My wolf growls in my mind. Master, she scoffs. The guards push me further inside, closing the doors behind us with a soft click. I pause, taking in the space fully — every echo, every scent, every subtle detail. Marble stretches beneath my bare feet, cold but smooth, the echo of my chains swallowed by the space. I lift my chin, committing every sound, every scent, every detail to memory. They think they’ve won something. They think I’m afraid. But fear isn’t the question. I already know I’ll survive this. The only thing I don’t understand — the only thing that truly matters — is how they got to me. A low, guttural groan fills the void, vibrating through the walls and my chest. “Ahhh… Lyla,” the voice rumbles, deliberate, heavy with something I can’t yet name. I freeze. My wolf growls, every hair on my neck rising. Instinct screams at me to flee, yet my body refuses to bend. My pulse hammers in my ears. I don’t see him. Not yet. I only hear him — a presence so commanding, so alive in the silence, it feels like it owns the space. And in that moment, the truth claws at the edge of my mind: this is the one they sold me to. Chains bite at my wrists, cold and sharp. My feet tremble, not from the cold, but from the weight of what’s to come. I take a slow breath, tasting the metallic edge of my own fear and the faint heat of fury that curls in my chest. I know one thing for certain: I hate him. Hate him with every fibre of my being. And yet… some dark, unspoken part of me wonders what he will do next, and why the thought makes my pulse quicken in spite of my fury. He doesn’t need to move. He doesn’t need to show himself. Just the sound of his voice — slow, deliberate, almost possessive — is enough to make the room feel smaller, the air thicker, the danger more alive. And in the silence that follows, I realize that my life has already changed forever. A groan roars through my head - Mate.