chapter 2
1002 Words
(Jason’s POV)
“Jason!”
My father’s voice cracked through the courtyard like a whip. I froze mid-motion, one hand still gripping the handle of a heavy trunk I’d been helping the drivers lift from the carriage. The servants around me instantly shrank back, eyes glued to the gravel. I straightened slowly, wiping dust from my palms, already tasting the lecture before it began.
Father stood at the top of the stone steps, arms folded, the late-afternoon sun flashing off the silver wolf-head clasp at his throat. Even from this distance his disapproval rolled over me in waves.
I walked toward him with measured steps, keeping my gaze on the ground just below his boots. My wolf snarled low in my chest, hackles raised, itching to bare teeth at the man who had dominated him since puphood. I shoved the beast down hard. Challenging Father was suicide, and if I lost, Mother would pay the price for my arrogance.
“What have I told you about manual labor?” he said the moment I was close enough. His voice was quiet always worse than shouting. “You are the crowned prince of Wolf Hollow. Prince. Future Alpha King. When the pack sees you hauling luggage like a common porter, it weakens the bloodline in their eyes.”
The same speech. Word for word, every single journey. I dipped my head. “Yes, Father.”
He turned sharply, cloak snapping behind him, and motioned for me to follow. I fell into step, hands shoved deep in my pockets, ignoring the apologetic glances the footmen threw my way. Father never noticed or pretended not to.
“You will not undermine your station again,” he continued as we strode through the echoing corridors. Servants scattered like startled deer, pressing themselves flat against tapestries and bowing so low their foreheads nearly scraped the floor. The air grew thick with the sour tang of human fear. It coated the back of my throat, familiar and exhausting.
We passed the arched kitchen entrance, the long dining hall with its dormant chandeliers, then turned into the seldom-used guest wing. Dust motes drifted in the colored light from the high stained-glass windows. Ever since the third assassination attempt, Father had sealed the borders. No foreign alphas, no visiting packs, no one. The silence in these halls felt like a tomb.
My chambers were the first door on the left; my parents’ royal suite lay at the far end. I stopped at my threshold and cleared my throat.
“Father, with respect, the journey was long. I’d like to rest before dinner.”
His eyes narrowed, nostrils flaring as though scenting rebellion. For a moment I thought he’d drag me to his study for another pointless review of border reports and grain tallies. Then he gave a curt nod.
“Very well. Do not be late for the evening meal.”
The door clicked shut behind me, and I exhaled like I’d been holding my breath for hours.
A startled gasp greeted me from inside.
A stout, middle-aged servant stood frozen near the hearth, arms piled high with fresh linens. Her brown hair hung limp around a face etched with permanent exhaustion. The stench of her terror hit me like spoiled milk.
“Y-Your Highness! Forgive me, we thought the royal family would take longer to ” She backed toward the servants’ entrance, nearly tripping over her own feet.
“It’s fine,” I said, already tugging at the laces of my travel cloak. “Just finish quickly.”
She bobbed a dozen frantic curtsies and fled. Another figure darted past me a slight girl with dirty-blonde hair curtaining her face. She kept her gaze fixed on the floorboards, moving fast. And then it hit me.
A scent.
Sweet. Wild. Like moonlit honeysuckle mixed with summer rain on warm stone. It flooded my lungs, sank claws into my blood, and yanked.
My wolf lunged against my ribs so violently I staggered. Mine. Find her. Claim her. NOW.
The door slammed shut before I could even turn fully. The scent lingered, curling around me, sinking into my skin. I pressed a palm to my sternum, trying to quiet the frantic pounding.
I crossed to the bed in three strides, ripped my sweat-damp shirt over my head, and threw myself onto the furs. The fragrance was everywhere woven into the sheets, clinging to the air the girl had disturbed.
My wolf paced in tight, furious circles, snarling, clawing, demanding I tear the castle apart until I found her again.
I squeezed my eyes shut and dragged a pillow over my face, as if that could block her out.
Calm down.
She’s ours. Go. Open the door. Track her.
She’s a servant. Humans. Father would have my hide and hers.
She is MINE.
I groaned into the mattress, dragging both hands through my hair until my scalp stung. Never not once had my wolf reacted like this. Not to titled daughters of allied packs, not to the most powerful she-wolves on the continent. But one passing brush with a nameless human girl and he was feral.
If I started asking questions “Who was the blonde maid in my chambers?” word would spread like wildfire. Father would hear within the hour. And if he discovered his only heir was mooning after a human… I didn’t want to think about the consequences.
I bargained with the beast until the sky outside bled violet. Promised him that tomorrow, when the castle woke and corridors filled with staff, I would find her. I would learn her name. I would discover why one lungful of her scent felt like coming home and going insane at the same time.
Only then did the wolf curl into a restless ball, still growling low, but willing for now to wait.
I lay in the dark, staring at the canopy above my bed, breathing in moonlit honeysuckle and summer rain, and wondered how many hours stood between me and sunrise.
- Writer
