Marked By The Enemy

Bound by the enemy

The cold buzz of the fluorescent light hummed overhead, casting long shadows across the steel walls of the interrogation room.

Elara stood with her arms crossed, her back pressed against the door, watching the unconscious werewolf tied to the chair in the center of the room. His wrists were bound with silver-lined cuffs, his ankles secured to the legs of the chair.

She had been waiting for over an hour.

The pain from his bite still pulsed through her wrist, a dull, burning throb that she had tried to ignore. She had scrubbed it raw, wrapped it tightly, but nothing changed the way it ached, or the way her skin tingled, as if something beneath it was shifting.

She shook the thought away. Right now, her priority was him.

A prince.

A werewolf prince had bitten her.

A low groan broke through the silence. His head rolled slightly, dark hair falling into his eyes before he blinked them open.

Golden.

Even in the dim light, his eyes glowed, sharp and alert despite the grogginess weighing down his movements. He tried to shift, but the restraints held firm.

His gaze flicked up to her, and for a moment, he said nothing.

“You know, if you wanted me tied up, sweetheart, you could’ve just asked.”

Elara’s jaw clenched. “Shut up.”

He grinned, the kind of grin that made her fingers itch for a blade. “Not even a ‘good morning’? I’m wounded.”

She stepped forward, leaning over the table between them. “You will be if you don’t start talking.”

He tilted his head. “About what?”

“Who you are. Why your bite….” She hesitated, not wanting to admit what she had started to suspect. “Why you reacted the way you did?”

He studied her, amusement flickering in his eyes. “You mean the part where I passed out? You did a number on me, Huntress. What, feeling guilty?”

“Not even a little.” She pulled out a chair and sat, resting her arms on the table. “I don’t waste guilt on monsters.”

His expression darkened just for a second, so quickly she almost missed it. But then his smirk was back. “That’s rich, coming from someone who attacked my people unprovoked.”

“Unprovoked?” she scoffed. “You expect me to believe your little group was just having a friendly midnight picnic?”

“Something like that.” He stretched as best he could in his restraints. “You interrupted, by the way. Very rude.”

Elara ground her teeth. He was enjoying this.

Fine.

She reached under the table and pulled out an iron rod, the kind hunters used to weaken werewolves. He lifted a brow but didn’t react otherwise.

“You’re not going to get anywhere with this, you know,” he said as she tapped the rod against her palm. “I’ve been trained to withstand interrogation.”

“I’m not here to interrogate you.” She stood, circling him slowly. “I’m here to make a point.”

And with that, she swung the rod.

The metal struck his shoulder, and he hissed in pain, muscles tensing as the iron burned against his skin.

And then…

Pain.

A sharp, searing pain lanced through Elara’s shoulder, right where she had hit him.

She stumbled back, eyes wide, clutching the spot as a fiery ache spread through her body.

What the hell…

She looked up. The prince was staring at her, his expression mirroring her shock.

Elara’s heart pounded. That wasn’t normal. That wasn’t supposed to happen.

She tightened her grip on the rod and struck him again, this time on the arm.

The second the impact landed, her arm burned as if it had been hit. She gasped, her fingers going numb, her vision momentarily swimming.

The prince cursed under his breath, shifting in his chair. “Well… that’s new.”

Elara staggered backward, her breathing uneven. This wasn’t possible. This wasn’t….

Her eyes darted to his shoulder, to the mark she had seen before and behind that mark, a new sudden mark had appeared on his shoulder.

A mark of belonging..

No.

Not just belonging, an ownership mark.

A bond.

A werewolf’s bite was one thing. It could turn a human into one of them, could spread their curse. But this? This was different.

This was a marking.

A claim.

Elara met his gaze, realization crashing down on her like a tidal wave.

“You….” her voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper. “You marked me.”

The prince exhaled slowly, his smirk gone. He looked at her like she was something new. Something dangerous.

And then he said the words that sealed her fate.

“I think we’re stuck together, Huntress.”

** *

Elara paced the length of the dimly lit room, her arms crossed tightly over her chest. Her wrist still burned from the bite, but she ignored it. She had ignored it since the moment it happened.

This wasn’t real. It couldn’t be real.

She stopped in front of the metal table where the prince sat, still bound, still watching her. Always watching. His golden eyes tracked her every movement, unreadable yet far too knowing.

She hated it.

Hated the way he sat there, completely at ease, as if he wasn’t tied up in an enemy stronghold. Hated the way he had barely reacted when she struck him, as if some part of him had expected what would happen.

Hated that she could still feel the phantom pain of those blows in her own body.

No.

No, it wasn’t real.

Her breathing was shallow and uneven. This was a trick, a mind game. He had done something to her, something unnatural. She had been bitten, yes, but she wasn’t his.

She would never be his.

Elara forced her voice into something steady, something strong. “Whatever this is, it’s temporary.”

The prince arched a brow, his lips quirking into something dangerously close to amusement. “Is that so?”

She scowled. “I don’t know what game you’re playing, but I won’t be a part of it.”

He exhaled, tilting his head back slightly. “You think this is a game?”

“I think it’s your doing.” She stepped closer, hands braced against the table. “There’s no such thing as a bond between a hunter and a werewolf. You’re lying.”

His gaze flickered, his smirk softening, not gone, but dimmed. “I didn’t choose this any more than you did, Huntress.”

His voice was too calm, too steady. It made her want to break something.

She clenched her jaw. “Then undo it.”

His eyes darkened slightly, the first crack in his otherwise unshaken composure. “It doesn’t work that way.”

Her stomach twisted. That wasn’t the answer she wanted.

She took a step back, shaking her head. “No. No, there’s always a way. This isn’t real. It can’t be real.”

She turned away from him, her breath coming in short, angry bursts. She had trained for years to fight werewolves, to end their kind before they could spread their curse further. She had been raised on the belief that their existence was a plague.

And now… what? She was connected to one?

No.

Her fingers curled into fists.

She would not accept this.

But even as the denial burned in her mind, something else whispered beneath her skin. A strange, restless energy hummed through her veins, pulling her attention back toward him, making her hyper conscious of every breath he took.

It wasn’t just the bite wound. It was deeper than that.

A wrongness settled in her chest the longer she stood apart from him, a discomfort she couldn’t name. Like something inside her was trying to reach for him, something she refused to acknowledge.

She shoved it down. Buried it.

This was nothing.

She was fine.

She was—

Pain lanced through her skull, sharp and sudden, making her stagger. She gritted her teeth, forcing herself upright.

The prince’s voice was quiet when he spoke. “Fighting it will only make it worse.”

Her head snapped up, fury flaring to life. “Shut up.”

He didn’t react to her anger. If anything, he looked… patient. Patient. As if he had already seen this play out before.

She hated that even more.

“I’m not fighting anything,” she bit out. “Because there’s nothing to fight. This isn’t real.”

The prince let out a slow breath, his gaze steady. “Keep telling yourself that, Huntress.”

Elara turned sharply, storming toward the door. She needed air. Space. Anything to silence the way her body was betraying her.

She reached for the handle….

And hesitated.

The moment her fingers brushed the cold metal, an uneasy weight pressed down on her chest, sudden and suffocating.

It was instinctive, primal.

Leaving felt wrong.

Her grip on the handle tightened, her breath catching.

No.

No, no, no.

She wrenched the door open and forced herself through it, slamming it shut behind her.

The pain that followed was immediate.

It wasn’t physical—it was something deeper, something she couldn’t explain. Like stepping away from something vital, something her body was screaming at her not to abandon.

Her knees nearly buckled, and for a terrifying moment, she thought she might collapse.

She dug her nails into her palm, steadying herself.

She would not give in.

This bond, if it even was a bond, meant nothing.

And she would never let it control her.