To Cage a Silver Wolf

Chapter3

"Well, well, well," Arlo purred, his voice dripping with smooth triumph as he stepped deeper into the private bathing chamber. His eyes swept over my bare, towel-clad shoulders, completely ignoring the sharp gasp of terror that caught in my throat. "No wonder my brother threw down a fortune for you. Cleaned up, you look... exquisite, Lena. Far too exquisite for a mindless brute like Gunnar."

I shrank back against the cold silver mirror, clutching the plush white fabric against my chest until my knuckles turned white. "You shouldn't be in here," I whispered, my heart hammering like a trapped bird. "You have no right."

"I have the right to take back what is mine," Arlo murmured, taking a slow, quiet step closer. He leaned in until the heavy, suffocating scent of his expensive lavender perfume flooded my nose. He reached out, his fingers lightly brushing a damp lock of dark hair away from my cheek. "You were sold to me first, little one. Gunnar simply stole you to wound my pride. Enjoy his luxury while it lasts, because I will be back for you very soon. And when I take you... you will learn exactly who you belong to."

Heavy, hurried footsteps suddenly echoed from the outer dressing room.

Arlo’s eyes narrowed, Without another word, he melted backward into the shadows of the secondary servant door, slipping through the lock just as the main bathroom door swung open.

Elian hurried in, a bundle of shimmering fabric draped over his forearm. He paused, his sharp eyes immediately tracking my pale face and frantic breathing. "My Lady?" he asked, his voice dropping into that smooth, overly concerned pitch. He stepped entirely too close, his eyes scanning the empty corners of the room before locking onto mine. "Is everything alright? I thought I heard voices."

"I'm fine," I lied quickly, my voice shaking as I rubbed my arm to erase the phantom, chilling touch of Arlo's fingers. "Just the wind from the courtyard."

Elian looked skeptical, his gaze lingering on the flush of my neck with a strange, feverish intensity before he slowly relented. "We must hurry, My Lady. The Prince has requested you be ready before midday."

Ten minutes later, I stood in the center of the grand bedchamber, staring at my reflection. Elian had dressed me in a heavy gown of midnight-blue silk. The fabric clung sinfully to the curves of my hips, flowing down to the floor like a liquid evening sky. The neckline was cut low, exposing my collarbone, cleavage, and the sleeves were sheer.

As Elian smoothed the silk over my shoulders, his hands lingered a second too long, his fingers brushing against my bare skin with an attentive warmth that made my breath hitch in discomfort. "Perfect," he murmured under his breath, his eyes fixed on my reflection in the glass. "Absolutely perfect."

The moment he stepped back, a strange phenomenon occurred. A deep, heavy warmth began to hum directly beneath my skin. It wasn't the freezing panic from before; it was an active, electric heat that raced through my veins, making my senses hyper-alert. The silk felt like cool water, but my blood felt like fire.

What is this place doing to me? I thought, pressing a palm to my stomach where the warmth was pooling.

BANG.

The heavy double doors of the bedchamber were violently thrown open, slamming against the stone walls.

I bolted upright as a woman stormed into the room like a beautiful, destructive tempest. She wore brilliant, cascading turquoise silks, and her sharp, metallic perfume instantly suffocated the air. Her face was breathtakingly beautiful, but it was completely contorted by pure, unadulterated jealousy.

Princess Seraphina. Gunnar's royal betrothed.

"Where is she?" Seraphina shrieked, her gaze raking over the luxury furniture until her eyes locked dead onto me. Her jaw dropped slightly as she saw the midnight-blue silk gown, her eyes turning murderous. "You. You filthy, low-born stable rat. How dare you breathe the air in this wing? How dare you wear regalia meant for a future Princess?"

She crossed the room with terrifying, unnatural speed, her slippers clicking violently against the stone floor. Elian instantly dropped to his knees, but his eyes remained raised, tracking Seraphina with a hidden, protective anger.

My camp instincts screamed at me to shrink, to cower, to beg. But that strange, new warmth vibrating in my veins kept my spine rigidly straight. I refused to bow.

CRACK.

The slap exploded across my cheek.

The force of her palm tore my face to the side, a sharp, hot sting blooming instantly across my skin. A drop of copper-tasting blood welled on my lower lip. I had been hit by heavy-handed guards in the slave camps my entire life; a spoiled princess's palm wasn't enough to make me weep.

Slowly, deliberately, I turned my face back to her.

I wiped the trace of blood from my lip with the back of my hand. I didn't look at her with fear. Instead, I let my eyes trail down her expensive silk gown, then back up to her furious face, letting a cold, mocking smile touch my lips.

"He brought me here himself," I said, my voice steady, slicing through the quiet room. "I do not answer to you."

Seraphina gasped, her face turning a violent shade of crimson. "You arrogant, voiceless w***e! I will have your skin stripped from your back for that!"

She raised her hand again, her fingers curling into claws, her royal aura flaring as she prepared to strike me down.

Suddenly, the temperature in the room dropped sharply to absolute freezing.

The air in my lungs turned to ash. The light fading through the massive arched windows died, swallowed by heavy, suffocating shadows that stretched violently across the ceiling like living things. Seraphina’s hand froze mid-air, her chest locking up as she gasped for oxygen.

The heavy, metallic scent of leather, rain, and fresh enemy blood flooded the room.

Gunnar stood in the doorway. He was still in his dark military leathers, his massive, muscular frame damp with sweat from his midday sword training. His shirt was open at the collar, revealing the thick cords of his neck and a glimpse of the hard chest beneath. His eyes were completely black, radiating a fiercely possessive, terrifying alpha dominance that practically bent the air around him.

Time slowed to an absolute crawl as his gaze swept the room. It took him a single fraction of a second to lock onto the small smudge of crimson on my lower lip.

A dangerous, low growl rumbled deep in his chest, a sound so raw and fiercely territorial it sent a sudden, sinful shiver straight down my spine. The sheer intensity of his focus shifted entirely away from Seraphina and locked dead onto me, holding me so tight I couldn't breathe.

"Get your hands off my property, Seraphina," Gunnar growled, his deep voice dropping into a register so thick that it rattled the crystal chandeliers above our heads. He took a slow, heavy step forward, his towering frame completely cutting off the princess's advance as he stood between us. "Touch her again... and I will forget you are a lady."