The courtyard stones bit into my soles, crushing bone. Six days on the road; the heat had scorched my throat, and the water had run out three days ago. Every step echoed in my head, dust grated against my teeth, ingrained in my skin and traveling dress. The caravan creaked behind me, wagons dragging heavily toward the stables. The castle courtyard air felt thick, heavy with the stench of manure and sweat. My shoulders slumped; the pack on my back pulled me down as if filled with stones rather than meager belongings. My legs were tangling; I stumbled over protruding cobbles, barely maintaining my balance. My face burned, and a fresh bruise on my thigh—earned from a fall off a horse on the third day—ached beneath the thin fabric of my dress.
Finally, the coolness of the main corridor washed over me like a breath of fresh air. A heavy, ancient scent of dust, dampness from the dungeons, and torch soot. I trudged toward the stairs, toward the promised rest, to my attic garret where I could collapse and forget everything. Reddish glints of the setting sun pierced through narrow arrow slits, tracing long shadows on the gray stone.
Selena stood at the top of the stairs. Perfectly brushed hair, silk dress flowing over her figure. She looked down, her lips curling.
"Well, look at that, you returned," her voice was like a sharp blade. "And I thought... the southern border would be the end of you."
I raised my head. Her gaze was one of poisonous disappointment, unconcealed. The fresh bruise on my forearm pulsed; my nostrils stung with the scent of salt and sweat.
"Let me pass." I tried to squeeze past, pressing against the cold wall, head lowered. My throat was parched; every word came with difficulty.
She didn't move.
"You look like a dead rat." Selena leaned in, her face at a dangerous distance. "And yet you survived. What a pity."
"I need to pass." My voice was a hoarse whisper.
She jerked sharply, her shoulder slamming into my chest. Accidentally? No. I lost my balance. The pack pulled me back; my legs gave way. I fell.
A dull thud. My body sprawled across the sharp edges of the stone steps. The air was knocked from my lungs. Pain pierced my side, a sharp sting in my knee. My left forearm scraped against the rough stone, and I felt the skin tear away, blood dripping down my arm. I wheezed. The thud echoed through the corridor.
Selena stood above me. Her lips stretched into a triumphant, malicious smile.
"Careful, servant." She turned away, smoothing the folds of her dress. "Such worthlessness has no place on the Alpha's stairs."
Footsteps. A few warriors of the pack passed by, their heavy boots clattering on the stone. They didn't slow down, didn't even turn their heads. A fallen servant. No one saw. No one cared. I lay there, breathing in dust, feeling the blood run down my arm, soaking the sleeve. The cold of the stone seeped into my bones.
Tom darted out from a side passage. A fresh bruise sat above his eye on a face smeared with dirt. His apprentice training uniform was soiled. He assessed the situation quickly, his eyes darting from me to Selena, then back.
Selena looked away for a moment, appearing bored, waiting for me to get up myself.
Tom took a step. Swift, silent. He grabbed me by the elbow, his fingers gripping my arm.
"Get up." His voice was low, almost a whisper, filled with sympathy.
A tug. My body was hoisted up. I stood, swaying, leaning against the wall. He let go of my arm, cast a short, parting glance. A second. Then he vanished into the shadows of the side corridor, his footsteps fading.
The scent of my fresh blood. It filled the stale air of the corridor. Metallic, sharp, cloying. It hit my nose, appearing unnaturally bright against the background of dust and dampness.
The bond inside me flared. A hot pulse, like a lightning strike. Not a warning. A command. He is coming.
Cale.
His energy—heavy smoke and cold metal—hit me even before he appeared. I felt the space around me contract. The warriors who were walking down the hall just a second ago froze, pressing themselves against the walls.
He rounded the corner. In black leather armor, his steps dull and heavy. The scent of campfire and steel. His eyes, like glowing coals, swept across the corridor, stopping on me, on my blood.
Selena's smile died. Her body tensed. She froze, sensing the threat radiating from the Alpha, which seemed to vibrate in the very air.
Cale didn't look at her. His gaze burned through me. But I felt a wave of cold fury wash over Selena—a mental command that made her turn pale, her eyes widening with sudden fear. She instinctively stepped back, merging with the shadows.
He approached. Two long strides, stopping right in front of me.
"What is this?" His voice was a low growl. Not a question. An accusation.
I raised my head, blinking. My head was spinning, the pain in my side pulsing. I looked at him, not knowing what to answer. What could I say? That I was pushed? That I fell? He didn't ask. He demanded an answer to something he already knew.
Cale roughly grabbed my wounded arm. His fingers squeezed my forearm, right where the skin had been torn.
I cried out.
He didn't let go.
"What are you doing?" I tried to pull away, but his grip was iron.
His eyes narrowed. He didn't say a word, simply channeled his power. Through the bond. Through our bond.
Heat pierced my arm. Not a gentle warmth. It was fire. An agonizing burning. The skin crackled, tightening like a festering wound. Every cell screamed as it rearranged itself. The wound closed with unnatural speed, leaving no trace, but the pain... the pain was sharp, unbearable. This wasn't healing. This was torture.
I gasped, trying to jerk my arm away.
"Weakness." He growled directly into my face, his breath scorching my skin. "Unacceptable weakness."
His gaze burned, full of contempt. He didn't let go of my arm; he continued to hold it, squeezing, his fingers digging into the freshly healed flesh.
"Do not shame me." His voice was like a whip-crack. He jerked me after him. He didn't let go.
My legs could barely keep up. I stumbled, nearly dragged along the stone corridor as he pulled me toward his quarters, ignoring my gasping moans, the pain, and the frantic terror.