Chapter 2 (Seraphina's POV)

"East wing. Margaret."

Just that.

The housekeeper Margaret—a woman around fifty, gray hair combed back without a strand out of place—visibly froze.

"Alpha, the east wing is your—"

"I know."

He said nothing more. He turned back to the window—conversation over.

I stood there, and it took my brain a full three seconds to process what had just happened.

The east wing. Where the master bedroom was.

He was putting me right next to him.

Ember hummed smugly. "He put you by his side."

I ignored her, because I was afraid that if I opened my mouth I'd grin, and that would be too embarrassing.

Margaret's expression looked like she'd swallowed a fly. But she still lowered her head and said in a strained voice, "Yes."

As I turned to leave, I passed him—very close. Less than an arm's length. I don't know where the nerve came from, but my fingertips lightly grazed the back of his hand hanging at his side.

"Thank you," I said quietly, not daring to look at him.

Then I practically fled the study.

The corridor was long. I walked fast, my heartbeat drowning out everything else.

"He sniffed," Ember said.

"What?"

"After you touched him, he raised his hand and sniffed the spot where you touched. Like he was catching your scent."

My steps faltered.

"You're messing with me."

"Why would I mess with you?"

"...Then you saw wrong!" I sped up, my face on fire. "A man like that wouldn't do something like that!"

Ember scoffed and went quiet.

She was teasing me. She had to be.

Margaret walked ahead, pace brisk, her heels clicking on the marble floor in precise rhythm.

She didn't look back at me. Silent the entire way. Only when we reached the room did she turn slightly to the side.

"This is your room, Miss Wren." She spoke in a flat tone. "Toiletries are in the bathroom. Clothing will be delivered tomorrow. If you need anything, press the call button by the bed."

"Thank you." I nodded.

"Please do not wander after nine p.m." Her voice sounded like she was reciting a rulebook. "The Alpha does not like to be disturbed."

"I won't disturb him."

She looked at me. Something flickered in her eyes—like disgust, or maybe gloating.

"I hope you mean that."

The door closed.

The room was big. Three times the size of my bedroom at the Wren house. Dark wood furniture, cold gray sheets, deep blue sheer curtains that hung long and swayed slightly in the evening breeze.

I didn't think too much. I showered, changed into the nightgown laid out in the bathroom—the size was actually right—and crawled under the covers.

The mattress was soft, the comforter thick. I should have been able to fall asleep.

But the moment I closed my eyes, I saw the silver blade. Saw Grace's gentle smile. Saw Damien's hand on her waist.

I turned over, buried my face in the pillow, and breathed deeply, telling myself: You got out. You're on his territory now. You're safe.

Ember lay curled up quietly in the depths of my consciousness, like a faint ember. She was tired too.

I don't know how long it took before I finally drifted off.

Then Ember woke me up.

"Can't breathe—" Her voice was hoarse, like someone had a hand around her throat. "The window... something's on it..."

I sat bolt upright, heart rate spiking to my throat.

The room was dark. There should have been moonlight from outside—tonight was nearly a full moon—but not a single ray made it in.

I got out of bed and walked to the window, pulling back the curtain.

On the inside of the curtain, pressed flat against the glass, was a layer of extremely fine mesh. At first glance it looked decorative, but the instant I leaned in close, my skin started to sting.

Damn it. Silver thread.

The entire window was covered with a screen woven from silver thread.

The moonlight was completely blocked.

Ember let out a pained growl. "That old woman—"

"I know."

Silver mesh didn't do much to an ordinary wolf—at most, the room felt a bit darker.

But for a newly awakened young wolf, cut off from moonlight by silver mesh, the wolf spirit would suffocate, weaken, or even fall dormant.

I stood by the window, nails digging into my palms.

But I couldn't make a scene.

Day one. This was my first day here. He'd just let me stay.

If I ran out there and complained now, everyone would see me as a fussy, dramatic little girl.

They'd say: See? First night in and she's already causing problems.

Don't stir things up. Not now.

"Hang in there," I told Ember.

She snarled furiously but didn't argue.

I lay back down and closed my eyes.

Ember thrashed around in my consciousness like a fish out of water, restless and agitated.

Her distress poured through our bond—a tightness in my chest, like someone slowly pressing down with their hand.

I don't know how long it went on. An hour. Two.

"I can't take it anymore." Ember's voice was raspy in a way that didn't sound like her. "I need moonlight. Even just a little—"

I was close to my limit too, drenched in cold sweat.

I crawled out of bed, bare feet on the carpet, and stumbled out.

The corridor was dark, only the faint glow of a nightlight in the corner. I leaned against the wall and moved forward, breathing hard.

"Left! Go left!" Ember suddenly screamed.

I turned left on instinct and saw a door left ajar, cool moonlight spilling through the gap.

Ember thrashed desperately, like a trapped animal that had caught the scent of water.

I rushed over and gave the door a light push. It slid open.

Moonlight.

The room was twice the size of mine. An entire wall was floor-to-ceiling windows with no curtains. Moonlight poured in like water, flooding every inch of the floor.

Ember let out a long, satisfied sigh.

She unfurled inside me, like a cat finding that one patch of carpet where the sun hit.

The crushing pressure in my chest vanished instantly, replaced by a warm, flowing strength.

The moment moonlight touched my skin, it was like taking the first sip of water after three days of thirst. My legs gave out and I sank to my knees on the carpet, forehead against my arms, gasping.

Relief. So much relief.

There was a scent in the air.

Pine. Cold iron.

...That heavy, charged feeling right before a storm.

Very familiar. I'd smelled it that afternoon.

I knew I should have realized something immediately, but Ember felt too good, and that satisfaction flooded through our bond, making my thoughts hazy and slow. Like soaking in warm water.

"Ember... where are we..."

"Don't care. Feels good. Just stay a little longer."

I curled into a ball, mind drifting, only aware that the scent in this room seemed to wrap around me like a blanket.

I don't know how long it was.

"What are you doing in my room?"

The voice came from behind me.

Every drop of blood in my body froze.

Stiffly—inch by inch—I turned my head.

He stood in the doorway. Wearing a black robe, the belt loosely tied, exposing his collarbones and a stretch of solid chest. His hair was wet, like he'd just gotten out of the shower.

Behind him stood Margaret and two fully armed warriors.

Margaret's face was white as paper, eyes wide with alarm, lips trembling.

Both warriors already had their hands on the weapons at their waists—silver hilts glinting cold in the moonlight.

The way everyone was looking at me—

Like they were looking at someone about to be executed.

Chapter 3

Margaret immediately bent at the waist, moving so fast it was like she'd been cracked with a whip.

"Alpha, this is my fault! I'll take her to the west wing right now. She will never disturb you again!"