Liora tossed a bundle of fabric onto the nearby chair. "Get dressed," she said briskly, not bothering to look at . "We don't have all day."
Inara hesitated before stepping closer, her voice softer. "We found sothing that should fit."
I turned away from the mirror, eyeing the clothing warily. It was nothing like the rough, travel-worn clothes I had lived in for weeks, months? Hell I don't even know how long ago i left ho. Instead, the fabric was fine, ant for soone who belonged here—not a prisoner, not a human caught in the wolves' ga.
The dress was dark, a deep shade of charcoal with silver embroidery along the sleeves and hem. Modest but elegant, ant to keep covered while still reminding that I was not one of them.
A quiet, unwelco feeling settled in my chest.
Inara fidgeted again. "It's soft," she said, almost like she wanted to comfort . "It won't be uncomfortable."
Liora scoffed. "She should be grateful she's getting anything at all."
I bit the inside of my cheek to keep from snapping at her.
Instead, I exhaled slowly and unwrapped the cloth from my body.
Inara turned politely, while Liora just rolled her eyes as if she had better things to do. I pulled the dress over my head, the fabric sliding easily over my skin. It was lighter than I expected, almost weightless. The sleeves fitted snugly around my wrists, and the material pooled slightly at my feet.
Strange.
I had forgotten what it felt like to wear sothing clean.
Inara turned back, smiling as she took in. "It suits you," she said brightly.
Liora sighed. "It doesn't matter if it suits her or not. She's being presented, not courted."
Presented.
I stilled. "Presented to who? Let guess...."
Liora arched a brow. "Who do you think?"
The answer sank in my stomach like a stone.
Zain.
Inara glanced at , as if asuring my reaction, before reaching for a silver comb. "Let do your hair."
I didn't argue. I sat stiffly as she pulled the comb through the damp strands, untangling the knots with careful precision.
The room was quiet except for the sound of the comb gliding through my hair.
I didn't know what would happen when I stood before Zain again.
But I knew one thing.
This dress, this cleaned-up version of —none of it changed the fact that I was still his prisoner.
Inara finished combing through the last of my hair, her fingers light as she smoothed it down my back.
"I've never seen hair like this before," she murmured, almost to herself. "It's like moonlight."
Liora huffed. "Enough gawking. She's ready."
I wasn't sure if ready was the right word.
I stared at my reflection once more, taking in the girl standing in the mirror. The white hair, the silver-gray eyes, the dress that fit too well for soone ant to be nothing more than a captive.
I didn't recognize her.
"Co on," Liora said impatiently. "The Alpha doesn't like to be kept waiting."
I swallowed hard and stood. Inara stepped back, her expression hesitant, but Liora was already moving, yanking open the heavy wooden door. The hall outside was dimly lit, the torches casting flickering shadows against the stone.
Two guards waited just beyond the threshold. Their eyes swept over , unreadable, before one of them gestured for to follow.
I forced my chin up, refusing to shrink beneath their stares. If Zain wanted to dress like sothing precious, then I'd at least act like I belonged in this skin.
Even if we both knew the truth.
I was a prisoner in silk. A caged bird with clipped wings.
And soon, I would face the wolf who held the key.
The hallway was eerily silent, save for the soft patter of my bare feet against the cold stone floor. The dress they'd put in was deceptively soft, its fabric whispering with every step, but it didn't change what I was.
Violet Hawthorne, daughter of Jas Hawthorne.
Sent into enemy camp to capture and kill their leader.
Great.
The guards flanked on either side, their towering forms making escape feel impossible. Not that I had anywhere to run. The mont I'd been dragged into this place, I'd felt the shift in the air—sothing old, sothing watching. This was no ordinary stronghold.
It was a predator's den.
Liora walked ahead, her posture rigid, while Inara lingered slightly behind. She caught my eye once, just a flicker of sothing hesitant before she quickly looked away.
The corridor opened into a vast chamber, the ceiling disappearing into darkness. Torches lined the walls, their glow barely enough to cut through the gloom. A long wooden table stood in the center, chairs arranged neatly as if a feast could break out at any mont.
And at the far end—
A throne.
Not ornate. Not golden. Just dark, heavy wood, carved with symbols I didn't recognize.
And seated upon it was the devil himself.
Zain.
He was still, his face unreadable, his midnight-blue eyes fixed on the mont I stepped into the room. The firelight cast sharp shadows across his features, highlighting the cruel angles of his jaw, the controlled strength in the way he sat.
I stopped walking.
The air felt heavier here, thick with sothing unseen. My heart pounded, my instincts screaming at to run—even knowing there was no escape.
Liora cleared her throat. "She's been washed and dressed as you ordered, Alpha."
Zain didn't react.
Didn't blink.
Then, slowly, he leaned forward.
"Elara," he said, my na rolling off his tongue like a quiet threat.
I swallowed. "It's Violet."
A muscle in his jaw ticked.
Then he stood.
And the room seed to shrink around him.
Every instinct I had scread at to *bow*. To *submit*.
I clenched my fists.
I would not kneel. Not for him. Not for anyone.
Zain's lips curled—just slightly, as if he could hear my thoughts. Then he descended the steps of the throne, each step slow, deliberate.
I didn't move.
Not even when he stopped just inches away.
Not even when I had to tilt my chin up to et his gaze.
His fingers lifted, just barely brushing the edge of my hair. A touch so faint it shouldn't have sent a shiver racing down my spine.
But it did.
His voice was quiet. Dangerous.
"Let's see how long that defiance lasts."The hallway was eerily silent, save for the soft patter of my bare feet against the cold stone floor. The dress they'd put in was deceptively soft, its fabric whispering with every step, but it didn't change what I was.
A prisoner.
A prisoner on a mission to kill.
The guards flanked on either side, their towering forms making escape feel impossible. Not that I had anywhere to run. The mont I'd been dragged into this place, I'd felt the shift in the air—sothing old, sothing watching. This was no ordinary stronghold.
It was a predator's den.
Liora walked ahead, her posture rigid, while Inara lingered slightly behind. She caught my eye once, just a flicker of sothing hesitant before she quickly looked away.
The corridor opened into a vast chamber, the ceiling disappearing into darkness. Torches lined the walls, their glow barely enough to cut through the gloom. A long wooden table stood in the center, chairs arranged neatly as if a feast could break out at any mont.
And at the far end—
A throne.
Not ornate. Not golden. Just dark, heavy wood, carved with symbols I didn't recognize.
And seated upon it was the devil himself.
Zain.
He was still, his face unreadable, his midnight-blue eyes fixed on the mont I stepped into the room. He was like death itself, but with a little beauty.
Who the hell am I kidding?! This man in front of is over the top, gorgeous!
No.
This was not how this should be playing out in my head.
I was supposed to hate him, so I can kill.....but why?
What?
And how am I feeling different?!
The firelight cast sharp shadows across his features, highlighting the cruel angles of his jaw, the controlled strength in the way he sat.
I stopped walking, instead focused more on my breathing.
The air suddenly felt heavier, thick with sothing unseen. My heart pounded, my instincts screaming at to run—even knowing there was no escape.
Liora cleared her throat. "She's been washed and dressed as you ordered, Alpha."
He didn't react.
Didn't blink.
Then, slowly, he leaned forward.
"Elara," he said, a na rolling off his tongue like a quiet threat.
I swallowed. "It's Violet."
A muscle in his jaw ticked.
Then he stood.
And the room seed to shrink around him.
Every instinct I had scread at to bow. To submit.
I clenched my fists.
I would not kneel. Not for him. Not for anyone.
Zain's lips curled—just slightly, as if he could hear my thoughts. Then he descended the steps of the throne, each step slow, deliberate.
I didn't move.
Not even when he stopped just inches away.
Not even when I had to tilt my chin up to et his gaze.
His fingers lifted, just barely brushing the edge of my hair. A touch so faint it shouldn't have sent a shiver racing down my spine.
But it did.
His voice was quiet. Dangerous.
"Hmmm....Let's see how long that defiance lasts."
User Comments
0 comments from readers