The moment Elara stepped out of the carriage and onto the soil of Blackthorn territory, she knew life as she had known it was gone.
The air was colder here, sharp with the scent of pine and smoke. The mountains rose in jagged peaks beyond the sprawling fortress of stone and iron that marked Kael Draven's dominion. Wolves lurked in the shadows, their eyes glowing faintly gold in the dim light, watching her every move. She was prey among predators.
Kael hadn't spoken to her since the carriage ride, but now he stood beside her, towering and still, his presence both a shield and a threat. His reputation alone made even the guards stiffen when he walked past. Elara could feel it too—the raw force of dominance that rolled off him in waves, like a storm pressing against her lungs.
"This way," he said finally, his voice cutting through the silence. It was low and rough, as though he hadn't spoken in years, but it carried the kind of authority that left no room for refusal.
Elara's steps faltered, but she followed. What else could she do? She had been delivered here as a bride, not a guest, and certainly not an equal.
Inside the fortress, the corridors were dimly lit with torches, the walls draped in furs and banners marked with Kael's crest—two wolves circling a broken moon. The air was heavy with smoke and the faint metallic tang of blood.
Her stomach twisted.
This was not a home. It was a den. A kingdom built on fear.
"You will stay in the east wing," Kael said as they stopped before a large oak door. "Guards will be posted at all times. Do not attempt to leave the fortress without permission."
Elara lifted her chin, masking the quiver in her chest. "Permission? Am I a prisoner now?"
Kael's eyes—those cold, burning silver eyes—met hers. For a long, suffocating moment, he said nothing. Then, with a faint, humorless smile, he answered, "A wife."
The word carried no warmth. No tenderness. Only ownership.
Her hands curled into fists at her sides, nails biting into her palms. She wanted to scream at him, to tell him she wasn't a piece of property to be claimed and caged. But the truth sat heavy in her chest—she was here as an offering, a bargain struck between packs. Her will had never been part of the choice.
Kael stepped closer, close enough that she could feel the heat radiating from his body, close enough that his scent—smoke, pine, and something darker—wrapped around her.
"You should understand something, Elara," he murmured, his voice a dangerous whisper. "I don't want a wife. I want loyalty. Betray me, and I'll break you. Stay, obey, and maybe… you'll survive me."
Her heart pounded, but she forced herself not to step back. "Maybe I don't want to survive you," she said softly, her voice trembling but defiant.
His eyes narrowed, silver fire flashing, but instead of anger, something else flickered across his face—amusement, curiosity, maybe even a spark of respect. He tilted his head, studying her as though she were an impossible puzzle.
"Careful, little wolf," he said, his tone shifting, quieter, more dangerous. "Defiance has a price."
Before she could respond, he turned and strode down the hall, his presence vanishing with him, leaving only silence in his wake.
Elara let out a shaky breath she hadn't realized she was holding. Her body trembled, not just with fear but with fury. She hated him already—his arrogance, his cruelty, his certainty that she belonged to him.
But beneath all of it, she hated herself most for the truth that she couldn't ignore: something about him, something broken and shadowed, pulled at her.
The following morning, Elara awoke to the sound of footsteps outside her chamber. She dressed quickly, choosing a simple gown from the wardrobe that had been filled during the night—dark silks, rich furs, nothing like the soft colors she once wore. Every piece screamed of wealth and power, yet none felt like hers.
When she stepped into the hall, two guards immediately flanked her.
"Alpha's orders," one said when she gave him a questioning look.
They escorted her through the fortress, and soon, the scent of roasting meat and fresh bread filled the air. The dining hall loomed ahead, vast and imposing, filled with Kael's pack. Warriors, servants, advisors—all of them turned to watch her as she entered, their gazes sharp with curiosity, suspicion, even hostility.
And at the head of the table sat Kael Draven.
The Savage Alpha.
He was already watching her, his eyes unreadable as he gestured for her to come forward.
Elara's legs felt heavy, but she forced herself to walk the length of the hall. Every step was a battle, every stare a reminder that she was the outsider here, the human who had been thrust into a den of wolves.
When she reached the table, Kael rose. His towering form silenced the room instantly.
"This is Elara," he announced, his voice carrying the weight of a decree. "My wife. My Luna."
The words echoed through the hall, and Elara's breath caught.
Not just wife. Luna.
It was a title of power, of leadership. But in Kael's mouth, it sounded more like a sentence.
Murmurs rippled through the pack, some respectful, some doubtful. Elara could feel their eyes piercing her, testing her, waiting for her to falter.
She refused to.
With her chin lifted, she met their gazes one by one. She would not cower.
Kael's lips curved slightly, almost imperceptibly, as though her defiance pleased him.
But then, his voice dropped lower, for her ears alone. "Welcome to your new cage, Luna."
And as she sat beside him at the head of the table, surrounded by wolves who wanted her gone, Elara realized the cruel truth: this marriage was not the end of her trials.
It was only the beginning.