LYRA
Everyone knows what purgatory means; it is the underground cells beneath the main house where wolves are taken to be broken. No one comes out the same. Many do not come out at all.
"Alpha Kade," Marina begins, stepping forward with one hand outstretched. "The bond is still new. She needs—"
"She needs to be contained," Alpha Kade cuts her off, his gaze still on me. "Until we determine what trick she has played. What magic she has worked."
"I did not do anything," I finally manage to say, my voice a thin thread of sound. "I swear it."
"Save your lies," he growls. "You will have plenty of time to confess the truth in purgatory."
With that, he signals to the men who yank me forward. My legs will not support my weight, and I stumble, nearly falling. But the men do not slow down or adjust their paces; they simply pull me harder, forcing me to stagger alongside them or be dragged through the dirt.
The crowd parts as they drag me toward the exit. Some of them spit at my feet. Others make warding signs against evil. A few look away, unable or unwilling to watch.
"This is a mistake," I hear Marina's voice. "The goddess does not make errors in her bonds."
"Then let her come save this one," I hear Alpha Kade snarl. "Let her prove the bond is real."
No divine intervention comes. No goddess appears to smite Alpha Kade for his defiance. There is only the night, the moon, and the inexorable pull of his men's grip as they drag me away from the ceremony, away from the pack and away from any hope of mercy.
In no time, I am taken to a cold dark cell and shoved inside. My body quivers as I hit the floor. I cannot see anything, all I hear is sound. I feel them clamp silver chains to my wrists and throat. The silver burns my skin, draining what remains of my energy. I whimper but welcome the pain.
Soon, I hear the heavy sound of the gates and the snapping of chains and keys. In no time, I am left alone with only the darkness and my silence as my companion.
***
KADE
My skin feels too tight as I stride through the corridor, and omegas scurry ahead like mice before a hawk. Three days away from the castle dealing with Knox's border dispute, and all I can think about is Lyra Thorne and the silver threads that burned between us under the Blood Moon. The memory of it sits like poison in my veins. It feels like something foreign and unwanted invading my bloodstream.
My wolf paces restlessly inside me, growling at me steadily. My wolf and I have been on a conflicting war since the goddess shone her light. My hatred for the girl whose brother betrayed us all clashes with the primal need to claim what the goddess has decreed is mine.
"Alpha Kade," one of the omegas speaks, his voice barely above a whisper. "The letters."
I glance at the two men flanking me. Each of them is balancing a golden platter piled high with sealed envelopes. The wax seals bear the insignias of neighboring packs: red for Bloodthorn, blue for Silvercrest, black for Nightshade. So many letters, all demanding the same thing.
"Bring them inside," I command, pushing open the heavy oak door to my chambers.
My bedroom is exactly as I left it, opulent but austere, all dark wood and cold stone. Moonlight slices through narrow windows, casting long shadows across the floor. Everything is in perfect order, nothing out of place. Nothing except the howling in my head that started the moment those silver threads connected me to her.
The omegas hesitate at the threshold, as if sensing my wolf's agitation. A smart move on their part.
"Is there something else?" I ask calmly.
They exchange nervous glances. The older one, with silver streaking his temples, clears his throat. "The letters, Alpha. They are all inquiring about the Hollowing ritual for the Thorne girl."
My jaw tightens. Of course they are. They want to see the traitor's blood purged. They want to see her suffer. It's what they believe she deserves. It's what I believe she deserves. But a triple mate bond is unprecedented and impossible. And to the sister of the traitor who sold us all to Kronos?
"And?" I prompt.
"Some suggest… immediate action," the younger omega adds, eyes downcast. "Alpha Igla alone has sent three letters. He says it is long overdue."
I am not surprised. Igla has wanted to tear into the Thorne bloodline since the war ended. I motion for them to set the platters on my desk, the one by the window where I conduct pack business.
"The girl," I say, careful to keep my voice neutral. "How is she?"
The silence that follows my question stretches too long. The omegas exchange another look, this one heavy with something I cannot quite name.
"She remains in purgatory, Alpha," the older one finally says. "In isolation, as you commanded."
My wolf growls, enraged by her suffering. I feel my canines threatening to extend and force them back with a painful effort of will.
"Good," I say, though nothing about this situation is good. "You may leave the letters and go."
They bow low and back toward the door, relief evident in the slackening of their shoulders. Just before they exit, I add, "Send no one to my chambers tonight. I am not to be disturbed."
The door closes with a soft click, and I am alone with my thoughts again. I move to the desk, running my fingers over the pile of letters. The demands inside are all bloodthirsty cries for retribution against the Thorne line. They want to see her broken, hollowed out, and her spirit crushed for pack justice.
Why does the thought displease me so much?
I strip and step into the wooden bathtub set into the stone floor. Steam rises from the water, scented with pine and something darker — blood cedar, perhaps. The omegas always have it ready, no matter when I return.
Stepping into the scalding water, I hiss as it sears my skin. Good. Let it burn away this weakness, this unwanted bond. I sink to my shoulders, muscles rigid with tension as I battle the urges of my wolf.
Claim her. Rut her. She is mate. She is mine.
The battle rages beneath my skin, along my spine, and behind my eyes. My wolf has never been so insistent, so demanding. I close my eyes and dip my head beneath the surface, letting the hot water close over me, muffling the world.
By the time I step from the bath, the water has cooled, and my skin is flushed red. I do not bother with a towel, letting the night air dry my skin as I cross to my bed, a massive thing of dark wood and darker furs. I collapse onto it, naked and exhausted, my rage finally giving way to the fatigue of three sleepless nights.
I am back in Kronos' dungeon, with silver chains burning my wrists and ankles, my body is weak from blood loss and starvation.
"Alpha," a voice whispers from the darkness, one of my pack, pleading. "Help us."
I strain against the chains, but they only burn deeper. Blood trickles down my arms, dripping onto the stone floor. I can see it despite the darkness.
Another voice joins the first, then another, until the darkness is filled with the whispered pleas of my pack. I recognize each voice. These are wolves I failed to protect, wolves who died in captivity, wolves who returned broken beyond repair.
The cell door creaks open, and Lord Kronos enters, tall and elegant in his fine clothes, not a speck of blood on him despite the carnage he creates. His eyes are black holes in a face too perfect to be natural.
"Your pack makes such delightful sounds," he says, voice like silk over steel. "Shall we hear more?"
He snaps his fingers, and guards drag in a wolf I know too well, my younger sister, Tana, she is barely eight when the vampires took us. She is just a child. They say her blood is tasty. She looks so pale as she fights against their hold, her eyes wild with terror.
"No," I growl. "Take me instead."
"Kade, help me." Tears run down Tana's almost white cheeks.
"Take me, please," I pleaded.
Kronos laughs and it sounds like breaking glass. "Oh, I will, Alpha. But first, a little entertainment."
He nods to his guards, and they force my sister to her knees. One grabs her hair, yanking her head back to expose her throat. Kronos leans in, fangs extended, and—
I jolt awake, a roar trapped in my throat. Sweat covers my body, and my heart hammers against my ribs like it is trying to escape. The phantom sensation of fangs still burns on my skin, and for a moment, I am not sure where I am. My chamber is too dark and too closed. I cannot breathe.
"Tana," I mutter. "Oh, Tana, I am sorry." My voice is so shaky that it almost breaks into a sob.
Grabbing a black silk robe, I stumble to the terrace doors and fling them open. Cold night air hits me like a slap, clearing some of the fog from my mind. I step outside, letting the stone cool my bare feet, grounding me in the present.
In the distance, I can hear the howls of pack wolves on patrol, a bitter reminder of my responsibilities. I grip the stone balustrade, knuckles white, as I struggle to regain control.
"Bad night?" a voice asks from the shadows.
I do not startle. I knew he was there before he spoke.