Elena woke with a start, the echo of a howl still clinging to her dreams.
The penthouse room was too quiet, its silence heavy, oppressive. Sunlight poured in through floor-to-ceiling windows, glinting against steel fixtures and glass tables, but nothing warmed her. It felt less like a home and more like a cage—bright, beautiful, suffocating.
Her body ached as though she had run miles in her sleep. She pressed her palm to her chest, half expecting to feel claws raking against her ribs. Damian's golden eyes haunted her memory, the guttural voice that had told her to stay back ringing louder than the morning bells of the city.
She forced herself out of bed, bare feet brushing against marble. Someone had placed fresh clothes on a chair—elegant, expensive, suffused with faint cologne. She didn't need to guess who had ordered them. Damian's control lingered in every detail, from the way the curtains were drawn to the folded napkins on the breakfast table.
As she ate a few bites mechanically, her mind spun.
She had married him for survival, for her family's debts. That had been terrifying enough. But now she knew the truth: her husband wasn't human. He was something else, something that should not exist outside whispered legends.
The door opened without warning. Damian stepped in, his presence filling the room like a shadow swallowing the light. Black suit. Crisp shirt. Eyes sharp enough to slice the air.
"You didn't knock," Elena said, clutching the coffee cup tighter.
"I don't need to knock in my own house," Damian replied smoothly.
House. The word stung. No, it wasn't a house. It was a gilded prison, and he was the warden.
"You'll stay here today," he continued, his tone flat, absolute. "There are things outside that you're not ready to face."
Her stomach dropped. "Things outside? What things?"
He met her eyes for a brief moment, something dangerous flickering in his gaze. "Don't ask questions you can't afford answers to."
"I deserve to know." Her voice rose despite the knot of fear in her throat. "You turned into a monster in front of me, Damian. Don't pretend it didn't happen."
For the first time, his expression shifted—tightening, hardening. He took a step closer, and the air seemed to thin.
"You saw what I am," he said, voice low, vibrating with restrained power. "And yet you're still breathing. That should tell you everything about how thin your margin of safety is."
Elena's skin prickled, but she forced herself not to step back. "Then at least tell me what rules you expect me to follow. Or am I supposed to just guess until I'm punished?"
His lips curved, but it wasn't a smile. "Rule one: You don't leave the penthouse without me. Rule two: You don't open doors I've locked. Rule three: You don't speak of what you saw. Not to anyone. Not even to yourself."
A shiver lanced through her. "And if I break these rules?"
His eyes gleamed, gold bleeding faintly into gray. "Then I won't be the one you'll have to fear."
Elena's breath hitched. Not him? Then who?
The silence stretched between them, taut as a wire. Damian finally turned away, walking toward the glass wall that revealed the city far below. His reflection stood tall and immaculate in the window, but the faint shimmer of gold still lingered in his eyes, betraying the beast inside.
"You think I'm your enemy," he said, almost musing. "You're wrong. If I wanted you dead, you would have never walked down that aisle."
Her pulse skittered. That's supposed to reassure me?
"What are you then?" she asked, her voice trembling but defiant. "Some kind of… wolf? Demon?"
His shoulders stiffened. "Names are irrelevant. What matters is this—there are others like me. And not all of them abide by rules."
The implication slammed into her. The world outside wasn't safe not because of him, but because creatures like him existed, prowling unseen.
Elena's coffee cup clinked against the saucer as her hands shook. "Why marry me, then? Why drag me into this… nightmare?"
He faced her again, gaze unreadable. "Because appearances matter. Because control matters. And because a union—contractual or not—sends a message to my enemies."
Her jaw tightened. "So I'm your shield. Your pawn."
"You're my wife," he corrected sharply, as if that label alone justified everything.
The word reverberated through her, carrying no warmth, only chains.
Damian moved closer, each step precise, predatory. Elena forced herself to remain still, though every instinct screamed at her to back away.
"You want freedom?" His voice lowered to a near whisper, intimate and dangerous. "Earn it. Prove you can live within my rules, and I might loosen the leash."
Her chest burned with anger. Leash. He actually said leash.
But before she could retort, the intercom on the wall crackled to life. A voice, distorted and low, slithered into the room.
"Alpha Black," it drawled, mocking. "Congratulations on your… wedding. Shame if it ended before the honeymoon."
Elena's blood ran cold.
Damian's hand shot to the panel, pressing a button with lethal calm. "Who dares—"
The voice cut him off with a laugh, sharp and grating. "You know who. The city isn't yours alone. Enjoy your fragile bride while you can. The full moon rises soon, and when it does…" A pause, then a whisper that chilled the marrow in Elena's bones: "We'll see if your chains hold."
The line went dead.
Elena stared at Damian, her pulse thundering. His jaw was clenched so tightly she thought his teeth might break. His hands curled into fists at his sides.
"Who was that?" she demanded.
He didn't answer. Instead, he strode to the liquor cabinet, poured himself a glass, and downed it in one swallow.
"Damian!" she pressed, frustration and terror mingling.
Finally, he met her gaze. His voice was low, controlled, but each word vibrated with fury. "That was a warning. Not for me. For you."
Her stomach dropped. "Me?"
He set the glass down with a deliberate clink. "If you're to survive as my wife, Elena, you'll need to understand one thing—my enemies will use you. As bait, as leverage, as a weapon. And if you're not careful, you won't live long enough to regret marrying me."
The room spun. She clutched the edge of the table to steady herself. Her life had already felt like a trap; now she realized the trap wasn't even meant for her. She was just the bait dangling inside it.
Elena's vision blurred. She pressed trembling fingers to her temples. "So that's it? I'm your shield, your bait, your… liability? And you expect me to just sit here quietly while monsters—your monsters—circle outside?"
Damian's eyes flashed dangerously. "They are not my monsters. They are wolves who smell weakness, and you, Elena, are the newest scent in the air."
Her knees nearly gave out. "So I'm marked."
"You were the moment you said 'I do.'"
The words struck like iron. Elena's breath came fast, shallow. She wanted to scream, to tear off the necklace he'd forced onto her, to run until the skyscrapers gave way to forests and silence. But she couldn't. She was trapped—by her family's debts, by the contract, by this man whose touch could both cage and shield her.
She sank onto a chair, burying her face in her hands. A long silence stretched, broken only by the distant hum of the city.
Damian moved at last. His voice had softened, stripped of command. "Elena."
She lifted her head, startled by the shift. His expression was unreadable, but his gaze lingered on her, heavy with something almost human. "You think I don't want to explain. That I enjoy keeping you in the dark. But knowledge is a weapon. In the wrong hands, it kills faster than claws."
She swallowed hard. "And what about in my hands?"
His mouth curved, not into a smile but into something colder. "That depends if you know how to wield it—or if it cuts you first."
Before she could respond, the sharp trill of her phone cut the air. She fumbled to pick it up, expecting her mother, her father—someone familiar.
But the screen showed only a number, blank and featureless. Against her better judgment, she answered.
"Elena White." The voice was female, smooth, mocking. "Or should I call you Mrs. Black?"
Her blood froze. "Who is this?"
A laugh, low and musical, coiled into her ear. "You don't know me yet, little bride, but I know you. I know the scent of your fear, the taste of your doubts. Tell me, has Damian explained what happens on the full moon?"
Her heart slammed against her ribs. "Selene," she whispered.
Across the room, Damian spun, eyes blazing. "Hang up. Now."
But Selene's voice purred on. "Don't worry. I'm not here to break his toy. I just want to see how long you last before you shatter."
The line went dead.
Elena's hand shook as she lowered the phone. Damian was already there, ripping it from her grasp, checking the screen. His fury was quiet, coiled, more terrifying than rage.
"She reached you." His voice was lethal calm. "She shouldn't have been able to, not with the wards. Unless—" His gaze snapped to Elena, sharp enough to pierce. "Unless you went somewhere you weren't meant to."
Her lips parted. The archive. The file marked The Hunt.
His expression told her he knew.
"You opened a door," he said, voice low. "And now she has your name."
Elena's pulse thundered. "I—I didn't know—"
"You don't have the luxury of ignorance anymore." His hand gripped her wrist, not cruelly, but firmly enough that she couldn't pull away. "From this moment, every move you make matters. Every word, every step. You break one more rule, and I may not be able to save you."
Her chest heaved. "You talk like saving me is something you want to do."
For a heartbeat, his face shifted—softer, human, wounded. But it was gone before she could be sure.
He released her and turned toward the balcony, staring out at the fading sun. The skyline blazed red, as though the city itself bled.
"The full moon rises tomorrow," Damian said quietly. "If you want to live through it, Elena, you'll listen to me."
Her throat went dry. "And if I don't?"
He turned his head, and in the glass she saw his reflection—not just a man, not just a beast, but something caught between. His eyes gleamed faintly gold, already shifting with the pull of the night.
"Then you'll learn what the Hunt really means," he said.
Outside, as the last light faded, a howl rose from the city's edge—low, mournful, and answered by another, closer.
Elena's blood iced over. She clutched the ward pendant at her chest and finally understood: she hadn't married a man. She hadn't even married a monster.
She had married into a war.