The Sanctuary always smelled too clean.
Kael stepped through the gate as the guards bowed. The glass walls shimmered in the sun, keeping the human females penned inside like pets in a golden cage. Their laughter carried on the wind — light, hollow, trained.
He hated this place.
Rows of carefully trimmed bushes lined the park-like grounds, and girls in pale dresses twirled with wooden sticks, pretending they were free. Most of them didn't even know what lay beyond the walls. They didn't need to. They existed for one purpose — to be chosen.
Kael wasn't here to choose. His father had pushed him into this ceremony like he always did. "Every heir must take a female." It was a tradition he despised.
Then he saw her.
She was lying on the grass, blood streaking down her temple, blinking like someone who had just woken from a bad dream. While the others laughed and danced, she stared at nothing — confused, alert. There was something in her eyes the others didn't have.
Interesting.
A medic approached her first, muttering soft words and tending the wound. Kael watched in silence. She didn't cry. She didn't cling.
Most girls here were blank dolls. She wasn't.
And for the first time that day… Kael didn't feel bored.
Kael leaned against the cold glass wall, watching the chaos from a distance. The Choosing Ceremony was tomorrow, and already the sanctuary buzzed like a market preparing to sell off its prettiest trinkets.
Doctors in white coats moved through the grounds like silent keepers, tending to their delicate flock. Most of the girls were laughing, twirling, chattering about which male might pick them.
But not her.
A few meters away, one of the doctors crouched beside a girl sitting in the grass. Blood streaked down the side of her head, dark against pale skin. She didn't cry. She didn't even flinch. She just stared at the man as he spoke to her—calm, detached, like she'd learned long ago that pain was useless to complain about.
The doctor said something Kael could barely hear, something about the Choosing. She murmured a reply—soft, but steady.
Kael's ears twitched. He shouldn't have been listening. He wasn't here to get involved.
But there was something about the way she held herself—wounded but not broken—that made his beast stir beneath his skin.
Most of the females were easy to read. Trained to smile, to look pretty, to beg for attention.
She was different. Quiet. A little dangerous.
Kael straightened and shoved his hands into his pockets. Tomorrow, one of the other males would probably claim her. He didn't care.
…At least, he told himself he didn't.
The hall smelled of polished wood, damp stone, and the faint trace of nervous sweat. The females stood in rows—silent, dressed in pale fabrics, their eyes flicking upward with the same hunger every season.
He hated this part. The parade. The quiet begging.
His boots clicked against the floor, each step echoing through the hall like a metronome of power. Servants and guards followed behind, heads bowed, waiting for his decision.
"This is all you've got?" he asked, his voice cold, low.
The head guard stiffened, bowing deeper. "I-I am sorry, young master. These are the best from this sector."
Pathetic. His fingers rolled the edge of the tissue he carried, a habit he'd never quite shaken. His father's men wanted him to pick a female—secure the bloodline, fulfill the duty. But to him, they all looked the same. Pretty. Fragile. Boring.
Then… he saw her.
She stood in the third line, posture tense but not broken. Her eyes lifted when she shouldn't have. Every other girl lowered her head, but she stared straight at him, like a small creature unsure if it should run or bare its teeth.
Something in that defiance caught his attention.
He slowed down. One step. Then another. The air shifted around them as the guards fell silent.
"You look… decent," he said, letting the words roll lazily off his tongue. He didn't smile—he rarely did. But something about the spark in her eyes pulled a reaction he didn't expect.
"And maybe… even smart."
For a moment, neither of them moved. Her heartbeat was fast—he could hear it with his beast senses, that quick thrum beneath pale skin. But she didn't flinch.
Good.
He lifted a hand. "You. Come here."
The guards reacted instantly, bringing forward the golden bracelet. His family's mark. A symbol that the chosen girl now belonged to him.
She stepped forward, hesitant but steady. Her scent hit him—warm, sharp, alive. He caught her wrist, felt her pulse jump against his fingers, and locked the bracelet in place. The engraved letters shimmered faintly under the hall lights. Diana.
Her name.
The room seemed to fade as he let her wrist go. The other females lowered their heads, their hope draining away. The guards bowed as he turned.
"She comes with me," he said simply.
His steps were measured as he walked toward the exit, her soft footsteps following behind. He didn't look back—but he could feel her presence, warm and fragile, trailing in his shadow.
He hadn't wanted a mate. But something about her eyes had already shifted the balance.
And he hated that.
The moment they stepped outside, the sunlight hit him like a blade. He didn't flinch. Light never softened him—it only made his edges sharper, the darkness in him more defined. She followed, a few steps behind, her movements small, careful, like a creature still deciding if the world outside the cage was real.
"You will follow my rules," he said, voice low and steady. Not cruel—just fact. "And perhaps… you will survive this."
He saw the shiver ripple through her. Fear… and something else. He could smell it—nerves, adrenaline, the faintest thread of excitement. He didn't need to name it. He understood instinct far better than language.
The guards opened the carriage door. He tilted his head toward it, a silent order. She hesitated—a heartbeat, nothing more—then stepped inside. Good. She knew how to listen.
He followed, settling across from her. Even in the small space, her scent was sharp, cutting through the leather and polished metal. Warm, human, fragile. His world had always been full of noise and power—trained hunters, shifters with claws and teeth. But this girl carried silence with her, and somehow, it was louder than the rest.
When the doors shut, he let his gaze linger. She kept her hands folded, her eyes lowered, but every twitch of her fingers gave away the storm beneath her calm.
This was her first time being chosen. He could tell. And she had no idea what she had walked into.
Good.
He leaned back as the engine hummed, the outside world blurring into forests and rolling hills. He didn't need to speak. He had no interest in comforting her. His job was simple—claim, contain, control. Nothing more.
But the way she stole small, careful glances at him—like a moth daring the flame—lit something restless in him.
When they arrived, the iron gates slid open without a sound. The villa stretched before them—green lawns, crisp hedges, white stone walls washed in morning light. To others, it was beautiful. To him, it was just home. A fortress.
He stepped out first, breathing in the familiar air, then turned to her. For a moment, she just stood there, wide-eyed, like the world had cracked open for her.
He extended his hand, palm up. "Let's go."
She looked at his hand as if weighing something—then slowly placed hers in it. Warm. Too warm. Her pulse fluttered against his skin like a trapped bird. He tightened his hold just enough to remind her who led and who followed.
"You now belong to me," he said as they walked toward the house. His tone carried no emotion. It didn't need to. The words were the law. "The bracelet proves that. You don't leave without permission. You don't wander. If you disobey—" he didn't finish. He didn't need to. "Food will come to your room. Speak to no one unless told."
She walked in silence, though he noticed the way her shoulders tightened. She'd learned enough in the sanctuary to understand what the bracelet meant: ownership. Her wrist glinted in the sunlight—a silver band engraved with her name. A small, delicate chain, but stronger than steel.
He felt her steps falter for a heartbeat. Walls were closing in on her, even here. She didn't realize yet—every girl felt it. Some broke. Some adapted. A few… learned to fight quietly.
As they crossed the gardens, he caught the scent of her fear. But there was something under it. A question. A flicker of awakening. She was seeing—really seeing—for the first time. The beast ears of the guards, the sharp eyes of passing servants, the faint growl of power under the surface of this estate.
She wasn't blind like most of them.
Interesting.
He slowed his pace just enough to glance back at her. Her expression was pale, but her eyes—those damn eyes—were alive. Defiant in their quiet way.
"You belong to me," he repeated softly, not as a threat, but as a reminder. "Accept it. Fear won't save you here."
For a second, her fingers tightened around his.
Not in resistance.
In decision.
A slow, silent smile tugged at the corner of his mouth—not warmth, but something sharper. She was different. He didn't know if that was a gift or a problem yet. But either way, this girl was no mindless pet.
And he liked problems.
As they entered the villa, the scent of polished wood and old power wrapped around them like a second skin. She belonged to him now. Whether she realized it or not, the world she knew had ended at those sanctuary gates.
And this world—the one of beastmen and bloodlines—was about to show her what it meant to survive.