Elara pov.
The scent of jasmine and old wax was the last thing Elara registered before the large, calloused hand clamped down on her wrist.
"Straighten your back, slave," Alpha Richard snarled, his voice a low, dangerous whisper meant only for her ear.
"You represent my pack tonight.
Do not shame me."
Elara couldn't straighten her back any further.
Years of servitude, of carrying burdens far too heavy for her weakened frame, had given her a permanent stoop, but it was the constant, low-level magical suppression Richard had maintained that truly kept her small.
He always knew what she was, what she could be and he had systematically crushed her to ensure her dormant wolf never woke.
She was an orphan, a forgotten piece of property, and her only possession, a dull silver pendant marked with a faded, unfamiliar wolf sigil, was hidden beneath the neckline of the pristine white gown.
The wedding dress was heavy and suffocating a ridiculous mockery for a transaction this cold.
Richard was walking her down the grand staircase of his manor.
Earlier that evening, the house had been overflowing with the clamor of the ball, laughter, music, and the overpowering, aggressive scents of dominant werewolves.
Richard had kept her locked in the cold, damp basement beneath the scullery until the final notes of the celebration died out.
Now, only a handful of senior pack members and his sneering fiancée, Rebecca, remained to witness the disgrace.
Probably death, Elara thought, repeating the grim mantra she'd clung to for the past week.
Whatever life awaits me, it's probably just a different kind of death.
Richard stopped at the base of the staircase, tugging her forward.
In the center of the vast, marble entrance hall stood two figures: a man in the simple black robes of the High Council clergy and the man Richard had sold her to Alpha Roland.
Roland.
The name was a legend whispered in fear.
The Devil of the Shadowlands.
They said he killed without reason, that his pack was a silent legion, and that his territory was where old secrets went to rot.
He was massive.
Where Richard was merely tall and well-fed, Roland was a monument of carved granite.
His shoulders stretched the expensive black suit, and his posture was one of coiled, immense power.
His black hair was ruthlessly short, and his eyes, when he finally glanced at her, were chips of obsidian cold, depthless, and completely devoid of emotion.
She had expected revulsion, or perhaps a flash of brutal curiosity.
Instead, as their paths shortened, a bizarre sensation washed over her.
It wasn't the relief of escape, nor the paralyzing terror of facing a monster.
It was an ease, a sudden, deep, internal settling, as if her entire life had been a jarring dissonance that had just found its proper, low, resonant frequency.
She looked up, startled by the feeling, and met his gaze.
He offered nothing back, only a flicker of irritation, quickly masked.
Richard placed her trembling hand into Roland's.
His skin felt like warm iron.
The ceremony was a blur of legal jargon and arcane-sounding vows that sealed property transfer, not commitment.
The "priest," whose eyes darted around the empty room with unsettling vigilance, concluded the rite by stamping a thick, blood-red seal onto the parchment.
"It is done," the priest intoned, stepping back.
Richard immediately released Elara and turned to Roland, his voice now oily and cheerful.
"Pleasure doing business with you, Alpha.
The matter of the witches will be expedited now that we have this… agreement."
Roland offered a curt nod and shook Richard's hand, sealing the deal with a grip that spoke of unbreakable contract.
Elara watched, suddenly feeling hollow.
No one had come to stand by Roland; there were no family members, no pack allies, just her, Richard, Roland, and the silent official.
Then, a harsh, grating laugh ripped through the quiet hall.
Rebecca, leaning against a pillar nearby, raised a glass of champagne to Elara.
"Enjoy the Shadowlands, girl. You finally found someone more miserable than you are."
Elara didn't flinch.
She simply turned and followed the massive Alpha as he strode out of the mansion.
Outside, a black Lamborghini Murciélago waited, sleek and impossibly silent.
A guard quickly opened the passenger door for Roland, and he slid in.
Elara scrambled in after him, the long train of the wedding dress snagging briefly.
For five minutes, the air in the car was glacial.
The engine hummed, but they didn't move.
The silence was so heavy Elara felt she might suffocate in the rich leather interior. Finally, worn down by years of being invisible, she spoke.
"Are… are we waiting for someone?"
Alpha Roland turned his head slowly, those terrifying dark eyes meeting hers.
"They are bringing your remaining possessions."
Elara managed a faint smile, a ghost of a laugh catching in her throat.
"That's awfully kind of them, Alpha.
But I don't have any remaining possessions.
The briefcase the chauffeur put in the back seat is all I own."
He stared at her, an expression she couldn't decipher.
Was it a surprise?
Pity?
He shook it off immediately and nodded to the driver.
The car roared to life, shooting into the dark night.
When they finally slowed, the mansion they pulled up to dwarfed Richard's home.
It was ancient and built of dark stone, rising from the earth like a jagged tooth beneath the moon.
The scent of pine and rich, cold earth was strong here.
Guards, taller and broader than any of Richard's men, materialized instantly, opening the door for their Alpha.
Roland was immense, a dark god stepping out into his realm.
"Take her to the East Wing.
Assign a maid to ensure she eats and rests. Do not disturb her unless necessary," Roland commanded the nearest guard, his voice ringing with absolute authority.
Elara barely had time to register the instruction before a stern-faced woman in a dark uniform gently guided her by the elbow.
She looked back once, just as Roland entered the manor.
His profile was sharp, his jaw tight.
He hadn't looked at her, yet every nerve ending in her body felt hyper-aware of his departure.
She was in the Devil's house, bought and paid for.
What is it about this man?
she wondered, her hand involuntarily touching the place he had stood.
The ease is gone, replaced by a hollow ache... and a profound sense of having arrived exactly where I was always meant to be.
What an intense first step into the Shadowlands!
That internal sense of "ease" Elara felt around Roland is a powerful sign of their bond.