The descent into the sub-levels of the Romano estate felt like a funeral procession. Killian Blackwood, a man who was used to the infinite canopy of the night sky and the rugged freedom of the northern mountains, felt the stone walls closing in on him with every step. The air down here was different, recycled, cold, and heavy with the scent of ozone and floor wax. It was a place designed to break a man's spirit before it ever broke his body.
Vincenzo led the way, his footsteps echoing with a rhythmic, taunting precision. He didn't look back at the Alpha once. He didn't need to. The two guards trailing behind Killian, their fingers hovering over the triggers of silver-loaded submachine guns, were more than enough to ensure cooperation.
They reached a heavy, reinforced steel door at the end of a dimly lit corridor. Vincenzo swiped a keycard, and the door hissed open, revealing a room that was a mockery of a master suite. It had a bed with high-thread-count sheets, a sleek mahogany desk, and a private bath, but the lack of windows made it feel like a gilded coffin.
"Your new kingdom, Alpha," Vincenzo sneered, stepping aside to let Killian enter. The Underboss leaned against the doorframe, a toothpick dangling from the corner of his mouth. "It's been lead-lined and treated with a silver-nitrate wash. It's essentially a Faraday cage for Shifters. Your 'Alpha roar' won't reach the driveway, let alone your pack."
Killian stepped into the room, his nostrils flaring. The space was sterile. It lacked the jasmine and citrus scent of the woman who owned it, the woman who had just effectively put a leash on his neck.
"I am a guest of your Boss, not a prisoner," Killian said, his voice dropping into a low, dangerous rumble that vibrated the glass on the nightstand.
Vincenzo let out a dry, hacking laugh. "In this house, the only difference between a guest and a prisoner is how much the Boss likes you. And right now? She'd rather look at a radiator than your face. You're here because she needs your mining rights, and you need her weapons. Anything beyond that is a courtesy you haven't earned."
Vincenzo tossed a heavy ring of keys onto the metal desk. The sound was sharp, like a gunshot in the quiet room. "Those open the fridge and the bathroom cabinet. The main door stays locked from the outside from midnight until 6:00 AM. If you try to shift and claw your way through the vents, the sensors will trigger a silver-gas suppressant. It won't kill you, but it'll make you wish you were dead for about forty-eight hours."
Killian turned to face him, his amber eyes glowing with a suppressed, feral light. "You forget yourself, human. I could rip your throat out before your finger even touches the alarm."
Vincenzo didn't even flinch. He reached into his pocket, pulled out a small remote, and pressed a button. A high-pitched, ultrasonic frequency ripped through the room. It was silent to human ears, but to Killian, it was like a hot needle being driven into his brain. He gasped, dropping to one knee as his equilibrium shattered.
"I don't forget anything," Vincenzo said, clicking the sound off. "I remember a girl in a white dress crying in the rain five years ago. I remember holding her head while she puked her guts out from a pregnancy that was killing her because her 'Mate' was too much of a coward to stay. You aren't an Alpha here, Blackwood. You're just a debt we haven't collected yet."
Vincenzo stepped out, and the heavy bolt slid into place with a definitive, mechanical clack.
Killian remained on the floor for a long time, his chest heaving as the world stopped spinning. The silence of the room was absolute. For the first time in his life, he couldn't hear the heartbeat of his pack. He couldn't hear the wind in the trees. He was truly, utterly alone.
He stood up shakily and walked to the desk, picking up the keys. He noticed a small, leather-bound folder lying next to them. He opened it, expecting to see a list of house rules. Instead, he found a printed itinerary for the following day.
08:00 – Audience with the Shadow Queen.
09:00 – Territory Negotiation: Valenti Syndicate.
12:00 – Supervised Meal.
The professionalism of it was a slap in the face. She wasn't treating him like an enemy; she was treating him like an asset. A tool to be managed.
He slumped onto the edge of the bed, the silk sheets feeling like ice against his skin. He closed his eyes, and the image of Leo flashed behind his eyelids. The boy's face was a perfect map of his own features, but tempered by Alessandra's softness. He thought about the tiny growl he had heard in the office. It was a sound of protection, of a wolf already realizing its duty.
"I'm sorry," Killian whispered into the empty, lead-lined room.
The words felt small and useless. He had spent five years convinced that his pride was the most important thing he owned. He had rejected his soul for the sake of a throne, and now he was sitting in a basement while his soul sat on a throne of her own.
He lay back on the bed, staring up at the recessed lighting. He could feel the moon beginning to swell in the sky above the mansion, even through the lead. His bones felt heavy, his blood thick with the approaching change. Usually, the shift was a celebration of his power. Tonight, it felt like a punishment.
He was the Alpha of the Blackwood Pack, the Butcher of the North, and the most feared predator in the Lycan world.
And tonight, he was nothing more than a dog in a cage, waiting for his Queen to tell him when he was allowed to bark.