“Right on time,” he says, his voice smooth as silk.
I want to scream. Want to take Astra and run away. Want to shift and tear his throat out the way my body tore out Daciana’s.
Instead, I walk inside.
The interior is exactly as I remember from my nightmares. Dark wood floors, high ceilings, walls lined with portraits of stern-faced people I don’t know. It smells like old books and something else—something metallic and wrong.
My arms release Astra.
She lands on the floor like a broken doll, her head flopping to the side, her breathing shallow but steady. Her hand is still curved protectively over her stomach, even in her unconscious state.
Zane crouches beside her, his movements graceful and predatory. A cat examining acaptured mouse.
He reaches for her wrist and lifts it gently, almost reverently. His fingers press against her pulse point. His eyes close.
I can only watch. Can only stand there while he touches her, while he does whatever it is he’s doing. My body won’t move. Won’t respond.
The silence stretches. One second. Two. Five. Ten.
Zane’s face is perfectly still. His breathing is slow and measured.
Then, his eyes snap open.
They’re gleaming. Triumphant. Hungry.
“So, it’s true.” His voice is soft, almost a whisper, but it fills the entire room. There’s awe in it, and greed, and something darker that makes my stomach churn. “She is with child.”
The words hit me even through the fog, even through the numbness.
No. Leave Astra alone.
“The master will love this.” Zane stands slowly, still looking down at Astra like she’s the most precious thing he’s ever seen. “A royal bloodline. An heir with the blood of alphas running through its veins. And you—” He finally looks at me, that terrible smile widening. “You delivered her right to us. Our perfect little weapon.”
Weapon? Of course.
That’s what I am. That’s all I am. A tool. A puppet with someone else pulling the strings.
The panic intensifies. That foreign panic, the one that doesn’t belong to me, screams through my consciousness like a siren. It’s desperate, terrified, clawing at the inside of my skull.
And beneath it, finally, my wolf surges forward.
Not enough to break free. Not nearly enough to take back control. The chains holding us are too strong, too absolute.
But enough to make herself known. Enough to fight.
Her snarl echoes through my mind, weak but defiant. She throws herself against our prison again and again, refusing to give up even though we both know it’s futile.
Inside my own body, trapped behind my own eyes, I scream with her.
But no sound comes out.
Zane walks to a side table where a crystal decanter sits like a trophy. He pours himself a glass of wine, the dark liquid catching the light like blood. His movements are slow, deliberate. Like he has all the time in the world.
He takes a sip. Savors it. Then, he turns to look at me.
“You know, it’s a pity.” His voice is conversational, almost pleasant. “That you decided to be so difficult. We could have done this the easy way. I could have courted you properly. Made you fall for me like any normal woman would.”
My body stands motionless. A statue. But inside, I’m screaming.
