The Dream in Lace

Alpha LUCIUS POV

"Fuck."

I slammed the heavy mahogany door of my late father's study with enough force to rattle the diamond-paned glass windows in their frames. Every muscle in my body throbbed with unspent lust. My blood boiled, thick with the lingering scent of the woman I had just abandoned under lock and key in my bedchambers.

Cassian was lounging against the arched stone entryway. His arms were crossed over his chest, his face wearing an amused smirk that made my claws itch to surface.

He pushed off the wall and took a slow step forward. "Rough night? You just walked away from a stunning woman who was practically naked in your bed. Trust me, brother, you need all the help you can get."

I shoved past him toward the heavy desk. "Get out of my sight, Cassian."

"I am your Second-in-Command, whether you like it or not." He dropped into one of the leather armchairs opposite the desk and stretched his legs out. "And as your Second, I get to face the high priestess and the council elders in the morning when the rumor spreads that you failed to consummate the ritual yet again. So tell me what happened in that room."

I gripped the carved edge of the desk, my knuckles turning white against the polished wood. "I had my reasons."

"You usually do." Cassian leaned his head back, watching me with sharp gray eyes. "Except you looked ready to tear the walls down when you walked out of there. The scent of her is all over your skin. She was ready. You were ready. Why walk away?"

I began pacing the length of the room, running both hands through my hair to calm the pounding inside my skull. "You remember the woman from my dreams? The face I made you sketch over and over for the past three months?"

Cassian went still. "The one you swore the Moon Goddess was showing you?"

"It is her." I stopped pacing and turned on my heel, fixing him with a steady stare. "Talia. The girl sitting locked in my room."

Cassian blinked, his casual posture faltering. "You cannot be serious."

"When she dropped that ruined wedding dress, I saw the scar on her right shoulder." My voice dropped lower, thick with suspicion. "The exact shape and placement from my visions. She crashed my ceremony, broke Camilla's neck, and landed straight in my bed. That is not a coincidence. It is an infiltration. A calculated setup."

Cassian drew his encrypted pack phone from his jacket pocket. His thumbs flew across the glass screen for several quiet seconds before he looked back up at me with a frown.

"She is a nobody, Lucius." Cassian turned the screen toward me. "Talia Vance. Twenty-two years old. Works as a bartender at a rundown dive near the southern border of Ashcreek territory. Her family has zero status. Her father drowns himself in cheap liquor, and her mother runs small-time back-alley scams. Ashcreek is the most impoverished, powerless pack in the entire territory. They do not have the resources, the training, or the backing to plant an assassin in your bed."

I turned my back on him, staring out into the pitch-black canopy of the pine forest. "Then why did she show up now? Why did she cross my path tonight?"

"The Moon Goddess has a dark sense of humor." Cassian stood up from the armchair and walked over, his tone losing its mocking edge. "You should have finished it. Consummation transfers Alpha strength into her veins. It binds her life force to yours. It would have given her a fighting chance against whatever keeps slaughtering your brides."

A low snarl tore from my throat as I met his gaze in the glass reflection. "You think I don't know that? You cannot begin to imagine how much I regret walking out of that room."

Cassian fell silent, letting the weight of my words hang between us.

I shook my head, letting cold logic drive out the lingering heat in my blood. "It makes no difference. Hope is a waste of time. Prepare a formal peace offering basket for Camilla Danvers's family. Gold, blood money, and our formal condolences."

"Understood," Cassian murmured.

"Assemble an identical one for Talia's relatives in Ashcreek." My voice remained flat, devoid of emotion. "They will need the burial funds within the week. They all die, Cassian. Every single one of them. Dig the seventh grave beside the others and save the gravedigger a second trip."

Cassian stared at me, his jaw tightening. "That is bleak, even for you."

The antique grandfather clock in the corner of the study began to chime, the deep iron bells marking the stroke of midnight. The sound reverberated through the floorboards, cold and heavy.

"Time is up," Cassian said, his posture straightening instantly. "We need to move."

We left the study together, moving down the dark corridor toward the concealed stone staircase at the back of the family wing. We descended into the fortified sub-level beneath the palace foundations, where the air grew damp and smelled of ancient lime and cold iron.

At the end of the narrow corridor stood a reinforced vault door. Inside, a low stone platform supported a heavy iron bedframe anchored directly into the bedrock. Massive links of rune-carved iron chains hung from each corner post, forged and blessed by the high priestess to suppress the primal power of a dominant Alpha.

I sat on the edge of the mattress and extended my arms without a word.

Cassian moved with practiced efficiency. He wrapped the blessed shackles around my left wrist, drove the heavy pin into place, and locked the mechanism with a solid click. He repeated the motion on my right wrist, securing the metal flush against my skin until the cooling runes began to sting against my pulse points.

"Make sure she stays inside that room tonight," I said.

Cassian dropped to one knee to fasten the heavy cuffs around my boots. "I will handle her."

"Make them tighter, Cassian. I do not want any incidents when the fever takes hold."

Cassian pulled hard on the ankle restraints, testing the give of the iron links against the reinforced eyelets in the stone. The metal clanged sharply in the confined space.

"They will hold," Cassian said quietly. He stood up, resting a firm hand on my shoulder for a brief second. "Try to get some rest. Or whatever passes for it down here."

He turned, grabbed the torch from the wall bracket, and stepped out into the hallway. The heavy vault door swung shut, the massive iron deadbolts sliding into place with a definitive, hollow thud.

Suffocating blackness swallowed the chamber.

Stretched out on the cold mattress, bound like a feral animal in the dark, my thoughts refused to settle. My mind drifted back to the bedroom upstairs. I saw Talia’s defiant, ember-colored eyes flashing in the candlelight, the curve of her throat, and the intoxicating heat that had radiated from her bare skin before I turned away and lied to her face, telling her I wanted her dead.

***

TALIA POV That Night

I sat frozen on the edge of the dark wool rug, clutching the charcoal drawing against my chest with stiff, aching fingers. The intricate strokes of my own jawline, my hair, and my eyes seemed to burn through the coarse parchment. Ninety days old. Someone had been watching me, dreaming of me, or hunting me long before I ever set foot inside this palace.

Quiet, measured footsteps echoed down the stone corridor outside the heavy oak door.

My heart hammered against my ribs, sending a spike of pure adrenaline through my limbs. I dropped the sketchbook under the bed skirt, sprang to my feet, and crossed the room in three soundless steps. My fingers closed around the cold, heavy brass stem of a candlestick on the nightstand.

I raised it high above my shoulder, flattening my back against the wall next to the frame, ready to drive the solid brass base into the temple of whoever crossed the threshold.

The brass key turned inside the lock. The door swung open smoothly, revealing a tall, lean figure stepping into the candlelight.

It was not Lucius.

The newcomer was younger, with lighter hair cut stylishly around high cheekbones, moving with an effortless grace that lacked Lucius's predatory bulk. He wore finely tailored clothes and carried a brown paper parcel tucked beneath his left arm.

He stopped just inside the room, held up both palms to show they were empty, and offered an easy, disarming smile. "Hello, sister-in-law. I am Cassian, Lucius's younger brother."

I did not lower the candlestick an inch. "Take one more step toward me and I will cave your skull in."

Cassian paused, letting his gaze travel from the heavy brass weapon in my hands down to my face. His grin broadened with genuine amusement. "I like you already. Lucius is going to have his hands full trying to tame this one."

"Who gave you permission to come in here?" I demanded, keeping my weight balanced on the balls of my feet. "What do you want?"

"I come bearing gifts." He tossed the brown paper parcel onto the center of the bed. "I figured you might want to get out of that morbid shroud. Sleeping in a dead woman's bloody wedding gown is a bit bleak, even for this family."

I eyed the package suspiciously, then shifted my gaze back to his face. "Did your brother send you?"

"Lucius is currently indisposed." A brief shadow flickered across Cassian's eyes before he masked it behind another casual smirk. "I took the initiative myself."

Keeping my eyes locked on him, I reached out with my left hand and tore open the thick paper wrapping. The contents spilled out across the dark velvet coverlet.

My breath hitched in sheer disbelief.

Sitting on the bed were two scraps of sheer black lace. A gossamer bra without lining, and a matching thong that consisted of little more than three thin elastic strings and a tiny triangular patch of fabric.

I scooped up the scrap of string, balling it into my fist, and glared at him. "Are you completely insane? Where is the rest of it? This is not clothing, it is a strip club costume!"

I whipped the ball of lace directly at his face.

Cassian’s hand snapped up, catching the underwear cleanly out of the air. He let out a burst of rich laughter, thoroughly entertained by my fury.

"That is high-end Italian silk and lace, sister-in-law." Cassian twirled the fabric around one slender finger. "And it is certainly better than wearing dried blood and silk from a corpse. But if you prefer sleeping in a dead bride's garments, far be it from me to judge your peculiar tastes."

I stepped forward, lowering the brass candlestick to my side but keeping my fingers tight around the metal. "I want some straight answers. Why was a portrait of my face hidden beneath Lucius's bed, dated three months ago? And what really happened to the six women who came before me?"

Cassian's smile faded slightly, replaced by a guarded expression. He backed toward the open doorway, resting his hand against the heavy wooden frame. "I cannot give you pack secrets, Talia. But I will tell you this much. My brother is not the monster everyone paints him to be."

"Six dead wives would strongly suggest otherwise," I snapped, gesturing toward the crimson stains still clinging to the gown over my chest.

"Six cursed wives," Cassian corrected gently, his voice dropping into quiet sincerity. "There is a profound difference. Try to stay alive until breakfast, Talia."

He pulled the heavy door shut before I could demand another word. The brass lock clicked into place with finality, followed by the retreating sound of his leather boots against the flagstones.

Silence fell over the room once more.

I dropped the candlestick back onto the nightstand, exhausted. The silence in the palace was unnatural, broken only by the distant whistling of the freezing northern wind through the locked casements. I lay down on top of the velvet bedspread, staring at the high timber beams of the ceiling as the minutes dragged into agonizing hours. Sleep remained completely out of reach. My mind raced between the image of my own face on that crumpled paper, the cold fury in Lucius's golden eyes, and the shadow of death hanging over this fortress.

Then, slicing through the dead stillness of the late hour, a sound drifted down the corridor.

It came from the deep, subterranean wing beyond Lucius's quarters.

A sharp, metallic clatter echoed through the stone walls. Chains rattling. Heavy iron links scraped violently across cold rock, followed by the dull, rhythmic groaning of strained metal.

A chill settled into my bones as I sat bolt upright in the dark. Whatever nightmare lived in this house was locked down that hallway, and I was bound to it now.