Chapter 4: A Deadly Defiance

My gaze dropped to the floor, breaking away from his eyes.

Ten years ago, I ran through the timber dreaming of the day I would join the Viper Guard. I was supposed to be the hunter, armed and patrolling the borders. Now the apex predator of our kind stood three feet away, and all I could do was bow.

Torin stepped past me, his strides unhurried. The air in his wake carried a sharp chill, pulling the warmth from the room.

Two paces down, he halted before a slight girl whose shoulders curved forward to hide herself.

"Kneel," he said.

The order was quiet, but she hit the floorboards instantly.

Torin reached down. With a single twist of his wrist, he caught the neckline of her linen slip and tore the fabric clean to her waist.

The mountain draft hit her bare skin. She flinched, folding her arms over her chest as a sob broke past her lips.

Reflex took over. My hand moved forward to pull the torn linen back over her shoulders.

Fingers locked around my wrist.

Sybella jerked me back, her nails digging into my skin. Her eyes gave me a silent, desperate warning: Don't.

Torin stopped.

The draft rattled the loose windowpanes, but inside the parlor, the room went dead silent.

He turned with agonizing slowness. His dark, cold eyes swept from the weeping girl to Sybella’s grip on my arm, and finally settled on my face.

"Do you oppose me undressing her?" he asked.

The question was flat, devoid of anger, making it far more dangerous.

I pulled my arm free and kept my eyes on the floor. "No, sir."

He studied me for another second, looking for any crack in my composure. Then his attention shifted to Sybella.

"You stopped her," he said.

Sybella dropped her arms to her sides. "I apologize, my King."

"Why did you stop her?"

"Because I didn't want her to get hurt," she whispered.

"Smart girl," he murmured, stepping closer until his shadow covered her completely. "And what if you were to get hurt because you protected her?"

The question hung in the freezing air, lethal and unanswered.

Sybella froze, unable to find words.

Torin’s hand moved in a blur. His fingers locked around her throat, lifting her until her feet dangled off the floor. Sybella clawed at his wrist, but his grip didn't give an inch.

He turned toward the rest of the formation.

"Stay," Torin commanded, his voice cutting through the quiet. "Do not move until I return, and do not make a sound."

He released his grip.

Sybella dropped, landing on her hands and knees with a ragged gasp.

"Inside," he said.

She scrambled across the floor, slipping on the dust before vanishing through the dark doorway on the far side of the room.

Torin unbuckled his heavy leather belt with methodical precision, sliding the strap free and looping the weighted end around his knuckles. Without looking back, he stepped into the dark chamber and pulled the reinforced door shut.

The iron bolt slammed home.

Every instinct urged me to cross the floor, to throw my weight against that wood, to drag Sybella out into the night.

My feet remained planted where they stood.

A royal command was absolute. The order overrode conscious control, locking my muscles in place. Deep in my mind, Valka lay flat, pinned under the weight of his authority. We stood frozen, unable to move, unable to intervene.

Then the silence broke.

The sharp crack of leather striking skin echoed through the oak planks.

A stifled cry cut through the wall, followed by ragged sobs. Another blow landed, measured and deliberate, each strike marking the cost of my interference. I stood in the dark, forced to listen, powerless to undo what I had started.

The iron bolt ground back.

Sybella stumbled out of the darkness, her bare feet dragging across the splinters.

One strap of her slip hung shredded off her shoulder, baring raw, swollen welts across her pale skin. Her eyes were fixed blankly on the floorboards as she took her place beside me without looking up.

I turned my head, desperate to say something, to apologize. But an apology was useless here; it wouldn't undo the marks on her skin.

Heavy bootsteps followed from the doorway.

Torin stepped into the room, rolling down the cuffs of his dark shirt with unhurried precision.

The belt dangled loose from his right hand, the weighted tip wet with fresh red. He made no effort to hide it. He crossed the floor until his boots stopped inches from mine.

"Wren, is it not?" he asked.

His voice was calm and steady. I kept my eyes fixed on the scuffed leather of his boots.

"Yes, my King."

Torin uncoiled the leather, letting the weighted end tap the floor with a dull thud. A smear of red clung to the edge of his white cuff. He caught me looking, his dark gaze locking onto mine.

Without looking away, he lifted his left hand. He touched the blood on his cuff with the pad of his index finger, brought it to his mouth, and wiped the trace clean against his lips.

"Wren."

He didn't add a threat. He gave no warnings. The flat, calm delivery of my name was enough.

Torin turned on his heel and walked out of the room, the heavy corridor door shutting behind him.

The suffocating pressure vanished the moment he cleared the doorway.

Beside me, Gwen let out a shallow breath. She reached into the neckline of her slip and pulled out a small plastic tube.

With quick, practiced strokes, she began coating her lips in bright pink gloss, the sweet scent of artificial cherries cutting through the smell of damp dust and dried blood.

I looked at her in disbelief. "What are you doing?"

"Fixing my face," she whispered, pressing her lips together before hiding the tube against her ribs. "If an Alpha is going to choose me, I want to stand out."

She was blind to what this place really was, convinced an Alpha mate would save her. Before I could speak, the side entrance rattled.

Lady Vane stepped into the room, Captain Vanya right behind her.

Vane's eyes swept over our lineup, lingering on the welts across Sybella's shoulder with cold indifference. To her, broken skin was just another detail on an inspection list.

"Time to move," Vane said, her voice crisp and flat.

She produced a heavy key ring and worked through the locks on the reinforced doors at the back of the room. The tumblers fell with sharp, metallic clicks, swinging the heavy timber open to reveal the grand hall beyond.

The contrast was an open insult.

Behind us lay freezing drafts, peeling walls, and the smell of fear. Ahead stretched an expanse of warm light, thick rugs, and the heat of an enormous stone hearth. The air smelled of roasted meat, wood smoke, and aged whiskey.

Dozens of Alphas lounged across leather armchairs and sofas, glasses in hand, laughing among themselves.

As our line stepped into the open hall, the laughter died down.

Dozens of predatory eyes turned toward the doorway, locking onto the row of shivering girls in white slips.

Beside me, Gwen freshly painted lips caught the glow, and cherry shine that blatantly broke every Council rule in plain sight.