A sharp jolt in my chest tears me from sleep. The wolf inside bristles, claws scraping against my ribs from within. The air in the chambers is stagnant.
Empty.
I spring up, throwing off the heavy blanket. The spot by the door where Damian should be standing is vacant. The shadow of the heavy curtain hangs still, awkwardly fractured by moonlight. Damian never leaves his post without an order. Never in the last ten years.
I crack the door open. The corridor is empty. No footsteps, no clank of armor. Only a draft licks at my ankles.
I close my eyes, letting my senses loose. My hearing sharpens to a ring; my vision cuts through the dark. Alpha blood answers the call, masking my presence. I become a shadow among shadows.
A scent. A thin, barely perceptible trail. Old parchment and cold metal. The smell of a man who spends too much time in the archives and the armory. Damian.
The trail leads to the north gallery, past tapestries that look like frozen corpses in the dark. I move silently, rolling my foot from heel to toe. My heart pounds in my throat, but I force it to be still.
Ahead is the exit to a hidden balcony. It hangs over the inner courtyard where blacksmiths usually sharpen blades. Now it is pitch black down there.
I crouch against the stone parapet. The cold of the granite pierces my palms.
Below, in the thick shadow of the old keep, a shape stirs. Gray on black. A figure straightens, adjusting his cloak. Damian. His profile in the moonlight looks carved from bone—calm, almost serene.
A second figure emerges from a passage in the wall. Tall, in a heavy cloak. A silver emblem flashes on his shoulder. Silverclaw.
The wolf inside me explodes with a snarl. My jaws ache with the urge to leap down, snap that thin neck, and splatter the stones with traitorous blood. I dig my fingers into the edge of the balcony until the stone begins to crumble. Stay. Listen.
"You're late," Damian's voice sounds casual, as if he were discussing grain purchases.
"The watches at the east wall have grown fiercer. Your Alpha is paranoid."
"He has his reasons. Here. This is everything."
Damian hands over a sealed tube. Leather creaks as the spy takes it.
"Shift schedules?"
"And forest patrols. Every three hours. Between the second and third tolling of the bell, you'll have a ten-minute window. That's enough to lead a squad through the kennels."
"And the girl?"
Damian gives a low, short laugh. The sound hits me in the gut, knocking the wind out of me.
"Alina? She is his Achilles' heel. A vulnerability he created for himself. When the chaos begins, she should be the first one you take. Without her, he will lose his mind completely. The pack will tear him apart themselves when they see him whimpering by an empty bed."
"You're a cruel bastard, Damian. I like that."
"I'm just practical. Blackthorn has grown stagnant. We need new blood."
The spy nods, vanishing back into the darkness of the secret passage. Damian is left alone. He slowly pulls on his gloves, smoothing the leather over his wrists with that same insulting composure I had always taken for a sign of his reliability.
I step back. My heels make no sound. The gallery walls feel like cotton. My entire world, built on this man's loyalty, crumbles into gray dust.
My study greets me with silence and the smell of a dying fire. I don't light the candles. Darkness is the only thing that feels honest now.
Traitor. Not an enemy spy, not a planted mercenary. My right hand. My shield. The man who knew where it hurt and aimed his blade right there.
Anger simmers slowly, turning into a thick, oily rage. It fills my lungs, making it hard to breathe. Rationality? Plans? A trial?
To hell with it all.
I stand by the fireplace. Rage demands an outlet. My hand flies up on its own, and I put all my Alpha strength into a single blow.
The stone cracks with a deafening snap. Bone meets granite, and I feel the skin on my knuckles burst. The pain—sharp, real—drowns out the howling in my head for a second.
A crack crawls up the wall. Something dark and hot drips onto the floor. The smell of my own blood mixes with the soot from the fireplace. Rot. Now I smell only rot. Everything around me is soaked in it.
I cannot be here alone. I need something that doesn't smell of old parchment and lies.
I close my eyes and seize the mental thread. It's taut, vibrating with my tension. I yank it, pouring all my power, all my pain into the command.
«To me. Now.»
I don't wait for an answer. I hear a door slam far down the corridor. Fast, pattering steps. Alina doesn't know how to walk quietly; she always trips over her own fears.
The office door creaks open. A long rectangle of light from the corridor falls onto the bloodied stones.
"Cale?"
She freezes on the threshold. A nightgown, a hastily thrown-on shawl. Her hair is tangled from sleep. She smells of lavender and something clean, earthy.
I don't turn around. I look at my shattered hands.
"Come here."
"You're hurt. Again... gods, the wall is broken. What happened?"
"Don't you dare ask. Just get over here."
She takes a step. Another. I feel her warmth behind my back. She's afraid; I can hear her racing pulse. A small animal in a predator's cage.
"Turn to me," she whispers.
I whirl around. She flinches, looking into my eyes glowing gold. My face must look like a madman's mask.
"You... you're covered in blood. Let me look."
She reaches for my hand, but I catch her wrist. I squeeze too hard. She cries out but doesn't try to pull away.
"Tell me," my voice sounds like the crunch of bones under a boot. "Are you waiting for the moment, too?"
"What are you talking about? You're hurting me, Cale."
"Everyone is waiting. Everyone is watching my hands, waiting for them to weaken. Even him. The one I trusted more than myself."
"Who? Who are you talking about?"
I pull her close, almost flush against me. She's so fragile. One jerk and I'd break her. And that scares me more than Damian's betrayal.
"Be quiet. Just stand there."
I bury my face in her hair, inhaling the scent of herbs. The only clean scent in this cursed castle. My bloodied fingers stain her white nightgown. I don't care.
"You're trembling," her voice is suddenly quiet, without a shadow of fear.
"I want to kill, Alina. I want to rip out his heart and make him eat his own lies."
"Then why are you here with me, and not there with him?"
"Because if I go there now, not a stone of this fortress will be left standing."
She carefully places her palms on my chest. Right over my heart, which beats as if it wants to punch through my ribs.
"Your hand... The blood won't stop."
"Let it flow. It's the only real thing I have left."
"That's not true."
I pull back, looking into her eyes.
"Are you defending him? Do you know what he said? 'The girl's vulnerability.' He plans to give you to them. To Silverclaw. So that I'd whimper by an empty bed."
Alina pales. Her pupils dilate, but her hands on my chest don't shake.
"And you believed I would let them?"
"I don't believe in anything. Not even the air I breathe."
I clench my fist again, and a new jolt of pain shoots up my forearm. Drops of blood fall onto her bare feet.
"Why did you call me?" she asks, looking straight at me. "To scare me? To show me how terrifying you are in your rage?"
"To keep from going mad. You're the only one whose lie I understand. You hate me, and that's honest. It's safe."
"I don't hate you."
"Liar."
"Not right now. Right now, you're just a wounded beast that has crawled into a corner and bites anyone who tries to help."
I grab her by the shoulders, shaking her. The shawl falls to the floor.
"Enough! Don't you dare show pity. I am your Alpha. Your master. Your tormentor. Be anything, just don't pity me."
"Then order me to leave."
I freeze. My fingers dig into her skin.
"No."
"Then sit. I'll get water and bandages."
"I said—stay here."
I press my forehead against hers. It's so dark in the study that I only see the reflection of the moon in her pupils.
"Damian... he was my brother. Not by blood—by spirit. We went through the northern wastes together. He pulled me out of spike pits. And now he's selling patrol schedules for Silverclaw silver."
"People change, Cale. Power or fear... they eat out the center."
"I will destroy him. Tomorrow, at dawn, before the whole pack. I will tear the hide off him."
"And what will be left? Loneliness?"
I laugh. Bitter, raspy.
"An Alpha has no friends, Alina. Only subjects and enemies. I made a mistake, thinking it could be otherwise. It won't happen again."
I release her shoulders and sink heavily into the chair. My hand pulses in time with my heartbeat. Blood has already soaked my shirt sleeve, sticky and warm.
"Come closer," I command.
She approaches, kneeling between my legs. She doesn't ask for permission. She takes my shattered hand in her small palms. Her fingers are cold, but the touch works better than any balm.
"You'll ruin your gown," I mutter, watching the red spots spread across the thin fabric.
"What does it matter?"
She looks up. In her eyes, there is none of the adoration I've seen in other women of the pack. No subservience. Only a strange, quiet resolve.
"Tomorrow there will be blood," I say, feeling the wolf inside begin to quiet, lulled by her proximity.
"Tomorrow is tomorrow. But right now, you are here. And you are alive."
I close my eyes, leaning my head back against the chair. The darkness in the study no longer feels so heavy. In this world where my best friend turned out to be a viper, I only have this girl left. My prisoner. My "lifeline." My greatest weakness, for whom I will now tear out the throat of anyone.
"Don't go," I whisper, surprised at the weakness in my own voice.
"I'm here, Cale. I'm not going anywhere."
She presses my bloodied palm to her cheek. I feel her skin absorbing my pain, and for a moment, Damian's betrayal seems distant, almost unreal. Only the scent of herbs, only the silence, and only this strange, painful bond that has now become the sole anchor of a collapsing world.
"Tomorrow..." I begin.
"Hush. Just breathe."
I breathe. The rot recedes. Only the scent of lavender remains, and the salt of my tears, which I will never show anyone. Not even her. Especially not her.