CHAPTER THREE
A velvety voice drifted through the sterile room: “Drink this water.” Celeste recoiled instinctively, refusing the glass.
Around her, everything gleamed in white—walls, bed linens, couch, even the wardrobe. A plastic cannula taped to her wrist confirmed she was receiving medical treatment. Despite that, her pulse pounded with confusion.
How had she ended up here? She couldn't remember—but physically, she felt remarkably better. Yet emotionally, something vital felt missing. Astra, her wolf, still lay silent somewhere within her.
“Who are you? And—where am I?” Celeste demanded softly.
The woman offering the water nodded gently. In her steel-gray uniform and posture, Celeste saw both grace and unwavering strength. She sensed a hint of something familiar, too.
“Drink, and eat, if you can,” the woman urged calmly.
Footsteps approached the remote table. Celeste noticed a small plate holding modest food. But Alpha Thorne’s echoing words—the promise of more suffering—put Celeste off. She didn’t want to eat and draw out whatever fate awaited her.
Still, the glass trembled to her lips. She drank in slow sips, then finally looked up, shame staining her cheeks.
“Thank you, but… I’m not hungry.”
Her stomach growled instantly—proof she should have eaten.
Embarrassment waned quickly, replaced by anxiety.
What day was it?
How long had she been unconscious?
“I’m Kaelin,” the woman said, folding her hands.
“I’m Beta of the Shadowglen Pack. To disobey me is to disobey the Alpha.”
Kaelin’s eyes flicked to Celeste’s blank glass and then to the least full plate. She knew Celeste had been unconscious for nearly two days. The empty plate confirmed it.
Shadowglen Pack? Celeste froze. So she had been moved far from Wolfsbane territory. Yet her body sank with relief just knowing she hadn’t died—or been buried here.
The image of Alpha Thorne—stern, merciless—tightened her chest. Why protect her now, after promising agony?
“I don’t deserve kindness,” Celeste whispered.
"Lock me away—and don’t feed me.”
Kaelin’s lips curved in restrained amusement. She seemed torn between relief and pride.
“You are right. But this is the Alpha’s order. No one—least of all me—dares defy it.”
Confusion churned in Celeste’s mind. Alaric, Brielle, her pack—they all abandoned her. Why would Thorne care? Still… cold hospitality from him should feel menacing, yet it comforted her.
She forced her fingers rigid. No tears. With Astra still silent, she relied on her voice alone—a brittle imitation of strength.
“Is... this food poisoned?” she asked, finger trembling toward the plate.
Kaelin paused, expression hardening.
“Do you take me for a murderer?”
Celeste exhaled.
But Kaelin’s brow arched.
She was about to say something more, but Celeste motioned once and then she whispered under her breath… “Poison it.”
Kaelin stiffened.
Of course, she could have poisoned her in a flash, if so ordered. But uncertainty glinted in the Beta’s eyes—duty warring with some hidden curiosity or sympathy.
“Eat, or I report you to Alpha Thorne,” Kaelin finally said, voice quiet but iron-willed.
Celeste paled at the mention of Thorne. She’d heard of his empire—from Duskwatch City to distant cities—so her sudden appearance here made no sense.
“Is— is he here?” she stammered. Kaelin let out a low chuckle.
“I keep things running while he handles… other matters. You’re safe from him—for now.”
Celeste exhaled. Knowing he wasn’t nearby calmed her more than she expected. Tears of relief threatened—no, she refused to let them.
“Then begin my suffering,” she said with flat defiance. “I’ll endure it.”
A spark of something—respect?—passed through Kaelin’s eyes. She set the plate down.
“You’re… interesting,” she murmured. “But this dinner is no negotiation. Eat.”
Vitally, Celeste’s body was healing. Bruises faded. Cuts closed. And yet her wolf still refused to stir.
She forced herself upright, theatrically poised. “No. Remove it.”
Kaelin’s face darkened. She stood, retreated. Celeste watched her go, then heard the click of a phone.
---
In Midnight Ridge (Duskwatch City)
Neon lights flickered across the polished floors of Alpha Thorne’s office. He sat behind his mahogany desk, flanked by three of his most trusted warriors—his private detail, weapons at the ready but silent.
He gestured toward the intercom. “No interruptions. That includes me. Return to your posts. I’ll let you know when I’m done.”
The reply crackled: “Yes, Alpha.”
He turned to his men. “Tomorrow, we strike at Wolfsbane Pack. Eliminate everyone who stands in our way. We have thirty minutes—fast and precise. Alaric must fall.”
One warrior furrowed his brow. “Do you deploy the pack?”
Thorne shook his head. Dressed sharply in black, he sounded like winter wind. “No. This remains covert.” He touched a remote—hidden panel in his wine cabinet slid open. An assistant quietly stepped forward, pouring his usual bourbon.
Without saying a word, Thorne acknowledged with a nod, his men understanding the rhythm of their master’s wordless commands.
Thorne retrieved a cigar; lighting it methodically. He stared only at the flame before him. His jaw clenched.
One of the warriors finally spoke: “It’s because of… Celeste, right? For what they did to her?”
Thorne’s grip on the bourbon glass tightened—fingers cracking the crystal a little. He closed his eyes. “That’s none of your concern.”
The assistant cleaned up the spill. The replacement glass returned swiftly.
Another warrior swallowed. “We saw him—Alaric’s man in that bed photo with her.”
Thorne’s eyes snapped open. Glass shards left crimson slashes on his palm. Moments later, tissue sealed the wounds; but his hand remained steady.
The phone on his desk buzzed. He picked it up.
“Stand guard. This ends soon.”
He raised his brows, meeting the eyes of his men; they filed out.
He tapped the screen.
“Kaelin?”
He listened. “She refuses to eat,” Kaelin reported, voice weary but firm. “She wants—‘poison,’ she said.”
A low murmur followed on the line. Thorne inhaled deeply, regaining control.
“Don’t tell her I’m coming.”
Click.
His warriors reappeared instantly, sensing the shift. Thorne stood, replacing the phone in its cradle.
“Arrange transport. I move tomorrow at first light. Keep Alaric alive—capture him. He may yet be useful.”
Suspicion flickered among the trio. The leader said, “Alpha, are you sure? This could backfire..."
Thorne hadn’t changed his face or tone, but he crushed the warrior’s assumption with low fury.
“I didn’t say it was for her,” he corrected coldly.
"I said Celeste has a sensual aura, but she is not cheap."
He stepped past them towards the window, palms pressed on the glass.
“Then why reject her?” Ronan—his lead warrior—challenged gently.
