The Alpha’s Collared Bride

Isabella's POV

The cold wasn’t just cold.. it was a mean-spirited monster that bit at any bit of exposed skin it could find. 

My fingers, clumsy and numb, were practically frozen around the few measly sticks of firewood I’d managed to scrape together. 

Each step through the deep snow was its own special kind of torture, a slow, painful trudge that made my legs burn and my weak wolf whimper inside my head.

Most wolves had enough sense to stay inside on a night like this. But not me. Oh no. Not Isabella Sinclair. My wolf was about as useful as a chocolate teapot in a blizzard and my dad… well, my dad was probably passed out in his chair again.

I shoved a strand of limp, brown hair out of my eyes with my shoulder, the movement making me shiver violently. 

“This is it, Izzy,” I muttered to myself, my breath forming a cloud in front of my face. “The glamorous life of a rogue. Who needs a strong pack and a warm house when you can have frostbite and starvation?”

I let my mind wander, mostly to distract myself from the ache in my empty stomach. 

My life was a sad, boring story. No mom. Just me and good old Dad, Victor Sinclair, Former Enforcer of the Fallen Midnight Shadow Pack. He loved using the full title, especially when he was drunk. Which was always. 

We’d washed up in this miserable little rogue settlement in the northern territories, a place where hope came to die and take a long nap.

My wolf, a scrawny, timid little thing, curled up tighter inside me. She was as fragile as I was. We were a perfect match.

Finally, the tiny, rundown cottage we called home came into view. Smoke trickled... not billowed, trickled... from the chimney. I’d been gone an hour and the fire was already giving up.

I pushed the door open, the warmth inside hitting me instantly. It wasn’t warm warm, just not-deathly-cold. And then the smell hit me next.. the sharp sweet sting of rum and lots of it.

And there he was.. dad. Sprawled in his worn-out armchair, head lolled back, snoring like a chainsaw. 

Empty bottles surrounded his chair like loyal, glass soldiers. But these weren’t the cheap nasty stuff he usually scrounged for. These bottles were fancy.. the good stuff.. the kind that cost money we absolutely did not have.

A bitter taste filled my mouth that had nothing to do with hunger. 

“Where did you get the money for that?” I whispered, but he just snored louder in response.

I didn’t bother waking him. What was the point? I quietly knelt by the hearth and fed my precious sticks to the struggling flames, one by one. 

My stomach let out a loud painful gurgle so loud I was surprised it didn’t wake him. I placed my hand over it as if I could shush it.

“I know, I know,” I whispered. “Maybe tomorrow.”

I went to bed without a single bite of food. My stomach was so used to being empty it almost felt normal.. almost. 

I curled into a tight ball under my thin blankets, listening to the wind howl outside and my dad snore in the other room. My last thought before finally drifting off was a simple, desperate one.. Please let tomorrow be less awful.

I must have finally fallen asleep, because the next thing I knew, the world was exploding.

BANG. BANG. BANG.

The pounding on our flimsy door was so violent I thought it would splinter into a thousand pieces.

“OPEN UP! BY ORDER OF THE LEADER!”

I shot upright in bed, my heart pounding like a trapped bird. Heavy, stern voices shouted outside. I scrambled out of my room, my bare feet freezing on the wooden floor.

I found my dad in the main room, but he wasn’t asleep anymore. He was on his feet, but he looked… terrified. His eyes were wide, his face pale and all the color had drained from him, leaving behind a shaky scared shell of a man.

“Dad?” I said, my voice trembling. “What’s going on? What did you do?”

He didn’t get a chance to answer.

“THIS IS YOUR LAST WARNING, SINCLAIR! WE’RE COMING IN!”

“No, don’t!” my dad yelled, but it was a weak pathetic sound.

Something in me knew that not opening that door would only make it worse. Before he could stop me, I rushed forward and yanked the bolt aside.

It was a mistake.

The door flew inward and three huge brutal-looking men shoved their way inside. They didn’t ask questions. One of them grabbed me, his hands like iron bands around my arms and slammed me face-first onto the floor. 

The impact knocked the air right out of my lungs and I heard a similar grunt and a thud as my dad was forced down beside me.

“Please!” I cried out, my cheek pressed against the cold dirty floorboards. “You’re hurting me! Let go!”

It was like talking to a brick wall. They hauled us to our feet, not even giving us a second to put on shoes or coats and dragged us out into the biting cold. The frozen ground burned my bare feet as they roughly marched us through the silent, sleeping settlement.

We were taken to the largest house in the area where Axle, the leader of our rogue camp lived. He was a big grim man with a permanent scowl and we were thrown to our knees on his floor.

Axle looked from my shaking form to my dad’s defeated one. 

“Victor Sinclair. Care to explain why Alpha Royce Bennett’s warriors just raided our allies' eastern hunting grounds? They knew exactly where to go. They knew the weak points.”

My blood ran colder than the winter air. Alpha Royce Bennett of the Eclipse Pack was infamous, aggressive, brutal and a nightmare!

My dad didn’t even try to deny it. He hung his head. 

“I needed the money, Axle,” he mumbled, not even looking at me.

The bottom dropped out of my stomach as I recalled the fancy rum. Oh, Dad. What did you do?

“He did it!” I blurted out, finding my voice. “Not me! I didn’t know anything about this, I swear!”

Axle’s cold gaze flicked to me but it held no sympathy. 

“You share his blood. You share his crime.” He waved a hand at the guards. “Lock them both up. I’ll decide their punishment in the morning.”

“No! Please!” I begged as the guards grabbed us again. My protests faded into the night, unheard and ignored.

They threw me into a dark, filthy hole in the ground that served as the settlement’s jail. It stank of mold and rats. I could hear them skittering in the corners. I sank into the dirty straw, pulling my knees to my chest. 

I didn’t sleep. I just shivered and cried quietly, wondering what Axle would do to us. Banishment? A beating? My mind spun with terrible ideas until the first grey light of morning filtered through the small, barred window.

The door creaked open and a stern guard looked in. 

“You. Girl. Up.”

He dragged me out and marched me back to Axle’s house. My dad was already there, back on his knees and I was forced down beside him.

Axle stood before us, his arms crossed. He looked like he’d been up all night thinking, and I knew that was a very very bad sign.

“I’ve spent the night considering a suitable punishment for your betrayal, Victor,” Axle said, his voice low and dangerous. “Death would be too quick. Banishment would be a mercy you don’t deserve.”

He finally looked directly at me, and a small, cruel smile played on his lips. My breath caught in my throat with the painful suspense stretching a little too long before he spoke again.

“And then,” he said, “I came up with a much, much better idea…”