Chapter 3 Terrifying Restraint

I expected a cell.

In my aunt's stories, girls who defied Alphas were dragged to the dungeon and chained until they begged.

So when Julian's guards took me from the war room, I counted steps down, bracing for cold and iron.

We went up.

Three flights of black stone, past the Alpha's private guard, past doors that needed two wolves to open, to the East Tower.

The guard opened the door.

It wasn't a cell. It was a library.

Circular stone walls, a huge arched window overlooking the valley and the burning border, a real bed with furs, fire lit, and — gods — books. Floor to ceiling. Archives, leather-bound, maps in cubbies, ledgers on desks. Fortified, yes. Door thick enough to survive a ram. But no bars. Lock on the inside.

"What is this?" I asked.

"Alpha's orders. Your tower. Advisor's quarters," the guard muttered. "No one enters without permission. His law. Food will be brought. Full archive access."

He left.

I stood alone in a tower that belonged to me.

I hadn't had my own room in three years. Since my father's death, I'd slept in my aunt's leaking attic. Now I had a tower in the strongest fortress on the continent.

I didn't trust it. Give the ruined girl luxury, then take it away.

On the desk was a stack of treasury logs — the ones I'd asked for. Still warm from the scribe. And a small wooden box.

Inside, a silver dagger. Functional. Sharp. With a note in brutal handwriting:

For your door. Or anything that tries it. — J

I spent the day reading. If I was going to be advisor while my temporary Alpha went to war at dawn, I needed to know why his mines bled.

Logs confirmed it. Nineteen days, no silver passed Grey River toll. But mine output hadn't dropped. Silver was piling at the mill, unguarded. Perfect target for Nightfang.

It was a trap. Blockade river, starve capital, weaken garrisons, then take mill claiming you secure trade. Legal piracy.

My father taught me to see it. "Wolves think with teeth. Treasurers think with paper. Paper wins wars."

At dusk, war horns blew. From my window, I saw Julian's army forming — black armor, silver wolf banners. At front, Julian on massive black warhorse. He looked up, felt me watching.

Our eyes met across distance. Bond pulled, hot wire in chest.

He lifted two fingers to brow — salute, not command.

Then he rode out, gates booming shut, shaking my tower.

I thought I was safe for night.

I was wrong.

The bond gets worse at night. No book explains what it feels like when your Fated Mate, built to dominate you, is half a mile away trying not to think about you and failing.

First, heat. I tried to bathe. Water went cold, skin stayed burning. My wolf, silent for years, paced, whining inside ribs.

MATE.

"Stop," I whispered.

Then his scent. Snow and iron. Through stone. Through door.

I sat at desk gripping silver dagger, trying to focus, when knock came.

Three knocks. Controlled.

"Evelyn."

Raw.

I didn't answer. Lock was on my side.

Door opened anyway. I hadn't locked it.

Julian stood there, not the Alpha King from courtyard. Armor gone. Only black pants, shirt half-torn. Soaked with sweat despite cold. Eyes solid gold, no white, fangs down, claws out. Wolf right at surface.

Shaking.

"You should lock your door," he rasped.

"You said no one enters without permission."

"I am trying," he ground out, gripping doorframe until wood cracked, "to keep that promise."

He stepped inside, shut door. Room too small. Too hot.

"Julian, you should leave," I said, standing, dagger behind back.

"I know." He stayed by door, breathing hard, like he'd run ten miles. "I told my wolf we would not. Then your scent changed when you bathed. The bond — worse when uncompleted. It hurts."

I saw it hurt. Not lust. Agony. When denied, Fated bond burns Alphas alive from inside. For centuries Alphas solved it by marking instantly. He tried not to.

"What do you want?" I whispered.

He laughed, broken. "To rip this desk apart. To rip tower apart. To claim you on that desk so you never think of leaving."

He moved — blur — at my desk, not me. Gripped edge of solid stone archive desk that held thousand treaties and squeezed.

Stone cracked.

Sharp, deafening crack. Fissure down center. Blood welled from palms where claws dug into his own skin to keep hands occupied, to keep them from grabbing me.

He bled on purpose to stay in control.

"Look at me," he said, gold eyes locked on mine, knuckles white, palms dripping onto my maps. "I could force your mind-link in a heartbeat, Evelyn. One word. One Alpha Command and you would open for me. You would beg."

I couldn't breathe.

"But I don't want your body because I ordered it," he whispered. "I want your loyalty, Evelyn. Not your broken spirit. Do you understand difference?"

My dagger clattered to floor. I dropped it without realizing.

He saw everything.

Slowly, with immense effort, he let go of desk. Bloody handprints stayed on stone, stark.

He stepped back, away from me, from bed, from everything wolf wanted.

"Lock door when I leave," he said, voice human again, exhausted. "And Evelyn — don't bathe with that rose soap again. You smell like sin and it is killing me."

He opened door and was gone, scent lingering, blood on desk.

I stood shaking in tower, staring at cracked stone, at blood, at dagger on floor.

Most dangerous man on continent just bled himself to keep from touching me.

I locked door with shaking hands. Then locked window too, because I wasn't sure if I locked him out — or locked myself in with the terrifying feeling that I didn't want him to stop trying.

I pressed my forehead to the cold stone wall, trying to cool the fever the bond left. The books around me suddenly felt useless. No accord had ever described this, this brutal wanting that was not about desire but about belonging.

Outside, his wolf howled once, long and low, from barracks below. A sound of pain and longing that vibrated through stone.

My wolf answered before I could stop her, and the sound that came from my throat was not human at all. The howl rose, and for the first time since my father's death, I did not feel alone in a tower. I felt claimed, hunted, and, gods help me, wanted beyond reason or law, bound forever.