Chapter 3 The First Night

The fortress walls swallowed Ember whole. She had walked these halls before, years ago, when Damien’s hand had been warm in hers, when she thought forever meant safety. Back then, the stone corridors had glowed with light and laughter. Now, they whispered only chains.

A soldier led her through the east wing, his torchlight throwing long shadows that danced along the walls. When he stopped before a heavy oak door, Ember caught the faint scent of pine smoke and iron.

“Stay here,” he said, his tone respectful but cautious. “The Alpha will decide what to do with you in the morning.”

He bowed slightly and left. The door clicked shut behind him, sealing her in.

Ember stood still for a long moment, taking in her surroundings. It wasn’t a dungeon, but it wasn’t comfort either. A single hearth burned low, casting dim light across the cold stone floor. The bed was wide but plain. Iron bars stretched across the window, quiet reminders of what she’d lost.

She crossed to the window and gripped the bars. They were solid, cold, unyielding. No use fighting them. Her reflection shimmered faintly in the glass: tired eyes, tangled hair, the hollow cheeks of a woman who had run too long and lost too much.

Damien’s voice echoed in her mind: You’ll stay. Not because I force you. Because you’ll learn the truth.

She clenched her jaw. The truth had burned her once already. She would not let it burn her again.

A soft knock broke the silence. Ember turned sharply. The door creaked open, and a young girl stepped inside carrying a tray. She couldn’t have been more than sixteen, her hair tied back, her eyes darting nervously.

“I brought food,” the girl said, her voice small and careful. “Bread, cheese, and water. The Alpha said—”

“I don’t need his food,” Ember cut in, her tone sharp.

The girl flinched but didn’t retreat. She set the tray down gently and looked at Ember again. “Please, my lady. You should eat. You’ll need your strength.”

Something in her tone wasn’t just timid, it was warning. Ember narrowed her eyes. “Why would I need my strength?”

The girl hesitated, glancing toward the door. “Because this fortress isn’t safe. Not for you.”

Ember’s heartbeat quickened. “What do you mean?”

But before the girl could answer, footsteps echoed in the corridor, measured, certain, impossible to mistake. The girl’s face drained of color. She gave a frightened shake of her head and slipped out just as the latch turned.

The door opened, and Damien stepped inside.

He filled the space effortlessly, tall and composed, the air shifting with his presence. The firelight gilded his hair and carved shadows across the sharp planes of his face. Ember’s chest tightened painfully. He looked so much like the man she had once loved and nothing like him at all.

Her arms folded before she could stop them. “What now? Come to make sure your new pet hasn’t escaped?”

His gaze swept the room before settling on her. “I wanted to see that you were comfortable.”

She let out a bitter laugh. “Comfortable? Behind bars? With guards outside my door?” She gestured toward the window. “Yes, Damien, I’m perfectly comfortable.”

“You’re not in chains anymore,” he said evenly.

“That doesn’t make me free.”

Silence stretched between them. The hearth crackled softly, its flame fighting against the dark.

Damien stepped closer, his voice quiet but edged with command. “You still believe I brought you here for revenge.”

“I know you did,” Ember said. “You bought me in front of them all. You made me relive every moment I’ve spent trying to forget. If that isn’t revenge, then what is it?”

His expression softened for just an instant before hardening again. “You don’t know the whole story.”

“Then tell me,” she demanded.

He looked away, his jaw tightening. “Not tonight.”

Anger flared. “You always do this. Hide the truth. Control everything.”

His eyes darkened. “And you always run before you listen.”

The words hit their mark. She swallowed hard but kept her chin high. “Maybe because listening to you once nearly killed me.”

For a heartbeat, he said nothing. Then, quieter than before: “I never wanted to hurt you.”

“Then you shouldn’t have left,” she whispered.

The air between them thickened, pulsing with everything unsaid.

He turned away, tension threading through his shoulders. “Rest, Ember. Eat. Tomorrow will bring answers.”

He started toward the door.

“Wait,” she said.

He paused but didn’t turn.

“If you think locking me up will tame me, you’re wrong. I’ll fight you, Damien. Every step. Every breath.”

He hesitated, then said softly, “I don’t expect you not to.”

And with that, he left.

The lock clicked behind him, and Ember’s resolve trembled. She sank onto the edge of the bed, pressing her palms to her knees. The fire had burned low again, shadows crawling up the walls. She hated that her heart still raced whenever he looked at her. Hated that part of her remembered his warmth, his laughter, his touch.

She turned to the tray of food and pushed it away. “Not this time,” she whispered. “He doesn’t get to feed me lies and call it mercy.”

But the girl’s words lingered in her mind. This fortress isn’t safe.

Ember rubbed her arms, uneasy. Safe from what or from whom?

She lay back on the bed, staring at the ceiling until her eyes grew heavy. Her mind replayed everything: the auction, the chains, the way Damien’s voice had cracked when he said she didn’t know the whole story. For a moment, she almost wanted to believe him.

Sleep came slowly. When it did, it brought fire.

She dreamed of wolves crying out beneath a burning sky, of chains melting into molten silver and falling away. Of Damien standing in the smoke, his eyes no longer cruel but haunted. His voice reached her through the flames soft and desperate.

Trust me.

She jolted awake, heart pounding, sweat slick on her skin. The room was dark now, the fire long dead.

And she wasn’t alone.

A shadow moved in the corner, silent and crouched. Not Damien. Not a guard.

Her breath caught.

The figure straightened, eyes glowing faint gold in the darkness.

“Who…” Ember began, but the figure raised a finger to its lips.

“Shh,” a voice whispered, low and urgent. “If you want to survive, don’t scream.”