Everyone knew what purgatory meant; it was the underground cells beneath the main house where wolves were taken to be broken. No one came out the same. Many did not come out at all.
"Alpha Kade," Marina began, stepping forward with one hand outstretched. "The bond is still new. She needs—"
"She needs to be contained," Alpha Kade cut her off, his gaze still on her. "Until we determine what trick she has played. What magic she has worked."
"I did not do anything," she finally managed to say, her voice a thin thread of sound. "I swear it."
"Save your lies," he growled. "You will have plenty of time to confess the truth in purgatory."
With that, he signaled to the men who yanked her forward. Her legs would not support her weight, and she stumbled, nearly falling. But the men did not slow down or adjust their pace; they simply pulled her harder, forcing her to stagger alongside them or be dragged through the dirt.
The crowd parted as they dragged her toward the exit. Some spat at her feet. Others made warding signs against evil. A few looked away, unable or unwilling to watch.
"This is a mistake," Marina's voice said. "The goddess does not make errors in her bonds."
"Then let her come save this one," Alpha Kade snarled. "Let her prove the bond is real."
No divine intervention came. No goddess appeared to smite Alpha Kade for his defiance. There was only the night, the moon, and the inexorable pull of his men's grip as they dragged her away from the ceremony, away from the pack, and away from any hope of mercy.
In no time, she was taken to a cold, dark cell and shoved inside. Her body quivered as she hit the floor. She could not see anything; all she heard was sound. She felt them clamp silver chains to her wrists and throat. The silver burned her skin, draining what remained of her energy. She whimpered but welcomed the pain.
Soon, she heard the heavy sound of the gates and the snapping of chains and keys. In no time, she was left alone with only the darkness and her silence as her companion.
*
Kade's skin felt too tight as he strode through the corridor, and omegas scurried ahead like mice before a hawk. Three days away from the castle dealing with Knox's border dispute, and all he could think about was Lyra Thorne and the silver threads that had burned between them under the Blood Moon. The memory of it sat like poison in his veins. It felt like something foreign and unwanted invading his bloodstream.
His wolf paced restlessly inside him, growling steadily. His wolf and he had been in a conflicting war since the goddess shone her light. His hatred for the girl whose brother betrayed them all clashed with the primal need to claim what the goddess had decreed was his.
"Alpha Kade," one of the omegas called softly. "The letters."
He glanced at the two men flanking him. Each of them balanced a golden platter piled high with sealed envelopes. The wax seals bore the insignias of neighboring packs: red for Bloodthorn, blue for Silvercrest, black for Nightshade. So many letters, all demanding the same thing.
"Bring them inside," he commanded, pushing open the heavy oak door to his chambers.
His bedroom was exactly as he had left it, opulent but austere, all dark wood and cold stone. Moonlight sliced through narrow windows, casting long shadows across the floor. Everything was in perfect order, nothing out of place. Nothing except the howling in his head that had started the moment those silver threads connected him to her.
The omegas hesitated at the threshold, as if sensing his wolf's agitation. A smart move on their part.
"Is there something else?" he asked calmly.
They exchanged nervous glances. The older one, with silver streaking his temples, cleared his throat. "The letters, Alpha. They are all inquiring about the Hollowing ritual for the Thorne girl."
His jaw tightened. Of course they were. They wanted to see the traitor's blood purged. They wanted to see her suffer. It was what they believed she deserved. It was what he believed she deserved. But a triple mate bond was unprecedented and impossible. And to the sister of the traitor who had sold them all to Kronos?
"And?" he prompted.
"Some suggest… immediate action," the younger omega added, eyes downcast. "Alpha Igla alone has sent three letters. He says it is long overdue."
He was not surprised. Igla had wanted to tear into the Thorne bloodline since the war ended. He motioned for them to set the platters on his desk, the one by the window where he conducted pack business.
"The girl," he said, careful to keep his voice neutral. "How is she?"
The silence that followed his question stretched too long. The omegas exchanged another look, this one heavy with something he could not quite name.
"She remains in purgatory, Alpha," the older one finally said. "In isolation, as you commanded."
His wolf growled, enraged by her suffering. He felt his canines threatening to extend and force them back with a painful effort of will.
"Good," he said, though nothing about this situation was good. "You may leave the letters and go."
They bowed low and backed toward the door, relief evident in the slackening of their shoulders. Just before they exited, he added, "Send no one to my chambers tonight. I am not to be disturbed."
The door closed softly click, and he was alone with his thoughts again. He moved to the desk, running his fingers over the pile of letters. The demands inside were all bloodthirsty cries for retribution against the Thorne line. They wanted to see her broken, hollowed out, and her spirit crushed for pack justice.
Why did the thought displease him so much?
He stripped and stepped into the wooden bathtub set into the stone floor. Steam rose from the water, scented with pine and something darker—blood cedar, perhaps. The omegas always had it ready, no matter when he returned.
Stepping into the scalding water, he hissed as it seared his skin. Good. Let it burn away this weakness, this unwanted bond. He sank to his shoulders, muscles rigid with tension as he battled the urges of his wolf.
Claim her. Rut her. She is mate. She is mine.
The battle raged beneath his skin, along his spine, and behind his eyes. His wolf had never been so insistent, so demanding. He closed his eyes and dipped his head beneath the surface, letting the hot water close over him, muffling the world.
By the time he stepped from the bath, the water had cooled, and his skin was flushed red. He did not bother with a towel, letting the night air dry his skin as he crossed to his bed, a massive thing of dark wood and darker furs. He collapsed onto it, naked and exhausted, his rage finally giving way to the fatigue of three sleepless nights.
He was back in Kronos' dungeon, with silver chains burning his wrists and ankles. His body was weak from blood loss and starvation.
"Alpha," a voice whispered from the darkness, one of his pack, pleading. "Help us."
He strained against the chains, but they only burned deeper. Blood trickled down his arms, dripping onto the stone floor. He could see it despite the darkness.
Another voice joined the first, then another, until the darkness was filled with the whispered pleas of his pack. He recognized each voice. These were wolves he had failed to protect, wolves who had died in captivity, wolves who had returned broken beyond repair.
The cell door creaked open, and Lord Kronos entered, tall and elegant in his fine clothes, not a speck of blood on him despite the carnage he had created. His eyes were black holes in a face too perfect to be natural.
"Your pack makes such delightful sounds," he said, voice like silk over steel. "Shall we hear more?"
He snapped his fingers, and guards dragged in a wolf he knew too well, his younger sister, Tana. She was barely eight when the vampires had taken them. She was just a child. They said her blood was tasty. She looked so pale as she fought against their hold, her eyes wild with terror.
"No," he growled. "Take me instead."
"Kade, help me." Tears ran down Tana's almost-white cheeks.
"Take me, please," he pleaded.
Kronos laughed, and it sounded like breaking glass. "Oh, I will, Alpha. But first, a little entertainment."
He nodded to his guards, and they forced his sister to her knees. One grabbed her hair, yanking her head back to expose her throat. Kronos leaned in, fangs extended, and—
He jolted awake, a roar trapped in his throat. Sweat covered his body, and his heart hammered against his ribs like it was trying to escape. The phantom sensation of fangs still burned on his skin, and for a moment, he was not sure where he was. His chamber was too dark and too closed. He could not breathe.
"Tana," he muttered. "Oh, Tana, I am sorry." His voice was so shaky that it almost broke into a sob.
Grabbing a black silk robe, he stumbled to the terrace doors and flung them open. Cold night air hit him like a slap, clearing some of the fog from his mind. He stepped outside, letting the stone cool his bare feet, grounding him in the present.
In the distance, he could hear the howls of pack wolves on patrol, a bitter reminder of his responsibilities. He gripped the stone balustrade, knuckles white, as he struggled to regain control.
"Bad night?" a voice asked from the shadows.
He did not startle. He had known he was there before he spoke.