The Trophy of War
By the time the wagon rattled to a stop, the night had thickened into something almost unreal, a world painted in shadows and blood. The moon hung low and swollen, red as a fresh wound, its light crawling across the landscape like liquid fire. Even the air seemed tainted, heavy with the sharp smell of blood, as though the earth itself had bled during the long journey.
For a moment there was silence, broken only by the stamp of hooves and the huff of tired horses. Then came a sharp whistle outside. A chain groaned, bolts slid free, and the wagon's flap was pulled up. Cold air rushed in, biting against my skin, carrying with it the sound of voices.
Not just voices. They were chanting.
The warriors inside stirred like wolves catching the scent of blood. Their postures sharpened, eyes glinting in the torchlight that bled through the open flap. Grins split across their faces, cruel, hungry things, as they stood, their movements full of anticipation. One seized my arm with fingers that were like iron, and yanked me upright. My legs buckled under me, heavy from hours of confinement, pins and needles shooting through my calves. Each step was agony; my muscles were sluggish, and they refused to obey. The silver cuffs made everything worse. They clamped down on my wrists like firebrands, sucking strength from my veins, turning my wolf into nothing but a fading whisper.
"Move," Scar-face growled, giving me a hard shove toward the wagon's opening.
I stumbled forward, my boots catching on the wooden slats, and then dropped down to the ground, and froze.
The fortress loomed before me, monstrous against the night sky. Black stone walls rose jagged and uneven, like broken teeth ripped straight from the mouth of the earth. Torches crowned the battlements, flames writhing high, wild, casting shadows that danced like predators waiting to pounce. Beyond the yawning gates poured golden light, spilling into the night along with the roar of voices, hundreds of them, deep and guttural.
Dozens of warriors filled the courtyard, armor gleaming, faces painted in streaks of crimson that made them look less like men and more like creatures born of nightmare. They struck their fists against their chests in unison, the sound was like a drumbeat, and it shook the ground beneath me.
"Bloodfang! Bloodfang!" they chanted, voices blending into a single living roar. The word coiled around me, heavy and suffocating, wrapping like invisible chains.
My stomach twisted, but the warriors flanking me didn't slow. They pushed me forward, through the gates, into the gaping mouth of the fortress itself.
Inside was worse.
The courtyard funneled into a vast stone hall, walls lined with torches that filled the space with flickering orange firelight. The air was thick, hot with body heat, clogged with musk and sweat and blood. The noise pressed close, the sound of hundreds of wolves crammed together, their breath, their anticipation, their hunger. The crowd rippled like a sea of shadows as I was shoved through their midst, every gaze following me, weighing me, marking me.
At the far end of the hall, raised on a dais carved from black stone, stood a throne. Its edges were harsh, jagged, more a weapon than a seat. And there, upon it, sat Kael.
He had shed his armor, replacing it with a dark tunic that clung to his frame. The fabric caught the firelight, tracing the hard lines of muscle and power beneath. One hand rested on the arm of the throne, his fingers were relaxed but deliberate; the other braced on his knee. He looked like a king of shadows, carved from the same black stone as the dais, untouchable. His golden eyes caught mine the moment I entered, burning even from across the hall. The chanting dulled in my ears, drowned out by the thundering of my pulse.
The warriors dragged me to the base of the dais, shoving me forward until I stood before him with the entire hall watching.
As Kael rose to walk, the sound of his movement alone seemed to silence the crowd. His steps were measured, controlled, as he descended the dais to stand above me.
"Silvermist thought they could defy Bloodfang," he said. His voice carried easily, smooth and commanding, rising above the crowd without effort. "They thought they could challenge my rule."
A ripple ran through the hall, low growls, mutters, the shifting of boots on stone. He let the sound build before continuing. All this time, his gaze never left mine.
"Tonight," he declared, "they learn the cost of that mistake."
The crowd roared, the chant rising again. "Bloodfang! Bloodfang!"
One of the warriors stepped closer, pressing at the back of my knees. "Kneel," he hissed, his breath hot against my ear.
I locked my legs. My chin lifted, defiance burning through the weakness in my body. "Not a chance."
The hall hushed, as though the walls themselves leaned in to hear what would happen next.
Kael's gaze didn't flicker. "Kneel, Aria."
The sound of my name in his mouth hit like a strike to the chest. My breath caught before I could stop it, the mate bond twisting the syllables into something dangerous and intimate. Almost enough to make me falter. Almost.
The crowd leaned forward, hungry for my breaking. But I held my ground.
When I didn't move, Kael descended the last few steps, until he stood before me. His presence towered, pressing like a weight against my skin. Slowly, deliberately, his hand rose, and I braced for a strike. But instead, his fingers gripped my chin, forcing my face upward. His touch was rough, but not brutal, his thumb came grazing the line of my jaw as he studied me.
"Don't mistake pride for strength," he murmured, pitched so only I could hear.
The moment stretched, taut and electric. His molten gold eyes locked on mine, pulling me into their gravity. At that moment, my heart began to hammer. My wolf raged weakly against the cuffs, desperate but powerless.
And then, without warning, he pressed his hand down on my shoulder.
My legs buckled. My knees slammed into the cold stone floor with a sharp crack that sent pain splintering up my thighs. The sound echoed in the silence. For a breath, the hall was still. Then the crowd erupted, cheers splitting the air, their chant deafening.
"Bloodfang! Bloodfang!"
Heat flooded my face, humiliation burning hotter than fire. My body shook, not with fear, but with fury, every muscle screaming to rise, to fight, to tear free of the chains. I opened my mouth, ready to curse him, to spit venom in his face, when it happened.
The bond. This was not the faint spark I'd felt on the battlefield, but a surge. A storm that ripped through me, filling every vein with white-hot fire. My breath hitched. My body trembled. Heat exploded across my skin, a violent rush that left me dizzy.
I could swear that I saw it strike him too. His eyes widened, his mask of control cracked for an instant. His grip on me tightened, just for a heartbeat, before he let go as though burned. At this point, the air between us shimmered, not visibly, but I felt it, it was a pull so strong it might have been a chain, invisible yet unbreakable.
The crowd didn't understand what they were seeing, but they felt it too. I could tell because their chanting faltered, and whispers began to spread like wildfire as confusion came rippling through their ranks.
Kael stepped back quickly, turning from me as if distance could sever the bond. His jaw clenched tight, his shoulders stiff, every line of him fighting the thing neither of us could escape.
But I had seen his eyes in that split second.
The same thing I felt now, the certainty, the fire, the unwanted truth.
We were bound.
And neither of us wanted it.