Chapter 3 The Wolf's Den

The blindfold slipped off with a sharp tug.

Luna blinked against the dim golden light, her vision adjusting as a vast, underground room came into focus. Rough stone walls curved upward to a vaulted ceiling. Candles flickered from sconces carved into the rock. A fire roared in a black iron hearth. Everything smelled of pinewood, smoke... and him.

Lucien DeVark.

He stood several feet away, back to her, pouring himself a drink at a polished wooden bar that looked absurdly luxurious in a place built like a prison.

Luna's arms ached-her wrists still bound, rope cutting into skin. She shifted on the cold floor, muscles tight from the ride and the fight. Her rage simmered under the surface, but something else joined it now.

Confusion.

This wasn't a cell. There were no chains, no bloodstains, no iron cages. Just silence. Rich decor. The low hum of something ancient.

"You brought me to your den?" she said hoarsely.

Lucien turned slowly, glass in hand. "I don't like dungeons."

"Says the man who kidnapped me."

He sipped the amber liquid without blinking. "You're not a prisoner, Luna."

"No?" she snapped. "Because I'm tied up in the house of a savage warlord with blood on his hands and fire in his eyes."

He stalked toward her, boots silent on the stone floor. "You're tied up because I don't trust you not to try stabbing me with the nearest object."

"Try me."

"I just might," he murmured, stopping inches away.

The heat between them was thicker now, buzzing, almost electric. That bond again. Pulling like a rope under her skin. She hated it. She hated that her body reacted to him, even as her mind screamed monster.

"You knew," he said, tilting his head. "Didn't you? That you were marked."

"I knew nothing."

"But you felt something, when I touched you. Back there in the woods."

Luna looked away.

He crouched beside her, eye-level now. "You're not just any rogue, Luna. You're bloodline. And that mark on your spine? That wasn't put there by accident."

Her eyes snapped back to him. "How do you know about the mark?"

Lucien leaned in close, voice like a low purr. "Because I've seen it before. Once. On a woman who burned half a kingdom."

Luna's skin chilled. "That's a myth. The Red Luna-she died centuries ago."

"She lived," Lucien said darkly. "And her descendants carried the power. Until your family was slaughtered... or so we thought."

Luna's thoughts spun. Her mother had told her stories. Always stories. About the moon's curse. The blood that glowed silver under firelight. The reason Luna's wolf had never surfaced.

She thought they were bedtime tales. Warnings.

She never thought they were real.

Lucien stood again, towering. "The mark you carry ties you to a prophecy. One the Council has tried to erase. One that says a rogue Luna with forbidden blood will either bind the savage Alpha... or destroy him."

Luna's blood ran cold. "I'm not here to fulfill a prophecy."

"You already are."

He turned away, setting the glass down on the bar. "Rest. We leave for the borderlands at dawn."

"What borderlands?"

He paused. "The place where you were born. The place your wolf was buried."

She froze. "How do you know about that?"

"I've read your father's journals."

Luna's jaw clenched. "He's dead."

Lucien nodded. "I know. I killed him."

Silence.

The fire crackled, and something in Luna cracked too-rage, grief, disbelief, or maybe the last thread of control.

She launched herself at him, teeth bared, feet pounding the floor-but he caught her easily. One hand around her waist, the other in her hair, pulling her body flush against his.

"You want to fight," he growled into her ear. "But all I feel is fire."

Her breath hitched.

"Get off me."

He did. Slowly. Intentionally.

"You're not ready," he said, voice low.

"For what?" she spat.

"To learn the truth."

He strode from the room, leaving her in silence-with only the sound of her heartbeat and the awful heat burning low in her stomach.

And deep inside... the first whisper of something even more dangerous than hatred.

Curiosity.