Chapter 3 MARKED

A low chant. The scent of herbs. Candle smoke.

My eyes opened slowly. I lay on a bed of furs now, not silk. A different room, this one older, woven with roots and rock, the air thick with incense.

A woman sat beside me, her hands glowing faintly as they hovered over my chest. Her eyes were cloud-white, her skin the colour of weathered ash bark. Power clung to her like fog.

"You are lucky, girl," she said without looking at me. "The bond did not reject you. But the pain nearly did."

I coughed. "Where... where am I?"

"In the underchamber of the old temple. The only place strong enough to contain a soul-binding that violent."

My throat tightened. "You're a healer?"

She gave a small nod. "A seer. And one of the old ones. You may call me Ivara."

I tried to sit up, but she pressed a firm hand to my shoulder. "Rest."

I shook my head. "What did he do to me?"

Her gaze finally found mine. "He saved you. And he marked you. You are soul-bound, child. To the Rogue King."

I froze. A scream rose inside me, but never escaped.

"I didn't ask for this."

"Most don't. But this magic is older than choice. Older than you or him."

I turned away. My eyes burned. "He should've let me die."

"He couldn't," Ivara said softly. "The bond would not allow it."

I clenched my fists, ignoring the sting. "Then break it. You're a seer. A healer. Undo it."

"It cannot be undone," she said. "Only completed, or corrupted."

I stared at her. "What happens if it's corrupted?"

"One dies. The other breaks."

A heavy silence settled.

She rose, moving toward her herbs. "You were already marked by fate long before you crossed into these woods. You just didn't know it yet."

"What happens if it's completed?" I stared at her again.

Ivara's fingers hovered over a jar of dried bloodroot, but her eyes didn't leave me.

"You want answers, girl?" she said, voice low. "Then listen closely, because the truth is not kind."

She turned, crumbling herbs into a clay bowl, her movements deliberate.

"Maddox wasn't always a king," she began. "Once, he was just a boy. The third-born son of a minor Alpha, too far down the line of succession to matter. But even then, there was something in him the others feared."

I didn't speak. The room felt colder.

"His pack was called Duskfang. A harsh place in the northern wilds, where survival came before honour. They trained their young like beasts. Maddox thrived in it. Not because he was ruthless, though he was, but because he was cursed."

My skin prickled.

"They say he was born on a blood moon," she continued, voice softening. "That the spirits howled when he took his first breath. That the seers refused to bless him. They claimed he bore the mark of the Devourer."

I frowned. "That's just a myth."

Ivara's gaze snapped to mine. "So was the Soul Mark, until it burned across your neck."

Fair point.

She ground the herbs harder. "The Devourer is not a creature. It's a force, an old prophecy. A being destined to tear apart the balance between packs, bonds, and bloodlines. To rule without a chain. To lead the lost. To break the old order and replace it with chaos."

"Are you saying Maddox is that... thing?"

"I'm saying he fulfils every omen ever spoken about it." Her hand trembled slightly.

"When he was sixteen, the Alphas convened to strip his father of power, his crimes too many. Maddox stood before the entire council and swore vengeance. The next winter, his pack was burned to the ground. No survivors. Except him."

I felt the weight of those words.

"He disappeared for years," she said. "Some say he went into the Wild Lands and made a pact with whatever spirits dwell there. Others say he hunted down every Alpha who sat in judgment of his father and made them... disappear."

"And then?" I asked.

"Then came the Reckoning. Five packs fell in five nights. No warning. No survivors. Only a blood sigil left behind, five claw marks over a crescent moon."

I shivered. I'd seen that symbol before. Everyone had. It was whispered about in our war councils, etched into wanted scrolls, warned of in lullabies to keep pups from wandering too far.

"That's when the name began," she said. "The Rogue King. The one who answered to no law. No moon. No mercy."

My throat felt tight.

"But if he's so monstrous," I said quietly, "why didn't he just kill me?"

Ivara looked at me then, truly looked.

"Because even monsters can crave the one thing they were told they'd never have," she said. "A mate."

The door creaked open.

I turned my head, and he was there.

Maddox.

He entered without ceremony, dressed in black from neck to boots. No armour. No weapons. Just a storm in human form. His eyes scanned the room, settling on me like a challenge.

Ivara inclined her head. "She lives."

He didn't answer. His eyes never left mine.

I sat up slowly. My body ached in places I didn't know I could hurt. But I held his gaze.

"Why did you do it?" I asked, my voice raw.

His jaw flexed. "You were dying."

"That's not the same as saving."

He walked to the foot of the bed. "You would've bled out within minutes. I didn't have time to debate philosophy."

I glared. "So instead, you bound me to you?"

"It was the only way."

"You think that makes it better?"

He stepped closer. My heart kicked. I didn't know if it was fear or fury, or something worse.

"You think I wanted this?" he said, voice low. "You think I want a spy in my bed?"

"Then let me go."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

He held my gaze. "Well, because you belong to me now."

The words cut deeper than fangs.

I tried to speak, but no words came.

"The bond won't let you leave," he said. "And I won't either."

I looked away, blinking fast.

He didn't touch me. Just turned toward the door.

"Rest. You'll need your strength."

"For what?"

His voice was quiet, dangerous.

"For what comes next."