Chapter 1

The cold metal bowl bit into my wrists as Caleb Thorne held them steady.

His touch wasn't gentle. It was a brand.

"Just a little more, Elena," he whispered, his voice a low growl that was meant only for me.

The silver knife he held was small, wickedly sharp, and familiar. He drew it across the inside of my forearm, a practiced motion that was neither too deep nor too shallow. Just enough.

Blood, dark and rich, welled up and dripped into the bowl. One drop. Two. A steady stream.

This was the monthly ritual. My payment. My prison.

I stared at the wall, at the ridiculously expensive wallpaper, and tried to remember the forest. The smell of damp earth and pine. The feel of moss under my bare feet. The faces of my people.

It was all so far away.

A month ago, I had come to him for help. The logging corporation was closing in, their chainsaws a hungry roar at the edge of our sacred lands. I knew the world had changed, and I knew we needed a weapon from that world to fight back.

Caleb Thorne, the powerful U.S. Attorney, was that weapon.

He was also the boy I had loved, the hiker who had stumbled into my life years ago, his heart full of passion and wonder. I thought I saw that boy again in his eyes when I found him. He welcomed me, listened to my plea, and held me with a tenderness I had almost forgotten.

For a month, he gave me hope. He made me believe.

Then the trap snapped shut.

He cornered me in this very room, his face a mask of cold fury. He told me he knew my tribe's secrets. He told me he knew we were murderers. He said we had sacrificed his sister, who had disappeared near our lands all those years ago.

My oath, the sacred promise to protect my tribe's location and the secret of our blood, sealed my lips. I couldn't tell him the truth. I couldn't tell him we had saved her.

So he made me his slave.

Now, he watched the bowl fill, his expression unreadable. Once it was full enough, he released my wrists.

"Clean yourself up," he ordered, his tone flat. "They're waiting."

He left the room, taking the bowl of my blood with him. I was left with the sting in my arm and the emptiness in my chest.

I walked to the small bathroom connected to my sparse servant's quarters. I ran cold water over the cut, watching the sink turn pink. The water was a shock against my skin, but it was a feeling. It reminded me I was still here.

When I finished, I put on the plain grey uniform he made me wear. It was time to serve his wives.