The brush bristles scrape against the jagged stone. The grating noise drills into my ears, echoing at the base of my skull as a dull, throbbing pain. I take a breath—and my throat burns with lye fumes. Putrid water in the bucket sloshes at the very edge, staining my already filthy fingers.
The mark on my neck twitches. A living, red-hot needle stabs under my skin every time I try to breathe deeper. Cale. His fury is still here, in my veins. It burned out everything inside me after that failed ambush, leaving only this gray, viscous void.
"Just a little more. Only one flight left."
My voice sounds alien and hoarse, as if sand were stuck in my throat. My fingers go numb. The rag slips, splashing into the murky sludge.
Footsteps. Light, hurried. The scent of dried thyme and cheap soap pierces through the stench of lime. Ella.
I freeze, bracing my palms against the wet floor. My knees are shaking so violently it feels as if my bones might crumble at any moment.
"Ella? Is that you?"
The shadow on the wall goes still. The hollow breathing at the end of the corridor breaks its rhythm.
"Don't come closer. Stay right there."
I try to lift my head. A bolt of pain shoots through my neck, and black spots swim before my eyes.
"Ella, please... help me up. The bucket is too heavy."
"Are you out of your mind? Why did you come out? You aren't allowed to be here."
Ella presses her back against the wall, her hands frantically bunching the edge of her apron. She isn't looking at me—she's looking at my neck. There, where his brand burns beneath the tatters of my hair.
"I'm just washing the floor. Like before. Remember, last Tuesday we—"
"There is no 'before,' Alina! Shut up. Just be quiet."
"Why are you so far away? Come closer. I just need... I just need to touch someone living. Not him."
Ella screams, recoiling as I attempt to pull myself up with my arms. Her face contorts as if she were looking at a rotting corpse.
"You're marked. You reek of him. Smoke, burnt meat... death."
"It's just the smell of the castle, Ella. Look at me. It's me."
"You aren't there anymore. Inside—there is only him. If I touch you, he'll feel it. He'll come to the kitchen. He'll... all of us..."
"He won't come over a piece of soap!"
"You're cursed! Don't you understand? Old Martha said that those he marks himself... they don't live. They suck the life out of everyone around them."
"Martha has lost her mind."
"And you? Look at your hands. They're blue! You're a corpse that's still walking."
Ella takes a step back, then another. Her eyes dart around, searching for an exit, as if she were trapped in a cage with a rabid dog.
"Ella, I'm hungry. They haven't brought anything for two nights."
"Because no one wants to go near your door! The cook forbade us from even looking that way. She says the Alpha scents anyone who touches his property."
"I am not property. I am a person."
"You are death. Don't you dare call out to me again. Never."
She turns and breaks into a run. The slam of the door at the end of the corridor strikes my nerves as painfully as a whip. Silence returns, heavy as a gravestone.
I look down into the bucket. In the dirty water, something with sunken eyes and a gray face stares back. It isn't me. It's a shell. Something hot drips from my eyes, breaking the reflection into small, trembling circles.
A heavy, rhythmic step. Iron-shod boots strike the stone. I could never mistake this sound for anything else. The guard.
I try to grab the rag, to hide my weakness, but my fingers simply scrape against the wet stone.
"Get up. Now."
Jake stops a few paces away. The sword in its scabbard clinks as he shifts his stance. I lift my head, squinting against the light of his lantern.
"I haven't finished this section yet."
"What the hell are you even doing here? Your orders were to stay in your kennel."
"I need to work. If I don't work, I'll..."
"You're barely breathing. Get out of here before the patrol shifts. If the Captain sees you in this state..."
He trails off. His hand twitches toward his belt, but not toward a weapon. For a moment, his fingers loosen, and he takes half a step toward me. In his eyes—it isn't Ella's terror. It's something else. Pity?
"Jake, help me."
"I can't."
He jerks his hand back as if burned. His face hardens, turning back into the familiar mask of leather and scars.
"You ordered me to leave. So help me up. My legs... they feel like they belong to someone else."
"Do you hear that?"
"What?"
"The hum. The energy. You're radiating so much of it my hair is standing on end. The Alpha's bond... it's pulsing. If I touch you, he'll know. He doesn't have to be here to know whose hands were on you."
"He isn't a god, Jake. He's just a man."
"To you, he's everything. And he forbade anyone to touch you. You want me strung up at the gates for showing sympathy to a slut?"
"You know that isn't what this is. You saw how he dragged me."
"I saw. And that's exactly why I'm walking past. Get back to your hole, Alina. On your own. Or I'll call the escort and they'll haul you back by your hair."
He takes a step, intentionally clipping the bucket with the toe of his boot. Dirty water splashes onto my knees, soaking through the fabric.
"Please..."
"There is no 'please.' There is the order. And there is the mark. You're nothing but a shadow to us now. Let the iron ring louder," he mutters to himself, and strides past with measured steps.
The corridor narrows. The walls slowly crawl inward, squeezing my chest. The smell of smoke—cold, acrid smoke—fills my nostrils. It isn't the fireplace. It's him. In my head.
I crawl toward my door, clutching at the protrusions in the stone. Every meter is an eternity. The cell greets me with cold and the smell of mold. The straw mattress seems like the only salvation left.
I curl into a ball, pulling my knees to my chin. I'm cold. So unbearably cold, as if my blood has turned into ice shards.
"Get out... get out of my head..."
The mark burns. It pulses in time with my heart, reminding me who now owns every breath I take. My eyes close on their own, sinking into a viscous darkness.
The darkness smells of pine needles and steel.
I am running, but my legs sink into thick, black fur. The ground beneath me is alive; it breathes.
"Where do you think you're going, little bird?"
Cale's voice comes from everywhere. It's in the rustle of the trees, in the snap of breaking branches.
A wolf emerges from the shadows. Massive, taller than a man. Its fur is blacker than the deepest night, and its eyes... Cale's eyes. There is no beast in them; only the cold, calculating mind of a master.
He doesn't growl. He simply walks toward me, and the space between us shrinks even though I am running with all my might.
"You promised to be obedient."
"Leave me alone!"
"You are mine. Every drop of your pain belongs to me. Every tear that fell into that bucket... I drank it."
The wolf springs. His weight crashes down on me, crushing me into the damp earth. Claws tear through my dress, sinking into my shoulders. I feel his hot breath on my neck, right where the brand burns.
"No!"
"Scream. I like the sound."
Massive jaws close around my throat. Not to kill. To remind me. There is no pain—only the sensation of something vital being ripped out of me, leaving a gaping, black hole where my soul used to be.
I bolt upright on the mattress. My mouth is open in a silent scream; my throat raw as if I had swallowed broken glass.
It is dark in the cell. Only the mark on my neck glows through the skin with a dull, furious crimson. It sears. It demands his presence.
I press my palm against the brand, trying to smother the fire, but it only bites deeper into the flesh.
"Help... someone..."
In response, the silence of the castle only laughs with the grating of bolts at the far end of the corridor. I am alone. Buried alive in my own skin. And he knows it. He feels it.
Tears mix with sweat, trickling down my neck, directly onto the brand. The smell of smoke becomes unbearable. He is here. In every shadow on the wall. In every beat of my heart.
"You lost, Alina," the darkness whispers in his voice. "You've already lost."