Chapter 4

The car comes to a sudden stop, slamming me into consciousness and the seat back behind me. I hear car doors shut and feet on gravel before the trunk door opens, and someone pulls me out and to my feet by my hair, dragging me toward the pack house doors.

The early morning dawn light is blinding. My eyes hurt. My head hurts. My heart hurts. I'm forced to crouch slightly as the warrior gripping my hair drops his arm. He holds me in place absently while waiting on our warriors to permit him into the pack house. I can't seem to bring myself to think of them as anything but our warriors, but there is no "our" anymore, is there? I'm alone.

"They will see you now," one of the gaurds announces, opening the door and leading us into the foyer. It's been so long since I've been to the pack house, and now, to return like this. My feet leave dark marks on the cold marble as dried blood and mud flakes loose. "Stop," the warrior who let us in suddenly comments, "Not her. She's a mess." His eyes glaze slightly, and an omega enters, ready to do her duty.

"Alice, clean her up and get her some fresh clothes," he starts but is interrupted by the kicker from last night. "We don't have time for that. She deserves to be presented like the animal she is," he says as his man shoves me to the ground by my hair, "the longer this shit show takes, the more time whoever attacked us has to hide."

Our warrior, Jackson, I think his name is—didn't he have dinner with us once? When Victor was still alive?—looks down on me. Does he remember me? Pity me? "Very well," he replies, crouching to help me up. His movements are stiff, and professional but somehow gentle. I follow his lead willingly. He didn't put me here. It's not his fault. He has to grant these dicks some level of respect to keep the pack peace. Plus, they're above his rank.

As we twist down hallways, I realize we're making our way to the council meeting quarters on the lower level. I expected to meet directly with the beta or alpha to explain my side in private or what I could of it. I am to be judged already? A trial?

It's odd how familiar yet strange the packhouse seems. It sounds the same. It looks the same, with its grand dark wood walls and old-world Tudor style, but there's a smell I can't quite place. It's distant but warm—wood smoke and vanilla. I let it envelop me, distract me. For a moment, I'm not in chains being drug to my likely death. I'm deep in the woods in a cabin, lying by a fire, reading my favorite book. I'm home.

The council meeting hall doors open, and I see him. Glacier river green. The sun filters in showing depths in his eyes I long to understand, to see me. It ignites strands of red in his golden hair, pulled back tightly, waiting to be tousled.

The corners of his mouth turn up slightly, permanently bemused. About what I wonder. I'd like to know. To lie with him beneath the stars and listen to all the things he thinks and never shares until we fall together warm, safe.

He leans in at his desk, his black button-down rolled at the sleeves, exposing muscular, tan arms. I feel them wrap around me, surrounding me in love. His lips part, sure to share the words I want to hear.

"No!" he professes, coming to his feet. "Mate," I whisper as my fantasy bubble bursts, and our eyes meet. The council room is full and cold. All eyes are on me. I suddenly feel smaller, ashamed. What cruelty the Moon Goddess has to bless me with a second mate now, to let me find him in this place, to see me like this.

He's seated to the right of the alpha, to the right—he's—he's our beta. I understand his expression now. The horror and hurt in the one word he's spoken to me: no. We can never be. The alpha glances over at him before clearing his throat. My mate sits back down as if nothing has happened.

"I understand there was an incident at the Whitehouse farm last night," he says to the Blood Moon soldier's de-facto leader. He wasn't a gamma, a leader, you could tell that by looking at him, but he was standing as one until he returned to his pack lands.

"Yes, Alpha Marcus. This thing here," he points to me, refusing to call me a woman, "betrayed our species. Gamma Walters and several of our men were killed in an ambush she set in the dark of the night. She works with our enemies and refuses to tell us their whereabouts. Let us force it out of her and lend us your warriors to search the Dark Wood, or we will call our pack and do it ourselves."

The alpha's aura thickens as the man speaks, unaware of the insult in his loose threats. Even without the pack link, I feel myself shrinking under the weight of it. I steal glances at my would-be mate, wondering if his aura is so strong.

"Is this true?" the alpha asks. He's talking to me, I realize. I scrambled to my feet. This is my only chance, "No," I sputter. "I'm loyal to Dark Wood, to you. I housed these soldiers just as you commanded, and their gamma tried to rape" I struggle to say the words and my voice cracks, "my daughter. I only did what any mother would and tried to defend her. I shifted and blacked out. The Blood Moon warriors must've killed the gamma and the men who tried to save him. I'm no traitor, I swear!"

"Then why did you denounce the pack link?" the alpha asks nonchalantly like he's discussing the weather. "I didn't. I didn't do that," I stammer, "I don't know what happened. I can't…" my words trail off as it hits me that this will never work. Pack links don't just dissolve for no reason. I look guilty. I must be guilty. I can't even prove my innocence to myself.

The alpha is silent. He shares a look with his beta. He knows I am his second's mate. He also knows what I've done, or everyone believes I've done, can't be ignored. "Take her to the dungeons," he finally says, "James, gather our best warriors and help the Blood Moon men search the Dark Wood. Find her children." James. My mate's name is James.

The Blood Moon leader moves to grab my hair and is suddenly thrown backward. I feel tingles shoot up my arm as James helps me up. "I'll take her to the dungeons," he says, "and give me the key to her chains. Silver seems overkill for such a small girl, doesn't it?" The shithead on the floor makes no attempt to argue and tosses him the keys. My mate says nothing as he removes my chains, burning his hands in the process, and leads me from the room onward to my cell.

We make our way to a part of the packhouse I’ve never seen. The passages narrowing until we come to a flight of small stairs with stone walls. The temperature shifts as we descend and the smell of decay minges with James’ sweet scent.

He leads me to the first cell, stopping to guide me in before unbuttoning his shirt, handing it to me, and closing the door. “I’m sorry,” he says, turning to leave me. “Wait,” I call out, mustering my strength, “I, Amalea Ann Whitehouse, reje—” He turns suddenly, seemingly surprised. “Stop,” he cuts me off, letting the word hang in the air.

“We have to,” is all I can manage, fighting the pull of the mate bond and the urge to stare at his perfectly cut chest. “Give me time to think,” he replies, disappearing back up the dark stairs.