Chapter 3 The Alpha's Shadow

The guest room was beautiful. It was also a prison.

Sera stood by the window, her arms wrapped tightly around herself, watching the sleet turn to fat, heavy snow. The room was decorated in dark wood and deep emerald silks, with a fire already crackling in the hearth. It was warmer than any place she had slept in years, but the chill in her bones refused to thaw.

She couldn't sleep. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the black thorns on her wrist. She felt the ghost of Dorian Kane's gaze-that terrifying, starving look-burning into her skin.

A sudden, muffled crash echoed from the floor below.

Sera flinched, her hand instinctively flying to her thigh. Her fingers met the soft fabric of her borrowed nightgown, not the hilt of her dagger. They had taken her weapons. Of course they had.

*Thud.* Another crash, followed by the low, vibrating rumble of a man's voice, thick with anger.

She shouldn't care. Let the monsters tear their own house down. But the mark on her wrist gave a sudden, sharp throb, a flare of heat that made her gasp. It wasn't just pulsing anymore. It was pulling. A physical, tugging sensation in her chest, urging her toward the door.

Before she could talk herself out of it, Sera slipped out of the room.

The hallway was dark, lit only by the pale moonlight filtering through the tall windows. She followed the pull, her bare feet silent on the cold wood, until she reached the sweeping staircase that led down to the main foyer.

At the bottom of the stairs, a man was picking up the shattered pieces of a crystal decanter. He was tall, with sandy hair and a sharply angled face. The man who had coughed to cover his laugh earlier.

He looked up as she descended, his blue eyes sharp and assessing. "You're supposed to be asleep."

"And you're supposed to be cleaning," Sera shot back, stopping a few steps above him. "Where's your master?"

The man-Elias, if she remembered the pack hierarchy right-paused, a shard of glass hovering over the trash bin. A dark, wry smile tugged at his mouth. "Nursing a bottle of scotch and a very bad temper. You might want to keep your distance tonight, little hunter. He's not exactly in a welcoming mood."

"What happened?" Sera asked, her voice quiet.

Elias dumped the glass into the bin and stood, dusting off his hands. He studied her for a long moment, his gaze lingering on the sleeve covering her left wrist.

"You happened," Elias said, his voice losing its sarcastic edge. "Dorian has spent his entire life building walls of ice. And you walked through the front door and set the whole thing on fire."

Sera swallowed hard. "What does the mark mean? Mara lied to me. I know she did."

Elias took a step up the stairs, closing the distance between them. "It means the Moon Goddess has a sick sense of humor. It means-"

A sudden, agonizing roar tore through the house, cutting him off. It wasn't human. It was a sound of pure, feral agony, followed by the heavy, splintering crash of wood.

Elias's face went pale. "Go to your room. Lock the door. Now."

He didn't wait to see if she obeyed. He spun and sprinted toward the west wing.

But the mark on Sera's wrist was burning now, a white-hot brand that dragged a choked cry from her lips. The pull in her chest was undeniable, a magnetic force that overrode every survival instinct she had.

She didn't go to her room. She followed him.

The west wing was darker, colder, the air thick with the scent of pine and that dark, dangerous musk she was beginning to recognize. Elias had disappeared through a set of heavy double doors at the end of the hall. Sera crept to the doorway, peering into the dark room.

It was Dorian's study. It was destroyed.

The heavy oak desk was flipped onto its side. Papers were scattered everywhere, and deep, jagged gouges-claw marks-were carved into the stone wall.

And in the center of the room, Dorian stood hunched over, his shoulders heaving. His shirt was torn, his chest bare. In the dim light, Sera could see the black veins spiderwebbing up his neck, a dark corruption that looked like poison in his blood. His hands were gripped into the edge of the stone fireplace, the muscles in his back coiled with a monstrous, terrifying tension.

"Get out, Elias," Dorian snarled, his voice distorted, scraping against the words.

"It's not Elias," Sera whispered.

The silence that followed was absolute.

Dorian went completely still. Slowly, painfully, he turned his head. His eyes were entirely black, void of any gold, void of any humanity. He looked like a cornered beast.

"Stay back," he rasped.

Sera took a step forward, her heart beating a wild rhythm against her ribs.

"I told you to stay away," Dorian growled, his voice dropping into something inhuman.

"I don't take orders very well." Sera stepped fully into the room, the shattered glass crunching under her bare feet. "What's happening to you? Is this because of the mark?"

Dorian let out a harsh, broken laugh. He pushed off the fireplace, turning to face her fully. He was shaking, a fine, violent tremor running through his massive frame.

"Mark?" he asked, his voice dropping to a low, dangerous whisper, laced with pure disgust. "Why would I go crazy because of a mark from a hunter?"

Sera's breath caught. Her hands clenched into fists at her sides, her nails biting into her palms. She wanted to slap him. She wanted to tear that arrogance right off his face. But she couldn't. She couldn't touch him, couldn't risk him retaliating and endangering Callum.

"Then what's this madness about?" she demanded, refusing to back down. "That old woman, Mara-she lied to me. I saw it in her eyes. What did I sign?"

"It's a death sentence," Dorian said, and his face twisted with raw disgust. He took a step toward her, then another, his black eyes locked on her wrist. "You shouldn't have come to the pack, hunter."

"Well, I had to, after you monsters took my brother hostage," she spat, her voice dripping with venom.

Before she could react, he closed the distance between them in a single, predatory lunge.

"Mind your tongue, hunter," Dorian snarled.

His hand clamped around her left wrist, his grip inescapable.

Sera gasped as a shockwave of pure, electric heat exploded up her arm, lighting up every nerve ending in her body.

The moment his skin touched the mark, Dorian froze. The blackness in his eyes flickered, a sliver of pure, desperate gold breaking through. His breath hitched, and the violent tremor in his body eased, as if the physical contact was the only thing keeping his monster at bay.

But then, his gaze dropped to her mouth.

The air between them vanished.

For a terrifying, thrilling moment, Dorian leaned in and crushed his lips against hers.

It wasn't gentle. It was desperate, punishing, and tasted of scotch and dark, wild magic. Sera's mind went completely blank, her body arching into his out of pure, primal instinct.

Then, reality slammed back into her.

Sera wrenched her wrist from his grasp and swung her hand, her palm connecting with his cheek in a hard, echoing *smack*.

Dorian stumbled back a step, his head snapping to the side.

"What the fuck, you monster!" Sera snapped, her chest heaving. She stumbled back, wiping her lips aggressively with the back of her hand, as if something contagious and filthy had touched her. Her heart was a wild drum in her ears.

She didn't wait for him to recover. Sera spun on her heel and stormed out of the study, her bare feet slapping against the cold floor as she fled back toward the east wing.

Dorian stood alone in the ruined room, the black veins slowly receding from his neck. He lifted a hand, slowly caressing the cheek where she had struck him.

No one had ever dared to raise a hand to him. Not his enemies, not his pack, not even his own family. He was the Alpha of the Blackthorn Pack, and he was feared.

But this godforsaken hunter had just slapped him.

Dorian looked down at his right hand, the hand that had touched her wrist. The skin was still humming, a phantom warmth spreading through his veins, quieting the feral beast in his chest for the first time in weeks.

He closed his eyes, the ghost of her lips still burning his own.

The mark wasn't a curse for him. It was a lifeline.

And she was the only one who could pull him back from the edge.

But as he looked toward the doorway she had fled through, a cold, terrifying realization settled in his chest. Because Sera had felt the bond too. And the moment she realized what it truly meant-that her life was tied to his-she wouldn't just slap him.

She would try to kill him.