The first thing that Bree realized when she woke was that she was not dead.
The last thing she remembered was a werewolf attacking her, knocking her to the ground, and then…
Those eyes.
The image of those eyes burned on the backs of Bree’s eyelids as though they had been tattooed there. She could look at them forever—they were the most beautiful things she had ever seen.
Groaning, Bree rolled over in bed, wondering if it had all been a dream. But as her other senses began to catch up to her, she soon realized that it had not been.
The first thing that she noticed was that she was lying in a bed that was much softer than her usual mattress was, the blankets draped over her much thicker and more plush than she was accustomed to.
There was a strange scent in the air, hints of stone and iron rather than the wood and brick of the house she lived in.
Bree couldn’t hear anything or anyone around, and that was what struck her hardest; if she had been home, she would have definitely been able to hear her mother and grandmother moving around, getting ready for the day.
She sat up quickly, blinking in alarm.
The bedchamber that she was in was most certainly not her own, just as she had suspected—but it didn’t seem like a prison, which would have been her second guess
The bed was huge, a four-poster frame with curtains hanging on each corner, dark red velvet drawn back with gold tassels. Across from the bed, on the opposite wall, was a large wardrobe made out of ornately carved wood.
A full-length mirror and vanity table matched it, and Bree quickly got up, hurrying over to the mirror to examine herself.
She didn’t seem to be badly hurt; her head ached a little, and there were a few scratches on her cheeks, but other than that, she couldn’t find any visible injuries, which was a relief. She would need all her energy and strength if she was going to escape from this place.
Even though the room was very nice, she didn’t belong here. She had to get out before her captors came back.
To do so, Bree looked into herself, trying to draw out her powers. She was not a very talented witch, not like her mother or grandmother or some of the other people her age in the village, but she could perform a few basic spells, one of which was lockpicking. She started to dip into the well of magic inside of her to prepare.
However, when she mentally tried to access the energy that always lay coiled in the pit of her stomach, she came up empty and cold. There was nothing there, and Bree felt her blood chill.
How could she have lost her magic? It was impossible!
She tried again, but with the same result. It was as though her insides had been scooped clean.
She was just starting to panic when she heard footsteps in the hallway.
Quickly, she dashed to the other side of the wardrobe, ducking behind it so that she was out of view of the door. If she didn’t have her magic, she might not be able to get out stealthily—but she still had her fists, and her captor wouldn’t be expecting an attack.
She held her breath as the lock clicked, the door opened, and a man stepped inside the room.
Bree’s stomache flipped once again, but for a much different reason.
The man was tall, with a broad chest and shoulders. His sleeves were rolled up to the elbows, exposing well-muscled forearms. He carried himself with confidence, as though he knew exactly what his purpose in life was, and would stop at nothing to fulfill it.
He felt magnetic, and even just her first glimpse of him was nearly enough to throw her off, wanting to stay in the presence of this man forever.
The man paused, glancing around the room. Bree prepared to leap from her hiding spot.
Just then, he sighed and said, “I know you’re over there.”
To Bree’s horror, he turned to face the wardrobe and began to walk towards her.
Well. It was now or never.
Bree jumped out from behind the wardrobe and dashed towards the man and the door, her fist pulled back for a strike.
Before she could even begin to swing it forward, though, the man had caught her by the wrist and pushed her backwards. He was so strong that he overcame her momentum easily and held her in place.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked.
Bree stared, dumbfounded, for a moment. His hands encircled her wrists easily, his grip strong and sure. She came to her senses and attempted to kick the man, but her legs were too short to reach him.
“Let go!”
“No,” the man said. “You were trying to escape, weren’t you?”
“So what if I was?” Bree demanded. “You kidnapped me. I’m not waiting around for you to murder me!”
The man glared at her. “Who said I was going to kill you?”
“You’re a werewolf,” Bree said coldly, feeling slightly vindicated by the look of discontent that passed across the man’s face. “Of course you’re going to kill me. A true wolf would never leave a witch alive.”
“Don’t tempt me,” the werewolf muttered.
But he released Bree’s wrist, shoving her arm down hard enough that she staggered. She could still feel the warmth from his grip imprinted in her skin, and she rubbed her arm subconsciously.
“Why did you take me?” Bree asked. “You won’t get anything out of it. My family is poor.”
The wolf stared at her for a moment, then threw his head back and laughed.
“You think I took you for ransom?”
Bree nearly forgot to respond, distracted by the high rasp of the man’s laughter, as well as the smooth curve of his throat.
“I don’t know what else you would be doing,” she finally said. “If you didn’t need me for something, you would have killed me already.”
Her voice trembled a little on the words, but she refused to back down. She couldn’t let this wolf get the upper hand.
“Your kind are all cold-blooded killers, with no thoughts for anyone else. You’re an animal. You’re a monster.”
The man’s eyes narrowed. His lip curled up, and then, faster than Bree could blink, his hand was on her shoulder, shoving her backwards until she hit the wall, hard.
She yelped in pain, but the man didn’t seem to care. He put his palm on the wall beside her face, leaning in close, and Bree could feel his hot breath on her neck.
She swallowed, glancing up briefly, and then gasped.
This close, she could very clearly see the man’s bright green eyes, the ones that she had been thinking of ever since she had woken.
It was him? He was the one who had saved her—but had also kidnapped her? And he was a wolf?
“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” the wolf growled, sounding as though he would love nothing more than to snap her neck, though his movements were stilted, as though something was holding him back from attacking. “My kind is more civilized than yours will ever be.”
Bree shivered at his tone of voice. It was low and heady, and the intensity of his gaze was making a strange sort of heat grow in her chest.
“Get off of me,” she snapped with as much ferocity as she could manage. “You’re a wolf. You killed my people. I hate you.”
“Good,” the man said quietly.
Instead of stepping back and letting Bree breathe, he instead leaned in closer, so close that his eyes were all that Bree could see.
“You should hate me. It’ll be easier that way.”
Easier for who? Bree wondered.
Out loud, she said, “Stop it.”
“I can’t be what you want,” the man said suddenly, cryptically, and Bree stopped struggling for a moment, surprised by the choice of words.
She stared into his eyes, and nearly choked when she finally realized what he was hinting at.
He couldn’t mean… no. No. She might be his prisoner, but she would not let him have her like that.
“I will never want you,” she said fiercely. “You disgust me.”
The man chuckled, a rumble deep in his throat, and then moved forward even more, so close to Bree that his lips just brushed hers.
As soon as they made contact, though, the man seemed to realize what he was doing, and jumped back so quickly that it was if Bree had burned him.
“B*tch,” he spat at her, and then turned around with deadly precision, stalking towards the door.
“Wait!” Bree called out. “You can’t just lock me in here!”
The man didn’t even look back over his shoulder as he left. “You’ll get used to it,” he said, “You’d better, because you’re never getting out of here.”
Furious, Bree picked up a hairbrush from the vanity and hurled it at the door, but the wolf had already closed it, and the item just bounced off harmlessly, tumbling to the floor.
Bree fell along with it, burying her face in her hands, and wondering if she would ever be free again.