The "cage" was a master suite that spanned the entire top floor of the west wing. It was a place of opulent torment-heavy velvet curtains, a fireplace large enough to roast a stag, and a bed that looked like an altar of silk and shadow.

    I stood by the window, watching the moon rise over the restless sea. The wedding dinner had been a silent affair. Girard had watched me eat with the focused intensity of a hawk watching a mouse. He hadn't touched his food; he had only watched me.

    Now, the door clicked shut. The sound of the lock turning sent a jolt of pure adrenaline through my veins.

    "The dress," Girard's voice came from the shadows. He had discarded his jacket and tie, his white shirt unbuttoned halfway down his chest.

    I turned, clutching the silk at my throat. "I am not your plaything, Girard. You bought a name, not a willing woman."

    Girard crossed the room in three strides. Suddenly, he was inches away, his heat enveloping me like a furnace. "I didn't buy a plaything, Arielle. I claimed a mate. There is a difference."

    "A mate?" I laughed, a jagged sound. "You talk like an animal."

    "Because I am," he growled.

    He grabbed the back of my dress and, with a single, effortless tug, the heavy silk and the pearls scattered across the floor like rain. I cried out, spinning around to cover myself, but he caught my wrists in one hand. His grip was like manacles of heated steel.

    "Look at me, Arielle," he commanded.

    I looked, and the breath died in my throat. The moonlight hit his back, and I saw them-scars that looked like claw marks. Something was shifting beneath his skin. His muscles were rippling, expanding. A low, guttural sound erupted from his throat.

    Then, I saw his hands. His fingernails were lengthening into sharp, black talons. The hair on his arms thickened. His face... his beautiful, cruel face began to distort. His jaw lengthened, his teeth sharpening into serrated points.

    I screamed, scrambling backward until I hit the bedpost. "What are you? What are you!"

    "I am the curse your father invited into his house," the creature rasped.

    He lunged onto the bed, pinning me down. He was heavier now, denser, his body radiating a terrifying energy. He loomed over me, his eyes glowing like twin suns. He lowered his head to my neck, his hot breath ghosting over my jugular.

    I felt the sharp prick of his fangs against my skin-not biting, but tasting.

    "You are the daughter of a traitor," he hissed, his tongue licking the spot where his fangs touched. "And you are the only thing that can soothe the beast I've spent thirty years trying to cage. Do you feel that, Arielle? That pull in your blood?"

    To my horror, I did feel it.

    Amidst the terror, a traitorous heat was blooming in my lower belly. My body recognized him even if my mind was screaming in fear.

    "I'm going to break you," Girard whispered, his claws grazing the skin of my thigh, "until you forget you ever had a father. Until the only name you know is mine."

    He lowered his head, and as the moon reached its zenith, the shadows in the room seemed to come alive. I was no longer a princess. I was the property of a monster who didn't just want my body-he wanted to devour my soul.

I woke to the sound of a heartbeat that wasn't my own.

    It was a slow, heavy thrum that seemed to vibrate through the very mattress, a rhythmic pulsing that I felt in my own marrow. My eyes snapped open, the morning light filtered through the heavy velvet curtains of the master suite, casting the room in a hazy, golden gloom.

    For a moment, I forgot. I reached out, my hand brushing against skin that felt like heated marble.

    Then, the memory of the night before crashed over me. The claws. The fangs. The terrifying, beautiful distortion of the man I had married.

    Girard lay beside me, propped up on one elbow. He was human again, but the air around him still crackled with that primal, predatory energy. His amber eyes were fixed on me, dark with a possessiveness that made my skin prickle. He was shirtless, the sheet draped low over his hips, revealing the corded muscles of a stomach that looked carved from stone.

    "You didn't scream when you woke up," he murmured, his voice a low, morning rasp. "That's a start."

    "I'm too exhausted to scream," I whispered, pulling the silk sheet up to my chin. My body felt heavy, aching in places I didn't know could ache. "What are you, Girard? Truly."

    He reached out, his hand tangling in my hair, pulling my head back just enough to expose my throat. His eyes dropped to the faint, red marks his teeth had left. "In your world, I am a businessman. A Don. In mine, I am the Alpha of the Roux Pack. A Loup de Sang. The blood of the first wolves runs through these veins, Arielle. It's why your father feared me. And it's why he sold you to me."

    "He sold me because he's a coward," I snapped, trying to pull away.

    Girard's grip tightened, not enough to hurt, but enough to remind me of the sheer power he held.

    He leaned in, his lips brushing the shell of my ear.

    "He sold you because he knew my blood was reaching its boiling point. He knew that without a mate to ground me, I would eventually burn his entire Syndicate to the ground. You are my tether, Arielle. My biological anchor."

    He slid his hand down to the small of my back, pulling me flush against him. The heat radiating off him was intoxicating, a drug that my body was already beginning to crave. Despite the fear, I felt my pulse jump, my heart hammering against my ribs.

    "Rules, Arielle," he whispered, his hand sliding lower, a slow, deliberate claim. "Rule one: You do not leave this estate without me. Rule two: You do not speak to the other males of the pack unless I am present. Rule three..."

    He paused, his eyes flashing a sudden, brilliant gold. He flipped me over with a fluid, feline grace, pinning me beneath him. He was heavy, a solid weight that made me gasp.

    "Rule three: You are mine. Every inch of skin, every breath, every thought. If I find another man's scent on you, I won't just kill him. I will make you watch."

    "You're a monster," I breathed, my fingers digging into his shoulders.

    "I am," he agreed, his mouth dropping to the crook of my neck. "And you are the monster's wife. It's time you learned what that means."

    He didn't kiss me. He nipped at the sensitive skin of my shoulder, a sharp sting that sent a jolt of pure, unadulterated electricity through my nervous system. I arched my back, a traitorous moan escaping my lips.

    The bond was waking up. And it was hungry.

The estate was a labyrinth of gilded cages.

    I spent the next few days wandering the halls, always followed by two massive, silent guards who looked like they were made of muscle and bad intentions. They didn't speak; they just watched. I was a bird in a golden cage, draped in the finest silks and fed the richest foods, but I was still a prisoner.

    Everywhere I went, I felt the eyes of the Pack. The staff, the guards, the gardeners-they all had that same intensity. That same unnatural stillness.

    But it was the North Tower that called to me.

    It sat at the edge of the cliffs, a jagged spire of ancient stone that looked as though it were trying to claw its way into the sky. Girard had forbidden me from entering it. "Rule Four," he had added over dinner, his eyes dark. "The North Tower is off-limits."

    Naturally, it was the first place I went when the guards were distracted by a shipment of weapons arriving at the docks.

    I slipped through the shadows of the garden, my bare feet silent on the cold stone. The air grew colder as I approached the tower, smelling of salt, wet earth, and something metallic-something like old blood.

    The door was heavy oak, reinforced with iron. It creaked as I pushed it open, revealing a spiraling stone staircase that seemed to descend into the very heart of the cliff.

    I climbed. My heart was a drum in my ears. At the top was a single, circular room.

    There were no windows. The only light came from a massive stone basin in the center of the room, filled with a shimmering, dark liquid that looked like liquid obsidian. Around the room were cages-massive, reinforced steel cages-but they weren't for people. They were too large.

    "You shouldn't be here, Arielle."

    I whirled around. A woman stood in the doorway. She was beautiful in a cold, predatory way, with hair as white as bone and eyes a piercing, unkind blue. Soline.

    "I'm the mistress of this house," I said, my voice steadier than I felt. "I go where I please."

    Soline laughed, a jagged sound that echoed off the stone walls. "Mistress? You're a stabilize. A biological dampener. Do you know what this room is?"

    She walked toward the stone basin, her fingers trailing through the dark liquid. "This is where the Alphas come when the madness takes them. When the beast grows too strong for the man to contain. Girard comes here to scream, Arielle. He comes here to be chained so he doesn't tear his own pack apart."

    She turned to me, her eyes narrowing. "He thinks you can save him. He thinks a little human blood can quiet the storm of centuries. But look at this."

    She gestured to the walls. I saw the scratch marks-deep, jagged gouges in the solid stone. Marks that no human could have made.

    "He's a monster, little girl. And eventually, he'll grow tired of playing house. He'll want to hunt. And you? You're the closest prey."

    A low, subsonic growl rumbled from the staircase. The temperature in the room plummeted.

    Girard was standing there. He didn't look like the man in the bespoke suits. He looked raw. Unhinged. His eyes were pure, molten gold, and his chest was heaving.

    "Soline," he rasped, the sound more animal than human. "Leave us."

    Soline bowed her head, a smirk still playing on her lips, and disappeared into the shadows.

    Girard walked toward me, his movements twitchy and violent. He backed me against the stone basin, his heat clashing with the cold of the tower. He grabbed my wrists, pinning them to the stone.

    "I told you," he hissed, his face inches from mine.

    "Off. Limits."

    "Is it true?" I asked, my voice shaking. "Do you come here to be chained?"

    He let out a jagged breath, his forehead resting against mine. "I come here because I am losing my mind, Arielle. And right now... the only thing keeping me from shifting and tearing this room apart is the scent of your skin."

    He leaned down, his mouth crashing onto mine with a desperation that was terrifying. It wasn't a kiss; it was a battle. He tasted of copper and rain. His hands slid down to my waist, pulling me so close I could feel every corded muscle in his body.

    In the North Tower, surrounded by the ghosts of his madness, the bond didn't just spark. It exploded.