“Monica? You live here?”

The voice was unmistakable. Cold. Flat. Sharp as steel.

Monica’s eyes flew open.

Her heart slammed against her ribs when she saw Killian standing in front of her, wearing only a pair of shorts after shifting back into human form. In an instant, she understood.

The wolf she had seen moments ago had been him.

“Don’t stand there mocking me because I live here!” Monica shouted, panic still rough in her throat.

Beneath the fear, anger burned hotter.

Killian’s gaze moved casually across the cramped hut, and Monica was certain he looked at everything with contempt. The cracked walls. The worn table. The patched roof.

Now he had fresh material to humiliate her with.

She had never imagined someone like Killian, rich, admired, heir to the Glass Fire Pack, would ever step inside a place like this.

And she was certain he had not come kindly.

Hadn’t he already humiliated her enough?

The memory of his rejection flashed through her chest like a blade.

“We’re tracking a rogue. It came this way,” Killian said, dismissing her accusation as if it bored him.

“Get out.” Monica pointed at the broken door. “I don’t care about your excuses. Yes, now you know. I’m poor. I live in the middle of the forest. Leave.”

Killian’s mouth curved with disdain.

“And then you sell yourself to Daniel for meals while chasing a scholarship?”

The words hit harder than a slap.

There it was.

The cruelty she had expected.

So the story about chasing a rogue was only an excuse. He had not arrived here by chance.

“This is none of your business, Killian!” Monica snapped, fury shaking her voice.

He went still for a moment, drawing one slow breath as if weighing whether she was worth another sentence.

She almost hoped he would stay silent.

“I don’t care if you choose to be Daniel’s toy,” Killian said at last, voice low and dangerous. “But if I discover that rogue is tied to your family, I’ll wipe every one of you out.”

He pointed at her.

The threat was unmistakable.

Before Monica could respond, footsteps pounded outside.

“Killian, something happened to the Alpha!”

Killian gave a short nod.

Then he glanced back at Monica with open scorn.

“You can pretend to be human all you like. Your werewolf scent is obvious.”

He slammed the hut door behind him.

Monica stood frozen.

The rejection.

The humiliation.

The ache she had tried to bury.

It all came rushing back.

And now Killian was accusing her of being some hidden rogue as well.

How could he be so vicious?

So merciless?

And yet girls at the university worshiped him.

“Thinking too much again? You’ve been doing that ever since I came back.”

Her mother’s voice broke the silence and made Monica jump.

She had just entered carrying a basket filled with potatoes and wild berries.

“Is that all you found, Mom?” Monica asked quickly, eager to avoid her mother’s curious stare.

“You know I never pick berries before they ripen,” her mother replied lightly. Then her expression softened. “What’s been bothering you all day?”

Monica forced herself to breathe normally.

“Bad dreams.”

“What kind of dreams?”

Monica hesitated, then answered with practiced ease.

“I dreamed my mate was an Alpha… and he rejected me on our wedding day.”

Her mother laughed.

“That’s only a dream. Maybe your standards are too high. How would an Alpha ever be mated to one of us? We’re poor people in Amberbridge.”

Monica laughed too, though the sound was hollow.

She hated herself for still thinking about Killian.

“Where’s Dad?” she asked, changing the subject.

“Out hunting. Wait… what happened to the door?”

Her mother had finally noticed the damage.

“A wolf came in,” Monica said. “It turned into a werewolf. Maybe a thief. Maybe a rogue. I don’t know what he expected to steal from this place.”

She could not bring herself to say Killian’s name.

“Did he hurt you?”

Her mother grabbed Monica’s shoulders, eyes narrowed with concern.

“No. He only asked strange questions about a rogue, then left.”

The lie came smoothly, though pain still twisted inside her.

“Oh great. More trouble for your father,” her mother muttered.

Monica knew little about her father’s work beyond hunting and planting tubers.

Then Killian’s warning returned to her.

A rogue had been near their home.

Her family was poor, isolated, and defenseless.

If Killian truly had chased one here, they were in danger.

Damn him.

Why had he brought it to their doorstep?

Monica rose from her desk and headed toward the kitchen to warn her mother.

But when she entered, no one was there.

“Mom?”

A knot formed in her chest.

“Did Dad come back?”

Then a violent crash shook the house.

Someone had broken through the front door.

Instinct screamed at her to hide.

Monica dropped to her knees and crawled beneath the kitchen table, pressing a hand over her mouth.

“Where is that bastard?!”

Killian’s voice thundered through the house.

Her pulse went wild.

She had hoped never to hear him again.

“No one’s here, Alpha,” another man said. “Damn it. That coward rogue already ran.”

“No.” Killian’s tone sharpened. “His daughter is still here. I can smell her.”

Footsteps came toward the kitchen.

Then stopped.

“So here you are, little rat.”

A hand fisted in Monica’s hair and yanked her from beneath the table.

She cried out as panic exploded through her.

What was happening?

What did he want?

“You’re the daughter of a murderer, Monica!” Killian roared, dragging her toward the doorway. “My father, a respected Alpha, was killed by yours!”

“I don’t know anything!” she sobbed. “Killian, let me go!”

Tears streamed down her face. Her scalp burned where he gripped her.

“So now you defend him?”

Killian turned sharply.

“Beta, find the man and his wife. They can’t be far.”

He hauled Monica through the forest to the riverbank and shoved her into a small boat.

As it crossed the water, a sick realization struck her.

The Glass Fire Pack had always been only one forest away from her home.

Before now, she had never cared.

She had been human.

Ordinary.

Outside Killian’s world.

When they reached pack territory, Monica saw several people still dressed in black mourning clothes.

Yet none looked at her with pity.

Only hatred.

Killian dragged her behind the mansion to a storage shed.

Inside lay a dark stone cellar, damp and cold.

“Wait here for your death,” he snarled.

The heavy door slammed shut.

Iron bolts locked into place.

“Killian, wait!” Monica shouted. “I need to tell you something!”

“What?”

His voice came through the wood, impatient and icy.

“I have more important matters to handle. Speak quickly.”

Monica rushed to the keyhole.

“My family are ordinary humans,” she pleaded. “My father cannot be the rogue you’re hunting, and he could never have killed your father.”

She hoped reason might still reach him.

Instead, laughter answered from outside.

Harsh. Scornful.

“Your family is rogue blood that slaughtered mine. I was a fool to think you might be innocent.”

“What proof do you have?” Monica cried. “I know my family better than anyone. My father was human!”

But the final bolts slammed shut.

Her voice was swallowed by stone and darkness.

No one heard her.

“All of my elders say the rogue was your father,” Killian said through the door. “Stop lying, Monica. You’re a werewolf too.”

“No!”

“Your bloodline broke the golden laws of our kind. Werewolves do not use silver against each other.”

His voice grew harsher, weighted with old grief.

“For years we believed that forest was cursed. We sent omega after omega, and none returned.”

A pause.

“Now we know why. Your family seeded those woods with silver needles.”

“That’s impossible. My father is an ordinary human. He doesn’t even know what silver needles are!”

Monica shouted through the cellar door, trying to convince Killian—and perhaps herself.

“Do you really think you understand anything about this world, Monica?” Killian’s voice came coldly from the other side. “Your noble father is nothing more than a fugitive hiding in Amberbridge. His freedom is almost over. Every Alpha in this province knows he broke the golden laws of werewolves.”

His footsteps receded as he walked away.

Monica sank against the wall.

All she could do now was pray her family would not be found.

She doubted anyone could recognize her parents by face alone. They had lived quietly and kept to themselves for years.

But scent was another matter.

Killian must have traced them that way.

That was, if her parents truly were werewolves at all.

Because Monica had never known herself to be one.

The next morning, the cellar door creaked open.

Sunlight flooded the room so suddenly that Monica had to shield her eyes. After a night trapped in darkness, the brightness felt like knives.

Killian stood in the doorway, smiling with chilling amusement.

In his hands were a pair of handcuffs, a collar, and a chain.

“Relax,” he said casually. “I’m not killing you yet. Not until I find your parents and execute them in front of you.”

Fear flashed across Monica’s face, and he seemed to enjoy it.

“But I’ve reconsidered something.”

He stepped inside.

“So beg me to spare your life, Monica. Go on.”

“You’re wrong, Killian.” Monica forced strength into her voice. “My father, my mother, my whole family—we are not werewolves. We are not rogues. We are not murderers. You have no proof for anything you’re saying.”

He tilted his head.

“You still deny it?”

His smile faded.

“Perhaps I should kill you first instead. One life for another seems fair.”

A shiver ran through Monica.

The grief in his eyes was worse than anger. It made him unpredictable.

Once, Killian had been the brilliant student everyone admired. Professors respected him. Women adored him.

Now he looked like someone hollowed out by rage.

“Zayn,” Killian called.

“Yes, Alpha?”

Zayn hurried over at once.

“This little mutt seems eager to die. Did you bring the silver axe?”

Before Zayn could move, Monica broke.

“Killian, please. Don’t kill me. Please!”

He sneered.

“Your begging is terrible. Are you pleading with me or ordering me? I do not take commands from someone like you.”

“I know you won’t believe me,” Monica said desperately. “But please… don’t kill anyone.”

“Still wrong.”

He gave a humorless laugh.

“You have no standing to ask anything of me.”

Zayn returned and placed a silver axe into Killian’s hand.

The flash of silver made Monica recoil.

She believed herself human, yet something primal inside her feared the metal instantly.

“You are not human, Monica,” Killian said softly. “You are a werewolf who refuses to admit it.”

He slowly raised the axe.

“And silver is forbidden between our kind—unless it is used for execution.”

His words struck deep, planting doubt and guilt where certainty had been.

What if her father truly had killed Alpha Gallagie?

“I’ll use this on your father,” Killian said, lifting the blade until it gleamed near her face.

Then Zayn returned carrying a steaming metal basin.

The smell reached Monica immediately.

Meat stew, rich with pepper and onions.

But the bowl looked like one meant for animals.

“Today, I’m merciful,” Killian said, noticing where her eyes had gone. “I’m letting you live. I’m even feeding you.”

His smile turned cruel.

“But mercy is never free.”

He crouched in front of her.

“You still haven’t begged properly or thanked me for my kindness. Try again.”

“Please let us live…” Monica whispered.

“Wrong,” he said sharply. “Only you are here. Beg clearly.”

She swallowed hard.

“Please let me live, Killian.”

Every word tasted like humiliation.

But she still wanted to survive.

“I’ll allow it,” he said grandly, like a king granting pardon. “Am I not generous?”

He waited.

“Thank you… for your generosity.”

A satisfied grin spread across his face.

It was the first time she had truly begged him.

“Better. Now you may have breakfast.”

He gestured toward the basin.

“Though naturally, that also has a price.”

His cruelty still had layers.

“I’ll pay anything if you let me go home,” Monica said suddenly.

Money moved the world. Surely even he had a price.

Killian laughed softly.

“You don’t need money for this worthless meal. I don’t want anything you own.”

His eyes darkened.

“This was prepared for my dog.”

He leaned closer.

“But I decided you could replace the one I gifted to my cousin.”

Monica trembled with fury.

She understood perfectly.

He wanted to degrade her as deeply as possible.

“You’re disgusting, Killian.”

“No,” he said calmly. “I’m merciful.”

He dropped the collar at her feet.

“I’m sparing your life. In return, you’ll take the dog’s place.”

“Then I refuse your food.”

He laughed again, as though she were a child throwing a tantrum.

“Really? You plan to starve yourself? By noon, you’ll be too weak to stand.”

His gaze hardened.

“Eat while I am still willing to feed you.”

Maybe pride would have to wait.

Maybe survival mattered more than dignity.

With shaking hands, Monica picked up the collar and fastened it around her neck.

“Look at me,” Killian ordered.

She fumbled with the buckle while he watched every second.

When she finished, he clipped the chain to the metal ring.

Satisfaction gleamed openly in his eyes.

“Now eat,” he said. “Like my dog. Use your mouth.”

To reach the basin, Monica had to kneel and bend low.

She lowered herself to the floor and leaned forward to sip the stew.

Above her, Killian held the chain loosely, smiling as if she already belonged to him.

The shame was unbearable.

Tears burned behind her eyes, but she forced them back.

She had never imagined the brilliant university star, polished and admired by everyone, could become this.

He had once seemed intelligent, refined, disciplined.

Now she saw a broken man wearing power like a weapon.

And this man was meant to lead one of Amberbridge’s greatest packs.

“Finish it,” Killian said. “Don’t waste my generosity.”

He gave the chain a small tug.

“Afterward, you’ll learn what else a good dog should do.”

Monica paused and looked up.

His gaze was still locked on her.

Sharp.

Unblinking.

“Thank you, Killian,” she muttered.

“Clearly.”

He dismissed the words at once.

“Thank you for your generosity in giving me breakfast, Killian,” she said again, bitterness cutting through every syllable.

Killian laughed, thoroughly pleased with himself.

“Have you tracked down the rogue yet, Killian?” Luna Janette asked quietly. Her voice was weak, almost fragile. The grief of Alpha Gallagie’s death still weighed heavily on her. Ever since the doctor confirmed the devastating news, she had struggled to regain her strength.

“Not yet, Mother,” Killian answered. “But I did find his daughter.”

He deliberately left out her name. Monica.

Even thinking it felt dangerous. Admitting that the girl he had once considered worthy of becoming his Luna was now locked away as his captive would only make him look pathetic. His mother could never know that part of the story.

A shadow of guilt crossed Luna Janette’s face.

“I’m sorry you had to take responsibility for the pack under these circumstances.”

“This isn’t on you, Mother.” Killian’s voice remained steady, though frustration simmered beneath the surface. “I’ll learn what I need to learn, and I’ll make sure the rogue answers for everything he’s done.”

His thoughts immediately drifted back to Monica.

Stubborn. Infuriating. No matter how many questions he asked, she refused to explain herself. Worse, she continued denying what she truly was.

A she-wolf. There had been a time when he admired her. Before Daniel. Before he learned who she chose to spend her time with.

Back then, he had always found excuses to be around her. Something about Monica had drawn him in, even when he couldn't explain why. But that fascination had shattered the day he saw her with Daniel. Then again. And again.

Every encounter felt like a fresh wound. He had witnessed their closeness more than once—private moments that made his stomach twist with resentment. At the time, there had been nothing he could do about it, yet the bitterness never faded.

The frustrating part was that Monica was genuinely impressive.

Despite growing up with far fewer advantages than most students, she had earned scholarships through relentless effort. Her grades were exceptional, and she excelled in nearly every activity she participated in.

Killian knew she wasn't some once-in-a-generation genius. Her success came from discipline, determination, and an ability to outwork everyone around her.

Which only made her choices more disappointing.

Out of all people, she had attached herself to Daniel—a man who coasted through life on family money and privilege.

Maybe she enjoyed the expensive gifts. Maybe she liked never having to worry about paying for meals.

Whatever the reason, Killian found it pathetic.

Monica was capable of standing on her own.

She never needed Daniel. The thought brought a faint, cynical smile to his face as he crossed the grounds toward the aging structure behind the mansion.

The metal door groaned when he pushed it open.

Inside, Monica sat against the wall. The moment she noticed him, she turned her head away. Refusing to acknowledge him. Refusing to look at him.

Her stubborn resistance only amused him. You deserve that collar, Monica. The thought settled comfortably in his mind.

“It’s rude to ignore someone when they’re talking to you,” Killian said.

Using the tip of his shoe, he tilted her chin upward.

Monica’s expression remained hard, but he caught the brief flicker in her eyes. She was thinking. Planning. Searching for an opportunity. Probably another escape attempt.

“Don’t bother,” he said coldly. “You’re not going anywhere until your father’s crimes are answered for.”

Silence. His irritation sharpened.

“What’s wrong?” he asked. “Lost your voice?”

When she still refused to respond, he pressed the toe of his shoe lightly against her lips. A challenge. A provocation. It worked.

“Get your filthy foot off me!” Monica snapped. Fire blazed in her eyes.

Killian chuckled. “There she is.” His laughter carried through the room before he crouched slightly, studying her.

“You know, Monica,” he said casually, “I’ve had a particular fantasy for a very long time.”

“I couldn’t care less.” The answer came immediately.

“Whatever fantasy you have, keep it to yourself.”

Killian's smile widened. “Oh, but it concerns you.”

“I don't care.”

“You should.” His tone became almost playful. “If you're going to serve me properly, shouldn't you know what I like? Isn't that what a pet is supposed to do?”

Disgust flashed across her face.

He continued anyway. “For years, I imagined seeing you on your knees. Obedient. Attentive. Looking to me for the things only I could give you.”

“Stop talking.” Monica's voice rose sharply. “Just stop.”

Killian tilted his head. “Why are you always shouting?” he asked. “I would've thought you were used to giving people whatever they wanted. Isn't that what you did with Daniel?”

The effect was immediate.

“You’re disgusting!” she shot back. “Don’t compare yourself to Daniel.”

Her jaw tightened. “And don’t say his name with that filthy mouth of yours.”

There it was. The hurt hidden beneath the anger. Killian stepped closer. He could practically see the wound he had reopened. Daniel. A man she barely knew. A man who was probably charming someone else at this very moment.

Killian understood exactly what kind of games Daniel played. But there was no point explaining that to Monica. Her disappointment was far more interesting.

“You know,” Killian said thoughtfully, “I’ve imagined punishing you too.” His gaze drifted toward the doorway.

“Maybe with the silver axe hanging in my study.” A low laugh escaped him.

“Though that would be boring.”

He shook his head.

“No. I can think of far more entertaining possibilities.”

His eyes settled on her again.

“Imagine it, Monica. A whip striking your skin. Your body trembling while you learn exactly who holds power over you.”

Monica didn't recoil. Didn't flinch. But the revulsion in her eyes was unmistakable.

“You’re insane,” she said quietly. “A complete idiot.”

The insult only amused him. Killian leaned closer, lowering his voice.

“That brilliant brain of yours won't help you when it comes to this.”

His gaze lingered on her face.

“All that logic. All that intelligence.”

He smiled.

“It won’t save you.”

Her breathing became slightly uneven, though she fought to hide it. Monica thought she knew him. The perfect student. The charming young Alpha. The talented heir everyone admired.

But she had never seen this side of him. The version that had waited patiently beneath the surface. The version standing before her now.

“What do you think?” he asked softly.

His smile sharpened.

“Or would you rather keep thinking about Daniel? Did he ever challenge you the way I do?”

Every word was carefully chosen. Every word meant to provoke.

“You have no right to ask me that,” Monica hissed. Her glare could have cut through steel.

“Hm.” Killian simply shrugged.

“It doesn't really matter.”

He straightened and stepped away.

“For now, Zayn will bring your meals.”

His eyes swept over her one final time. Calm. Measured. Dangerously unreadable.

“But you and I, Monica...” he said. “We'll eventually find out exactly how compatible our desires truly are.”

Monica's frown deepened as she watched him leave. The fire in her eyes remained unbroken. And as Killian walked out of the room, one thought lingered in his mind:

How long would it take before that fire finally bent to his will?