Chapter 26
Aweek had passed in captivity. Though the air had begun to warm, Evelyne wore the same travel-worn dress, its fabric stiff with dust and sweat.
Her bindings had been removed, but she knew without doubt she was still their prisoner.
At least four men stood guard outside her tent at all times, their presence a constant reminder that escape was impossible.
And then there was him. The alpha.
She hated his daily visits, the cold, silent routine that had become her new reality.
He never spoke, just watched her with that hard, unreadable stare.
Every time, he would step in, grip her chin, and tilt her face up until their eyes met.
With unsettling intensity, he would search her gaze, looking for the same dark corruption that had consumed Reuben.
The first time he approached her, she flinched and fought against his grip, but it was useless.
He was too strong. When she spat at him as he turned away, his body stiffened, like he was weighing whether to return the favor.
For a second, she thought he might. Instead, he clenched his jaw and shook his head, as if deciding she wasn’t worth the trouble.
They had taken her weapons while rummaging through her bag like she was nothing more than a prized possession to be stripped of its worth.
But they had left her two things: the book she’d gifted to Cillian and Alaric’s folded-up map.
Everything else was still in the carriage, left stranded in the woods somewhere.
She hadn’t seen Alaric since they were separated, but she had pestered the guards relentlessly, demanding to know if he was alive. Their short, clipped responses were always the same—Yes. And she had no choice but to believe them, because the thought of him dead made her stomach churn.
The only kindness she received came from Heidara, the young blonde woman who had stopped Holden from killing her. Heidara visited daily, gentle and calm, bringing her water, broth, meat, and bread.
Evelyne listened to the pack beyond her tent, absorbing every word as they spoke of hunting, protecting their women, and feeding their children.
At least they looked after their own. But not humans.
Not Reuben. They had slaughtered him and burned him.
And their alpha—the one who looked at her like an annoyance, like she was beneath him—had ordered it without hesitation.
She had only spat at him, but wanted to do worse if given the chance.
At least Heidara had brought her a washbasin this morning, allowing her to scrub the filth from her skin and rinse the tangles from her hair. Evelyne had even asked, perhaps foolishly, if there were spare clothes she could wear.
Heidara nodded. “I’ll see what I can find for you… and your friend.”
The words bolstered her. They meant Alaric was alive. But was he suffering? Was he being tortured? She never received any answers.
Each day Evelyne remained confined within her makeshift prison.
She passed the hours pacing in anxious circles, her every step accompanied by the dreadful symphony beyond the tent’s walls.
The gruesome grind of shifting bones, followed by low, feral growls, served as a grim reminder of the beasts that roamed freely outside.
But she hadn’t seen another wolf up close since Holden. Since that nightmare.
She’d wet herself that night, and Holden had known. That smirk he’d given her before picking up his clothes hadn’t just been arrogance—it had been satisfaction. He relished the fear he had instilled in her, the power he held over her. And she hated him almost as much as she hated their alpha.
Never again. She would get answers today. She would make Heidara talk. Or, if it came down to it, she would force the alpha himself to speak. She still didn’t know his name, and she didn’t care to ask.
The tent flap rustled as Heidara stepped inside, the early afternoon light highlighting the long, thick golden hair tightly plaited down her back.
A few loose strands framed her sharp yet delicate features.
She carried a folded bundle of clothes in her arms, the fabric frayed but clean, smelling faintly of firewood and something Evelyne couldn’t quite place; wild, like the forest itself.
“I brought you something to wear.” Heidara placed the bundle beside Evelyne’s cot, revealing a simple, long tunic of dark green linen cinched at the waist with a braided leather cord.
The sleeves were fitted but flexible. Beneath it was a woolen skirt, charcoal gray, with slits at the sides.
“I figured you’d want something more practical than that dress,” she added, nodding toward Evelyne’s tattered, travel-worn gown. “And cleaner.”
Evelyne stared at Heidara. She wore a fitted dark brown tunic with a sleeveless leather bodice layered over it.
Her woolen skirt also split at the sides and fell just past her knees.
Thick leather wraps wound around her forearms and calves, the latter tucked into hand-stitched, fur-lined boots that laced up to her knees.
A bone pendant rested against her collarbone.
She may have lacked the towering build of the men, but Heidara’s presence was no less commanding.
There was a hardened grace to her, the kind shaped by survival.
She set strips of cloth and a small bowl of warm, herbal wax on the ground beside Evelyne’s cot.
“What’s that?” Evelyne asked, eyeing it with curiosity.
“Heated tree resin. It’s a type of wax—for your legs. If you wish.”
Heavens—the court ladies would be positively scandalized by her neglected legs.
Heidara continued, shrugging slightly. “Not all the women in our pack use it. Some prefer an obsidian blade; others don’t bother at all. But since I’m not allowed to give you a weapon… Well, I figured this was better than nothing.”
It was a simple yet thoughtful gesture, and Evelyne found herself softening toward her captor in a way she hadn’t expected. “Thank you,” she said.
“Get changed.” Heidara pushed a stray strand of hair from her face. “Kaldrek will be here soon. And if you plan to talk your way out of this, don’t. Just stay quiet around him. He’s the one who decides whether you and your friend get to leave.”
Kaldrek?
“Who is—”
But Heidara was already gone.
Evelyne dressed quickly. She ran her fingers through her tangled, now-dry hair, trying to smooth it down, but her mind was elsewhere. Who the hell was this man—this shifter, or whatever he was—coming to see her?
She didn’t have time to dwell on it. Instead, she focused on figuring out the damn skirt.
The slits on the sides left more of her legs exposed than she was used to, and the unfamiliarity made her hesitate.
But she had to admit the clothes were a vast improvement over the suffocating corset and heavy gown.
The tunic fit comfortably, allowing her to move without restriction, and the skirt, though unsettlingly revealing, felt light and was perfect for quick movement.
The boots, however, were another matter entirely.
The leather laces were frustrating, a tangled puzzle she fumbled through until she managed to tie them, probably incorrectly.
With a quiet sigh, Evelyne finally sat back on the cot, her hands resting on her lap, her heartbeat steadying. Now, all she could do was wait for Kaldrek and a chance to convince him to let her go.
She sat quietly for about fifteen minutes, struggling to keep her patience. But when she couldn’t sit still any longer, she got up and began pacing the tent again. Her fingers grazed her brother’s book, and she pulled it from her bag, flipping to a passage to read.
And so it is told, when the darkness rises unchecked, slithering into the heart of the land, the Lantern shall stir from its slumber.
A beacon of light standing alone against the endless void.
But light cannot solely banish the creeping shadow.
To burn away the corruption, to unmake that which was forged in darkness, the Lantern must be bound—its flame entrusted to a soul strong enough to bear its fire, to wield its cleansing light.
Heavy footsteps neared the tent. Evelyne quickly snapped the book shut. Stuffing it back into her bag, she barely had time to react before the tent flap opened. And of course, it was him again—the alpha.
“You,” she said, her expression sour.
One dark brow lifted, a flicker of interest breaking through on his otherwise cold, unreadable face. “Me.” His dark brown eyes swept over her, noting her freshly cleaned skin and the pack’s clothing now draped over her frame.
“I was expecting someone else,” Evelyne muttered, folding her arms. She already knew the routine: he would lift her chin, examine her eyes, then leave without a word. “Let’s just get this over with.” She rolled her eyes and strode toward him.
The corner of his mouth twitched, almost a scoff, before his hand reached for her chin.
“What is so amusing?” she asked.
His calloused fingers firmly tilted her head, but his eyes narrowed in silent curiosity this time. “Who exactly were you expecting?” he asked.
“Oh my word, he actually speaks! And here I was beginning to think your only skill was looming in silence like a particularly moody statue.”
He didn’t so much as flinch, merely held her gaze. She fluttered her lashes in exaggerated innocence, just to be insufferable.
“Still gold. Still normal. No dark possession. Looks like I’m in the clear, and you may see yourself out now.”
“You’ve heard me speak before,” he replied, voice low.
“Ah, yes. How could I forget? That one memorable moment when you sent Holden and your matching pair of gloom-drenched bodyguards to do your dirty work.”
His expression darkened, and his grip remained firm as he continued his thorough, frustratingly silent examination. Evelyne yanked against his hold, but he didn’t let go.
“Are you hoping to find something wrong with me?” she hissed. “A reason to kill me too?”