Chapter II #2
“The hunters have captured a very unique prize. One that has never graced these halls before.”
The hunters being involved means a werewolf.
“What do you mean by unique?” I have a bad feeling that I already know.
The very thought makes me sick to my stomach.
They bring werewolves here all the time, to tame, before sending them out to be of service to the numerous covens in the world.
None of them have interested me or my father. Just another cog in the machine.
His next words tilt the world around me. “It will be your job to tame the beast.”
“What?” There’s no way. I’ve rarely even seen a werewolf.
“Did I stutter?”
I wish he had. “You can’t seriously think—”
“He’s an alpha, boy, and this is your time to prove your worth.”
That would require me to care about proving my worth, which I never have.
There’s no way I could ever even hope to tame an alpha.
It’s never been done before. “No, I can’t.
” The words are out before I can call them back, but they aren’t a lie.
I don’t know the first thing about taming. Zero. Zilch. Not one thing.
“I like to think I’ve been nothing but lenient on you, Freyr.”
We clearly have different definitions of “lenient.” Worlds apart in meaning. Our dictionaries are written in different languages.
“You will do this, and I’ll hear no lip about it.” He takes hold of my upper arm tightly enough that I know there will be new bruises. “Taming these beasts and making them bow to us is how we keep control, Freyr. One day you’ll thank me.”
For what, exactly?
“Unless you want to take his place and be chained up like an animal, then I suggest you hold your tongue and do as you are told.” He walks away before I can respond.
I don’t know what making my own choices feels like, but sometimes it’s nice to dream.
Soren slides into place beside me a moment later, watching the direction my father has headed.
Gone off to let nobility fawn all over him.
Unlike me, he thrives on it. Control. Fear.
Worship. He needs it, and he does anything he has to in order to keep it coming.
I’ll never be like him, and he hates that.
“Did you know?” I ask. Soren will have heard that entire conversation, never far from my side.
“No.”
I wish I could throw the words back in his face, tell him that I don’t believe him. But he’s never lied to me. He doesn’t deserve misdirected anger.
Soren turns to me, forcing me to look up at him. “Have you ever seen an untamed werewolf, Frey?”
I shake my head wordlessly. The untamed werewolves aren’t permitted in the inner sanctum of the castle, not until they’ve completed their training.
Even then, there aren’t many here. They don’t tame them here.
I don’t actually know where they’re taken, what the process is.
All I know is that wild lycans go in, tame lycans come out.
And an alpha? I’ve never seen one, period.
Are they why no werewolves are serving tonight? Would seeing an alpha change them that much? Undo all their training? Are their kind that much of a risk?
“Stay close,” Soren says quietly, pulling me half behind him.
Okay, that doesn’t worry me at all. Would it be weird to take his hand for comfort so I can soak in his strength and soothing presence?
When the doors open, some part of me is expecting a docile creature, trussed up in chains and walking obediently beside the guards.
Nothing prepares me for the reality of the crazed man being pulled in by chains and six vampyre soldiers.
The low snarl from him sets my teeth on edge.
He’s wholly feral, wild and dangerous. Are they like this outside? Is that why we have to tame them?
The man—lycan, not man—looks like he hasn’t bathed in weeks, his long hair knotted and covered in dirt and leaves.
His clothes are ripped, close to falling from his incredibly large frame.
He’s not wearing any shoes. I don’t know why it’s the lack of shoes that seems the strangest to me. Why didn’t they let him keep his shoes?
Soren gives me a stern look when I move around him, but I ignore it. I need to be closer, to get a better look.
The lycan’s head snaps up, and his gaze locks with mine.
We both freeze, and my stomach drops like I’ve just fallen a great distance. The intense gold irises are anything but human. Dark, liquid gold, with so much hatred in them that I take a shaky step backward, running into Soren’s chest.
The lycan roars at me, the sound guttural and animalistic. This time when he pulls at his shackles, it’s in my direction, like he wants to get at me specifically. The only thing stopping me from moving further away is Soren behind me, his hands loosely holding my elbows, keeping me steady.
The lycan never stops struggling even when they cuff him to the wall by his wrists and ankles. There’s blood dripping from wounds, and his teeth look sharp and deadly. Putting him on display isn’t diminishing his strength and sheer presence in any way.
“I don’t like this,” Soren says quietly. “I’ve never seen one act like this once they were brought through the gates. Even the ones out there aren’t completely wild.”
Guess that answers that question. “Do you think they did something to him?”
Soren doesn’t answer. He’s scowling as he studies the werewolf warily. I know exactly how he feels. Unsettled.
I know because I’m feeling it too.
There’s nothing tame about this predator.