Chapter 9
IRIS
Idon't recognize myself anymore.
The woman who woke in Stellan Varen's arms, who came on his fingers and his tongue until she lost count, who wanted him so badly she forgot to hate him—she's a stranger wearing my face.
I stare at my reflection in the small mirror above the basin in my room and search for some trace of the person I used to be.
The fighter Helena raised. The woman who was supposed to be stronger than this.
That woman would be disgusted by what I did last night. By how easily I surrendered. By the way my body still hums with satisfaction even as my mind recoils from the memory.
I can still feel his hands on my hips. His mouth between my thighs.
The rough command in his voice when he told me to lie back and let him watch me shatter.
I did exactly what he wanted. I shattered for him over and over, until I was crying and shaking and so wrung out I could barely remember my own name.
And the worst part is that I want to do it again.
I press my palms flat against the cold stone of the basin and force myself to breathe.
Helena trained me for this. Not for the sex, obviously, but for the psychological warfare.
She warned me about captors who could become saviors in a prisoner's mind.
The slow erosion of resistance through manufactured intimacy.
Is that what this is? Am I simply responding to his dominance because my omega biology has rewired my brain? Or is there something real underneath the manipulation, something that exists between us separate from instinct and blood pacts and the power he seems to hold over every aspect of my life?
I don't know anymore. I don't know anything except that I woke up reaching for him this morning and he was already gone, and the disappointment I felt was sharp enough to draw blood.
I need to talk to someone who will tell me the truth, even if the truth is brutal.
I need Signe.
I find the healer in her workroom at the back of the fortress, surrounded by drying herbs and glass vials and the sharp, clean smell of medicinal alcohol. She looks up when I enter, her pale eyes taking in my disheveled hair and the shadows under my eyes with a single assessing glance.
"You look like a woman who spent the night doing something she regrets," she says without preamble.
"I don't know if I regret it." I sink into the chair across from her worktable. "That's the problem. I should regret it. Everything I was taught says I should regret it. But when I try to summon the anger, all I feel is confusion."
"Tell me what happened after."
She doesn't need to specify after what. The whole fortress heard Ragnar's arm break.
So I do. Not the explicit details, but enough. The way I went to his chambers afterward, drawn by need I didn't want to examine. The way he touched me like I belonged to him, and the way my body agreed with every stroke and kiss and command.
"And now you feel like a traitor to yourself," Signe says when I finish.
"I feel like I'm losing my mind. I was raised to fight, to survive, to never surrender. And now I'm wet for the man who's holding me prisoner, responding to his dominance with arousal instead of rage." I press my hands over my face. "What the hell is wrong with me?"
"Nothing is wrong with you." Signe's voice is matter-of-fact, almost bored. "You're an omega responding to an alpha. Your body was designed for this, whether you like it or not."
"So I'm just a slave to my biology? No free will, no choice, just hormones and instinct?"
"You have choices. You made one when you honored the blood pact instead of running. You made another when you went to his chambers last night." Signe's pale eyes hold no sympathy. "You're not a prisoner, Iris. You're an omega who is finally accepting what she is. There's a difference."
She leans forward, her gaze sharpening. "You think wanting an alpha makes you weak?
Omegas have ruled from behind thrones since our kind existed.
Submission is a weapon when you choose who receives it.
The question isn't whether you want him.
That much is obvious to anyone with eyes.
The question is whether he's worthy of what you'd give. "
The words hit me like cold water. I sit back, blinking.
"I never thought about it that way."
"Most humans don't. You're taught that submission equals weakness, that wanting to be dominated makes you lesser somehow.
It's nonsense. Power flows both ways in a proper bond.
He may control your body, but you control something far more valuable.
" She taps her chest. "An alpha without his omega is half a creature.
Stellan has been incomplete for years, waiting for you.
You hold more power over him than you realize. "
"He doesn't act like I have power over him."
"No? Then why did he break another wolf's arm in front of the entire pack for insulting you?
Why did he declare you luna when you haven't even accepted the bond?
Why does he look at you like a starving man looks at a feast he's forbidden to touch?
" Signe shakes her head. "That wolf has been ruined by wanting you, Iris. He just hides it better than most."
I think about the journals in his study. The photographs spanning years. The obsessive documentation of my entire life before I ever knew he existed. She's right. He has been wrecked for me for a very long time.
The difference is that now I might be just as lost.
"What do I do?" The question comes out smaller than I intend.
"That's not for me to answer. But I'll tell you this: fighting your nature is exhausting, and it never works.
You can rage against what you are until you break yourself on it, or you can figure out how to make it serve you.
" She picks up her herbs again, signaling that the conversation is over.
"Now go. I have work to do, and you have thinking to do. "
I leave her workroom with more questions than answers, but I can breathe a little easier. Maybe wanting him doesn't make me weak. Maybe it just makes me omega.
Maybe those aren't the same thing.
I find Stellan at a place I didn't know existed until I followed the narrow path that winds up the cliffs behind the fortress.
The Overlook, one of the servants called it when I asked where the alpha had gone. His private refuge. The place he goes when he wants to be alone.
The path is steep and rocky, clearly not meant for casual visitors. By the time I reach the top, my legs are burning and my breath is coming in short gasps. But the view steals what little air I have left.
The territory spreads below like a tapestry woven in green and gold and shadow.
Mountains rise in the distance, their peaks still crowned with snow despite the warmth of the valley.
A river cuts through the forest, glinting silver where the sunlight catches it.
Wilder and more vast than anything I have seen, and for a moment I forget why I climbed up here.
Stellan stands at the edge of the Overlook, his back to me, his shoulders rigid beneath his fur-lined cloak. He doesn't turn when I approach, but I know he heard me coming. He hears everything.
"This was my father's place," he says without preamble. "He used to bring me here when I was a boy, before the responsibilities of leadership consumed every waking moment. He said the view reminded him of why we fight. Why we endure. Why we sacrifice everything for the pack."
I move to stand beside him, leaving a careful distance between us. "When did he die?"
"Fifteen years ago. I was nineteen. A challenge from a rival pack, one he should have won easily.
But he was tired. Years of protecting the territory had worn him down, and he hesitated at the wrong moment.
" Stellan's jaw tightens. "I watched him die.
Watched the light leave his eyes while the wolf who killed him howled victory to the sky.
I challenged that wolf thirty seconds later and tore out his throat with my bare hands. "
The violence of the image should horrify me. Instead, I feel understanding. Maybe even respect. "You've been alpha ever since."
"Since I was nineteen. Fifteen years of threats, challenges, wolves who wanted what I have." He finally turns to look at me, and I see weariness in his eyes. Not the physical kind that sleep can cure, but bone-deep. Soul-deep. "Do you know what the worst part is?"
I shake my head.
"An alpha cannot show weakness. Cannot lean on anyone.
The moment you lean, someone decides you're vulnerable enough to challenge.
" He looks back at the view, his profile sharp against the sky.
"I caught your scent years ago. Knew what you were.
What you would become to me. I have been waiting for you ever since. "
The confession hits harder than I expect. I think about Helena, about the years I spent training for a threat I didn't fully understand. About feeling like a weapon rather than a person, a tool designed for a purpose I never chose.
"My grandmother raised me to fight," I say quietly.
"From the time I was old enough to hold a knife, she was teaching me to defend myself.
Combat training. Survival skills. How to pick locks and escape restraints and identify exits in any building I entered.
I thought she was paranoid. I thought she was preparing me for dangers that didn't exist."
"She was preparing you for me."
"She was preparing me for whoever or whatever might come.
You, or someone worse. The blood pact meant I would always belong to someone, and she wanted me to have a chance.
" I wrap my arms around myself, suddenly cold despite the warmth of the sun.
"I spent my whole life feeling like a tool waiting to be used.
Never quite human. Never quite free. Always training for a war I didn't understand. "
Stellan turns to face me fully, and his hand lifts to cup my jaw. The touch is gentle, completely at odds with the man who broke bones in front of his pack last night.
"You are not a tool," he says. "You are mine. That has never been in question. But being mine doesn't mean being nothing." His thumb strokes across my cheekbone. "You have value beyond what you can do for me. I need you to understand that."
I don't know what to say to that. I don't know if I believe it. But the raw honesty in his voice, in the openness of his face, makes me want to.
"I don't know how to be what you need," I admit.
"You already are." His hand slides from my jaw to the back of my neck, holding me in place. Not threatening—just certain. The way he holds everything that belongs to him.
The moment shatters when Torben appears at the top of the path, his face grim and his breathing hard from the climb.
"Alpha. We have a problem."
Stellan's hand drops from my neck and he turns to face his beta. "Report."
Torben's eyes flick to me, a question in them.
Stellan growls, low and warning. "She stays. Report."
"Korren is massing forces at the northern border. More wolves arriving every hour. This isn't a probe. This is preparation for invasion."
The words settle into my stomach like stones. Gossip and rumor have run through the fortress like a fever. An army is gathering at the edge of Stellan's territory, led by a man who knows exactly what I am and wants to use me against the alpha who holds me.
Stellan's expression doesn't change, but I see his hands curl into fists at his sides. "How long?"
"Soon. They're waiting for something. More reinforcements, perhaps.
Or a signal." Torben's eyes flick to me and then away.
"There's more. Our source says Korren is telling his wolves that you've gone soft.
That the human omega has made you weak, and a weak alpha is a danger to all the packs.
He's framing this as doing what needs to be done. "
"He's coming for Iris."
"He's coming for everything. But yes, she's part of it. An omega in his possession would legitimize his claim to this territory. It would prove his strength while demonstrating yours has failed."
I watch the two men discuss strategy, discuss my fate, and resolve hardens inside me. I am tired of being discussed. Tired of being the prize everyone fights over while I stand silent on the sidelines.
"Let me help."
Both men turn to look at me. Stellan's expression is unreadable. Torben's is openly skeptical.
"I know strategy," I continue, meeting Stellan's eyes without flinching.
"Helena didn't just teach me to fight. She taught me to think.
Terrain analysis. Force deployment. How to identify weaknesses in defensive positions and exploit them.
I've studied military history since I was twelve years old.
" I lift my chin. "You said I have value.
Let me prove it. Let me help plan the defense. "
A long silence stretches between us. Torben moves uneasily, clearly expecting his alpha to dismiss the offer. To send the omega back to her room where she belongs.
Instead, Stellan smiles. It's a small thing, barely a curve of his lips, but it transforms his face. Makes him look younger. Less like the man who broke bones last night.
"Torben, return to the fortress and begin preparations. I want all warriors armed and ready within the hour. Send riders to the Ashwood pack and the Greymoor pack. Call in every alliance we have."
Torben nods and disappears down the path without another word.
Stellan turns back to me, and the smile fades into intensity.
"When this is over," he says, "I'm completing the bond. The bite. The claiming. Everything it means."
My heart stutters. "Including the conversion?"
"You'd become wolf. You'd never be human again. The omega in you would be fully awakened, and you'd be bound to me in ways that go beyond ceremony or law. Our souls would be linked. If you die, I follow within the year. That's what the bond means."
I think about Signe's words. Submission is a weapon when you choose who receives it. The question is whether he's worthy of what you'd give.
I think about the man who watched me for years without taking. The man who broke bones to defend my honor. The man who just showed me his loneliness, his weariness, the weight he has carried alone for fifteen years.
I think about the woman I saw in the mirror, the stranger wearing my face who woke up reaching for him.
I don't respond. I pull away and start down the path, the weight of his words settling into my bones.
War is coming. And after it—if we survive—I'll be wolf whether I want to or not. The only question is how much of myself I'll lose in the becoming.