Chapter 4 Harkan
Harkan
She'd been awake for less than an hour and was already making my life difficult.
"I'm not hungry," Sable said, staring at the tray of food like it had personally offended her. Bread, cheese, dried meat, a cup of broth that the healer had insisted would help her heal faster. All of it sat untouched.
"You haven't eaten since yesterday," I said from my post by the door.
"Before that, gods know when." The healer had warned me that proximity would speed her recovery—something about the mate bond accelerating the body's natural processes—but every time I got too close, she flinched like I'd burned her.
Her jaw flexed into a mulish expression. "And?"
I fought the urge to roll my eyes and her deliberate misunderstanding. "And you need to eat."
"What I need," she said, her voice hoarse but sharp enough to cut glass, "is to get out of this gods-forsaken bed, put on my own fucking clothes, and leave."
"The healer said—"
Her fathomless hazel eyes narrowed into an expression so scathing, it could be classified as a deadly weapon. "I don't give a flying fuck what the healer said."
I exhaled slowly, counting to ten. Then twenty. The wolf paced restlessly beneath my skin, unhappy with her distress, unhappier still that she wouldn't let us help.
Make her eat, he growled. She's weak. She needs strength.
I pushed off the doorframe and crossed to the bed, picking up the tray. Her whole body tensed as I approached, her hands curling into fists beneath the blanket.
"Eat," I said, holding the tray out to her. "Or I'll feed you myself."
Her eyes flashed with something between fury and fear. "You wouldn't."
I held her gaze for a long moment, letting the threat hang in the air.
Then I sighed, setting the tray on the bedside table.
Feeding was a custom between mates. My wolf would love nothing more than to have me place each morsel on her lips and watch her swallow it down, but that wasn’t in the cards for today.
Maybe not ever if she had her way.
"No," I admitted on a sigh. "I wouldn't. But I really don't want to watch you starve yourself to death out of spite."
She blinked, some of the tension draining from her shoulders. "What?"
"I said I don't want to force you." I stepped back, giving her space. "Varro would have. I'm not him."
Silence stretched between us. She was studying me again, that sharp gaze picking apart everything I said, looking for the lie beneath the words.
"Why?" she asked finally.
"Why what?"
She swallowed, her hungry gaze going to the tray before finding me again. "Why aren't you like him? You're an Alpha. You could make me do whatever you wanted."
The question hit somewhere deeper than it should have. I thought of chains and darkness and the century I'd spent learning exactly what happened when power went unchecked. When strength became cruelty. When an Alpha forgot that leading meant protecting, not possessing.
"Because I've been on the other end of that," I said quietly. "And I refuse to become what I hate."
She didn't respond. But after a long moment, she reached out and took a piece of bread from the tray.
She didn't thank me. Didn't acknowledge that she was doing what I'd asked.
But she ate, her perfectly blunt teeth slicing into the soft bread like mine through fresh meat.
I returned to my post by the door, pretending not to notice the way her eyes followed me. The wolf settled slightly, appeased by her compliance, even if the man knew it meant nothing.
She ate slowly, mechanically, like she was fueling a machine rather than enjoying a meal, but satisfaction warmed my chest. I knew how good of a cook Gianna was. Her bread alone could conquer kingdoms.
When she'd finished about half the loaf and most of the broth, she set the cup aside and turned her attention to the small ball of red fur curled at the foot of the bed and clicked her tongue.
The fox lifted his head, amber eyes bright. Foxfire flickered around his ears as he rose and padded up the bed to her lap.
"I need you to scout," she murmured, running her fingers through his fur. "The stronghold. The grounds. I need to know what we're dealing with."
The fox chittered once, then leapt from the bed and disappeared through the scant gap beneath the door before I could react. His small body didn’t seem to be able to fit underneath it, and if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes, I wouldn’t have believed it.
"You're planning your escape," I said. Not a question, but I had a feeling she could communicate with the fox without words, so she wanted me to know.
"I'm gathering information." She met my gaze without flinching. "There's a difference."
I tilted my head to the side as I settled against the wall. "Is there?"
Her smile was bitter as it pulled at the cut on her lip. "You tell me. If our positions were reversed, wouldn't you want to know the layout of your prison?"
"This isn't a prison," I countered, trying to ignore the buzzing that settled into my gut.
"It's not my choice to be here." She gestured at the room—my room, my bed, my clothes hanging off her shoulders.
She plucked at the loose shirt she'd woken up in—one of mine, because the healer had needed access to her ribs, and her own clothes had been shredded.
It hung off her shoulders, swimming on her small frame. "That makes it a prison."
I couldn't argue with that. So I didn't try.
"What do you want to know?" I asked instead.
She raised an eyebrow. "You're offering to help me escape?"
Absolutely fucking not. But I also wouldn’t stand in her way. "I'm offering to answer your questions. What you do with the answers is up to you."
Suspicion flashed across her face. "Why would you do that?"
"Because you're going to find out eventually. Might as well hear it from me." I crossed my arms, leaning back against the doorframe. "Ask away."
She studied me for a long moment, clearly weighing the trap she thought she was walking into. Then she squared her shoulders—wincing at the movement—and lifted her chin.
"How many wolves are in your pack?"
"Eighty-seven. Sixty-two fighters, the rest support—healers, cooks, craftspeople, children."
"Exits from the stronghold?"
"Four. Main gate to the east, servants' entrance to the south, tunnel system beneath the cellars, and a passage through my quarters that leads to the roof."
Her eyes narrowed. "You're telling me about a secret passage in your own bedroom."
If she stayed here, she’d learn soon enough, anyway. "You asked about exits."
"I only asked because I assumed you'd lie."
"I don't lie."
She laughed—a harsh, brittle sound escaping her beautiful but marred lips. "Everyone lies, Harkan. Sometimes huge lies, sometimes small, insignificant ones, but everyone tells an untruth sooner or later."
"I don't." I held her gaze, letting her taste the truth of it if her gift had recovered enough to work. "I've done things I'm not proud of. Kept secrets. Evaded questions. But I don't lie. Not anymore."
The laughter died on her lips. She was staring at me again, that searching look that made me feel like she was peeling back my skin layer by layer to see what was underneath.
"The chains," she said abruptly. "Cara mentioned them last night. You've mentioned them, too. What chains?"
The wolf went still inside of me, his pacing dying as he focused on her through my eyes. It was a warning neither she nor I should ignore.
"That's not a question you want the answer to."
That stubborn expression came back, but this time I didn’t find it endearing. "Yes, it is."
"No." I pushed off the doorframe, moving to the window to put distance between us. "It isn't."
"Why not?" She was persistent, I’d give her that.
It took a long while for me to answer, my gaze trained out the window but not seeing what was right in front of me. No, I was stuck in a past I’d rather never remember again. A past of filth and pain and a fury so deep it was engraved on my bones.
"Because some stories don't have happy endings. And some monsters are better left in their cage."
"I've spent thirteen years with monsters," she hissed, her voice hardened to pure stone. "You think yours are worse than mine?"
I turned to face her, letting her see the monster kept leashed under my skin. Letting her see something I usually kept buried.
"Yes," I growled. "I do."
Whatever she saw made her go quiet. She looked away first—the first time she'd backed down from anything since she'd woken up.
The silence that followed was different. Less hostile. More... careful.
"Your pack," she said finally, her voice softer, less accusatory. "They don't trust you. Not fully."
I couldn't argue with that. "Some of them don't."
"Why?"
I considered the question. Considered how much to tell her—how much of myself I wanted her to see while she still didn’t trust me.
"Because I spent a very long time being something they couldn't trust," I murmured. "And some of them remember what I was before I learned to control it."
"What were you?"
A monster. A beast. A thing of teeth and rage with no man left inside.
"Dangerous," I said instead. "Very dangerous."
"And now?"
I met her gaze. "Still dangerous. Just better at hiding it."
Before she could respond, the space under the door rustled, and Trouble reappeared. He leapt onto the bed, chittering rapidly, his tail lashing with agitation.
Sable's expression shifted as she listened to whatever the fox was telling her. Her brow furrowed, then smoothed, then furrowed again.
"There's tension in the pack," she said slowly, translating his impressions.
"Arguments. Some of them want me gone. Some of them think you've made a mistake.
" Her eyes flicked to me. "There's a woman with copper hair who's been telling anyone who'll listen that I'm going to bring war down on all of you. "