Elena – First Person POV---

I woke before the sun rose.

The air in the room was cold, too cold. The sheets were soft and heavy, but they didn’t warm me. I stared at the high ceiling for a long time, just listening to the silence. There were no birds here. No trees brushing against windows. Just stone. Stillness. And the faintest echo of my own breath.

I pushed off the blanket and sat up slowly. My body ached, not from pain, but from tension that hadn’t left me since I arrived. The floor was chilled beneath my bare feet as I walked to the window.

Outside, the forest below the mountain stretched wide and dark. Mist clung to the trees like fingers. Everything looked peaceful—but it didn’t feel that way.

A quiet knock pulled my attention back. I opened the door to find a covered tray sitting neatly on the floor. No servant in sight. Just breakfast, delivered without a word.

I stared at it for a moment before bringing it in and setting it on the table. Bread, fruit, tea. Everything looked perfect.

But I didn’t touch any of it.

---

I walked to the mirror near the corner and pulled the collar of my nightdress aside. The mark was still there right where his teeth had sunk into my shoulder.

It wasn’t red anymore. The bruising had faded. But it still shimmered faintly under the skin, like the glow of dying embers.

I pressed my fingers against it, expecting pain, but felt only heat. A soft, steady pulse.

Like a heartbeat that wasn’t mine.

---

By midday, I couldn’t stay in the room any longer.

I needed to move. To breathe. To understand where I was.

I left the room quietly, unsure if I was allowed to, but no one stopped me. The halls were wide and cold, with smooth stone floors and tall arched windows that let in winter-gray light. Thick tapestries lined the walls, wolves stitched in silver and black, moons in every phase.

I passed a maid dusting a vase. She looked at me, then quickly looked away.

Down one hallway, I saw two guards standing silently. Down another, I caught the eyes of two staff members. They were whispering until they saw me.

“She’s so small,” one muttered.

“He won’t want her,” said the other.

I kept walking, even though my face felt hot.

---

I turned a corner and saw it.

A hallway that looked darker than the rest, shadowed, silent, colder. A black iron gate stood at the entrance, chained and locked. Thick vines curled up the stone around it like the forest itself was trying to seal it shut.

The West Wing.

I stepped closer, drawn to it.

There was something about the stillness. Like the air had stopped moving. Like the place itself didn’t want to be remembered.

I reached out and placed my fingers against the gate. The metal was freezing.

“Elena!” a voice hissed.

I jumped and turned to see a young maid rushing toward me, her face pale. “Miss, you mustn’t linger here,” she whispered. “The Alpha, he doesn’t like anyone near this wing.”

I stepped back immediately. “I didn’t mean_”

“It’s not about meaning,” she said quickly. “It’s about rules. Some doors were closed for a reason.”

She bowed and hurried away before I could ask what that meant.

I looked back at the gate one last time before turning away.

But the question stayed with me:

What happened to the last one?

---

Later that afternoon, I found a door slightly ajar near the east wing. Inside was a large, dusty room with floor-to-ceiling shelves and golden light pouring through tall windows.

The library.

I stepped inside carefully, breathing in the scent of old paper and wood. It felt warmer here, like the sun had managed to touch this room when it couldn’t reach the others.

Books lined every wall, and a large fireplace sat cold at the far end.

I walked slowly, fingers brushing along spines, old and new. One shelf near the back looked untouched. A thin, worn book sat tucked in sideways. I pulled it free.

It was a journal.

On the inside cover, written in faded ink, was a name:Ilena Blackthorn.

Blackthorn. The Alpha King’s name.

My heart skipped. Was she family? A mate? A Luna?

I flipped through the pages carefully, my fingers trembling.

Most of the writing was normal. But near the middle, several entries grew darker. Nervous.

One line was underlined over and over again:

Don’t trust the warmth. It always turns cold.

The hairs on the back of my neck rose.

Footsteps echoed faintly down the hall.

Panicked, I shoved the journal back, careful not to make a sound, and slipped out of the room.

---

That night, as I walked the quiet hallway toward my room, something felt… different.

Still tense.

I stopped, heart beating faster.

The mark on my shoulder pulsed softly—warm and slow, like it knew something I didn’t.

Bootsteps echoed behind me—measured, heavy, calm. Not rushed. Not nervous.

I turned around slowly.

At the end of the hall stood a tall figure dressed in black.

He didn’t speak. Didn’t move. But I knew.

Golden eyes locked with mine—intense and unreadable.

Draven.

The Alpha King.

The wolf who had saved me. The one who had marked me. The one I belonged to now.

He stood in the shadows, just far enough to feel unreachable. Untouchable.

There was something terrifying about the way he looked at me—like he was trying to solve a puzzle he didn’t know he’d been given. His face was unreadable, his eyes cold but curious. I couldn’t tell if he recognized me… or if I was just another obligation waiting to be dismissed.

Then, without a word, he turned and disappeared down another corridor, his cloak brushing the floor behind him like smoke.

---

I shut my door and leaned against it, breathing hard.

My shoulder burned softly beneath the fabric.

That was him.

That was the wolf.

And he didn’t even know who I was.

Or worse… he did.

And he still didn’t care.