Kael inhabit her in the lodge, the heavy thud of the door sealing her into her new reality. The fire crackled, oblivious to the storm that had just terminated Aria's world. The comfortable warmth of the room felt like a spray in the face. She was safe. She was shielded. Utterly, completely trapped.

She sank back onto the fur-covered couch, her whole body trembling with the violent combination of rage and despair. He had known. From the first moment he had come upon her, he had seen her not as a wolf needing saving, but as a prize to be had. Every act of grace-tending to her wound, giving her shelter, swearing her under his protection-had all been parts of calculations in a game she had not known she was playing. Her child, her precious, fragile secret, was now just a casual plaything in an Alpha's power bid.

This wave of nausea, sharp, acidic, had risen in her throat this time borne of pure fury. He would not touch her son. Damian had betrayed her for power, now Kael wanted to use her for the same reason. Two sides of the same heartless coin. A grim, hard resolve started to solidify in her heart, pushing through the fear. She refused to be made into a weapon, a pawn, in his game albeit his prisoner.

Sleep was troubled and haunted. When she woke, a dull gray light streamed through the high window. A tray of food lay just inside the door: smoked fish, fresh berries, a hunk of bread. A she-wolf, severe-looking with dark hair laced with silver, her eyes like winter frost, stood guard outside.

"The Alpha commanded you are to eat," said the fearsome woman, her voice toneless and chill. "I am Lyra. I will be attending you."

Attending-well, that was a nice way of putting it: "jailer."

"Am I allowed to leave this lodge?" Aria's tone was carefully neutral.

Lyra's eyes were hard. "You are allowed the freedom of the village. But you will be watched. And you will not go near the borders. The Alpha's protection does not extend to foolishness."

The next few days passed in a haze of cautious observation. As Lyra had said, Aria was allowed to roam about the Stormfang village, and she had done so, savoring the liberty to examine her new captors. The pack were as wild as their territory. The children raced in boisterous, half-shifted bands through the village, their training punishing and unrelenting, and their connection to the forest almost symbiotic. Whereas the Nightbane operated with regimented formality, the Stormfang wolves were loud, passionate, and fiercely communal. But she also saw, underneath it all, a dangerous and unyielding strength.

Right in the middle of it all was Kael.

She followed from behind, a mute shadow at the fringe of his world. She saw him settle disputes between two hunters with the flick of a sharp word and look that promised violence; his authority was unquestionable. She saw him leading a hunt, his great black wolf slicing through with a speed and strength to leave her gasping. She saw the way they looked upon him, which bordered on worship. They loved him and feared him; he was their protector and king, and his rule was unquestionable.

A cold comfort, indeed. It meant he was powerful enough to keep promises of protection, but it meant he was also mightily drawn to exploit her situation. He was no tyrant, but an Alpha to the marrow—dominant, possessive, and utterly in command.

Three days upon which he kept her alone were perhaps deliberately put there for her to brood over the reality of her gilded captivity. Fourth morning, Kael wanted to see whether she could sense the walls before he would try them. On the fourth day, Lyra showed up with a terse order: "The Alpha calls you to the training grounds."

Her heart drummed a nervous tattoo as she followed the she-wolf to a large landscape devoid of trees. It was laden with the sound of fighting-the grunts of exertion, the sounds of bodies hitting packed earth, the sharp crack of wooden practice staffs. Dozens of Stormfang warriors were sparring in a colossal half-chaotic dance.

In the heart of that chaos was Kael.

Bare from the waist up, his lightly muscled torso gleamed with a fine sheen of sweat. He was a vision of grace and brutality all at once, sparring three of his largest warriors at once. It was not fair; he was a tempest, a blur in motion. He used their momentum against them, disarming one with a quick twist of his staff, sending another sprawling with a perfectly executed leg sweep and blocking an attack from the third without even looking.

He was not merely training; he was putting on a show. And, in that moment, with sinking certainty, Aria felt she was the intended audience.

He went on until eventually disarming the last warrior and pressing the end of his staff against the other's throat in a clear indicator of victory. He held that position for a moment before he helped the warrior up with a clap on the shoulder. As the warriors dispersed, he turned.

Across the whole length of the dusty training yard, his golden gaze found hers. The sounds of sparring dulled; the world narrowed down to the intense, unbroken line of his gaze. He was heaving with exertion, and his body left absolutely no doubt as to the raw, lethal power of which he was the master. It wasn't anger he'd been looking at her with, or even desire. It was a look of utter, unadulterated ownership.

The slow, knowing smirk on his lips. He did not need to say anything. The message was clear as if he had bellowed it across the field.

This is what I am. This is the power that protects you. This is the cage you cannot hope to escape.