Bella's POV

"Hold still, dear," the older woman says gently, but her voice carries a sadness that makes my stomach clench. "We need to make you beautiful."

I'm sitting on a cushioned stool in front of an enormous mirror framed in gold. The room around me is nothing like the horrible dungeon I woke up in. This place is luxurious… silk curtains in deep red hang from tall windows, thick carpets cover polished wooden floors, and crystal chandeliers cast warm light everywhere.

It's beautiful, but somehow that makes it more terrifying. Like being dressed up for my own funeral.

Several women move around me with practiced efficiency. They're wearing simple gray dresses and white aprons, clearly servants of some kind. Their hands are gentle as they work, but their faces tell a different story. Some won't even look at me directly, while others keep glancing at me with expressions that make my chest tight.

Pity.

They're looking at me with pity, and that scares me more than anything that's happened so far.

"What is this?" I finally ask, my voice barely above a whisper. "What are you doing to me?"

The older woman pauses in brushing my hair. She's maybe fifty, with graying brown hair pulled back in a neat bun and kind eyes that look like they've seen too much sadness.

"Just making you presentable, child," she says carefully.

But I can hear the tremor in her voice, and I know there's more to it than that. The other maids exchange glances that confirm my worst fears.

One of the younger women approaches with a tray of jewelry… necklaces with sparkling stones, earrings that catch the light, bracelets that probably cost more than my family's house. Her hands shake slightly as she sets the tray down.

"Please," I say, looking directly at the older woman. "I need to know what's happening to me. Why am I here? What do they want?"

She stops brushing my hair entirely and meets my eyes in the mirror. For a moment, I think she won't answer. Then her shoulders sag like she's carrying a heavy burden.

"My name is Grace," she says quietly. "I'm the head housemaid here."

"Where is here?" I ask.

"You're in the Northwest Pack territory," Grace says, her voice getting even quieter. "In Alpha Rowan Blackwood's fortress."

The name hits me like a physical blow. My blood turns to ice water in my veins, and for a second, I can't breathe.

Rowan Blackwood.

Even in my sheltered life, I've heard that name whispered in dark corners when adults thought I wasn't listening. I've heard Papa and his hunter friends speak of him with a mixture of fear and hatred that made their voices shake.

"No," I whisper, but Grace's grim expression tells me it's true.

"I'm so sorry, child," she says, and now there are tears in her eyes. "I'm so very sorry."

The other maids have gone completely silent. A young blonde girl who can't be much older than me is holding a bottle of perfume, but her hands are trembling so badly she might drop it.

"The stories..." I start, but my voice cracks. "The stories about him. Are they true?"

Grace's face crumples slightly, and she nods. "I'm afraid so."

My whole body starts shaking. I've heard the whispered tales about Rowan Blackwood… how he's not entirely human, how he rules the Northwest with brutal violence, how he kills anyone who crosses him. But worst of all, I've heard about what he does to women.

How he takes them. Uses them. And how they always die.

"How many?" I ask, though I'm not sure I want to know the answer.

"How many what, dear?"

"How many women has he..." I can't finish the sentence.

Grace's eyes fill with fresh tears. "Too many," she whispers. "Far too many."

The blonde maid makes a choking sound and turns away. Another woman, older with streaks of silver in her hair, crosses herself and mumbles what sounds like a prayer.

"None of them survive," Grace continues, her voice barely audible. "Something about him... it's like poison to women. The bond, the mating... it kills them. Sometimes quickly, sometimes slowly, but always..."

She doesn't need to finish. I understand.

"But why?" I ask desperately. "Why does he keep doing it if he knows what happens?"

"Because he's looking for someone," Grace says. "Someone who can survive him. The pack witch told him that only one woman could withstand the bond… the one whose blood awakened him from his curse."

My mind reels. Blood? Awakening? What does that mean?

But before I can ask, Grace starts working on my hair again. Her movements are mechanical now, like she's trying to focus on the task instead of thinking about what comes next.

The other maids resume their work too. They rub sweet-smelling oils into my skin, paint my lips with red color, and dust my cheeks with powder that makes them glow. Someone slides silk slippers onto my feet, and another fastens a necklace around my throat that feels heavy as a chain.

I watch it all happen in the mirror like I'm watching someone else. This beautiful, terrified girl staring back at me doesn't look like Bella Ryder, the quiet bookworm who lived safely at home with her family. She looks like a sacrifice dressed for slaughter.

"There's something else you should know," Grace says suddenly, her voice so quiet I almost miss it. "About the Alpha. He's not... he's not entirely human anymore. The curse changed him. Made him into something darker."

"What kind of curse?" I whisper.

"Ancient magic. He was trapped for a thousand years before someone's blood set him free. But freedom came with a price… he can't form the mate bond properly. It twists into something deadly."

A mate bond. I've read about that in books… the supernatural connection between wolves and their chosen partners. But if Rowan's bond is corrupted...

"Every woman who enters his chambers dies," Grace continues. "Some during the bonding itself. Others linger for days or weeks, growing sicker until..."

She doesn't finish, but she doesn't need to.

As the maids put the finishing touches on my appearance, I catch sight of something on Grace's tray of hair accessories. A long, silver hairpin with a sharp, pointed end.

My heart starts racing, but not just from fear this time.

While Grace adjusts my dress and the other maids busy themselves cleaning up, I carefully palm the hairpin. It's small enough to hide in my hand, and sharp enough to...

I slide it carefully behind the fabric of my dress, tucked against my ribs where no one will see it. The metal is cold against my skin, but somehow it makes me feel stronger.

If Rowan Blackwood thinks I'm going to lie down and die like all the others, he's wrong.

I've been sheltered my whole life, but I'm still a Ryder. Hunter blood runs in my veins, even if I've never used it.

If I'm going to die tonight, I'm not going alone.