CHAPTER 2: The Wedding Night

The walls whispered as we walked.

Not with voices — but with memory. As if the stone itself had watched every bride dragged into it and knew exactly how this would end.

Kael said nothing as he led me through the Blackthorn stronghold. He didn't need to. The silence between us was louder than war drums. His hand gripped my wrist like he was afraid I'd vanish before he got what he came for.

I didn't struggle.

What would be the point?

Each step felt heavier than the last. The floors here were black polished stone, gleaming with cold torchlight. The air smelled of pine and ash and iron. It didn't feel like a home. It felt like a grave carved into a mountain.

We passed guards in the corridor, all stone-faced, eyes forward. They didn't speak. Didn't look at me. Not even a flicker of curiosity.

Why would they?

Everyone here already knew what I was.

A price.

A punishment.

At the top of a final staircase, Kael opened a pair of tall iron doors without a word. He stepped aside, gaze hard on mine, waiting.

I walked through first.

His chambers were vast.

The air was colder here, even with the fire roaring in a stone hearth carved with ancient wolf sigils. The room was all black and silver — polished floors, tall windows sealed with iron bars, and thick velvet curtains that muted the moonlight.

And in the center… the bed.

Massive.

High-backed. Four posts. Covered in dark sheets, so clean and untouched they looked like they'd been changed just for this moment.

As if someone wanted to make sure my blood would show.

I stopped at the edge of the rug beneath it.

Kael's boots echoed as he stepped in behind me. Then silence again. I didn't turn around.

I could feel him looking at me.

"You're quiet," he said.

My voice was gone.

He stepped closer. I heard the faint creak of leather, the soft jingle of the silver ring on his belt. His breath was behind me — warm and steady. Mine wasn't.

"Take it off," he said.

I turned my head slightly, not enough to face him.

"What?"

"Your dress."

I stared at the bed.

He was serious.

My fingers twitched at my sides. I swallowed, thick and slow.

"I— I can't—"

The fabric tore before the words left my mouth.

Kael's hand fisted the back of the dress and yanked — one swift motion, silk shredding like paper. The bodice split down the middle. Cold air rushed across my back.

I gasped and stumbled forward, catching myself against the bedpost.

The fabric fell to the floor around me.

Bare.

Exposed.

Breasts, thighs, scars, shame.

He stepped in front of me now, slowly, deliberately, eyes moving over me like a weapon drawn across skin.

There was no hunger in his stare.

No lust.

Just evaluation.

I crossed my arms over my chest, but he reached out and pushed them aside.

"No hiding," he murmured. "Not from me."

His thumb brushed over the mark where his bite had been earlier — a bruised dent just below my neck.

"You'll earn warmth here," he said, voice flat. "With obedience."

And then he pushed me backward—onto the bed.

The mattress was cold.

My bare back met silk sheets that had no softness in them — only weight. The air bit at my skin as I lay there, stripped and exposed beneath the eyes of a man who didn't see a woman.

He saw property.

Kael stood at the foot of the bed, unhurried, watching me like a predator deciding how to kill.

His armor was gone now. His black tunic stretched across his chest, tight against muscle. He removed it without ceremony, revealing skin marked with old scars — clean lines, sharp burns. History carved into flesh. His body was powerful, terrifying, controlled.

He undid the buckle on his belt.

I swallowed hard.

"Please…" I whispered before I could stop myself.

His head tilted slightly.

"Please what?"

The words burned.

"Don't…"

"Don't hurt you?" He smirked — the first expression he'd worn all night. "That's not part of the contract."

The belt hit the floor.

He climbed onto the bed.

I froze.

Every nerve in my body screamed. Not just from fear — but from something darker. Deeper. The heat of shame curling inside me. I hated it. I hated that I felt it.

Kael hovered over me, one hand beside my head, the other trailing down my collarbone to the center of my chest. His fingers were rough, calloused. Not gentle.

He brushed the underside of my breast — slow, deliberate.

I gasped.

"You're shaking," he murmured.

"You're terrifying."

He leaned down, lips ghosting over my ear. "Good."

Then he grabbed my thighs and forced them apart.

My breath hitched. I tried to close them, instinct, panic—but his grip was iron.

"No," he said. "You'll keep them open. For me."

He lowered himself, hips pressing against mine. I felt the hard line of him through his pants—thick, hot, waiting. My body arched despite me, a traitor rising under terror.

Kael looked down at me, eyes darkening.

"You hate me," he said, voice low.

I nodded, breathless.

"Good," he growled. "I'll make you hate yourself more."

And then he entered me.

It wasn't soft. It wasn't slow.

It was rough, full, brutal.

I cried out — pain first, then heat, then a shockwave I couldn't explain. My hands gripped the sheets, my legs trembled. He moved inside me like a storm, claiming, destroying, taking.

I gasped again as he pushed deeper, hips slamming into mine, each thrust harder than the last. He caught my wrist and pinned it above my head. His mouth was at my throat now, breathing against my skin.

"You're mine," he growled.

I bit my lip, eyes wet.

"You're not my mate. You're my revenge."

He slammed into me again.

And again.

And again.

My body betrayed me — heat pulsed between my thighs, even through the pain. Shame curled tight in my belly, and I hated it. I hated that part of me wanted more. That the fire was growing even as the tears slid down my cheeks.

Kael didn't kiss me. He didn't hold me.

He used me.

Until he groaned low in his throat, buried deep, and spilled inside.

His weight pressed into me for one brief, brutal moment — then lifted.

He got up without a word.

Left the bed.

Left me shaking, legs still open, warmth and blood mixing between my thighs.

No blankets.

No apology.

Just the cold.

I didn't cry.

I stared at the ceiling and swore I'd remember this moment forever.

Not the pain.

Not the shame.

But the name of the man I would one day make beg for mercy.

I should have been empty.

I wanted to be.

But he didn't let me go.

Kael stood at the foot of the bed, watching me from the shadows, eyes unreadable. I lay there—still open, still dripping, still caught in the silence between pain and something far worse.

Shame.

His stare roamed across my body, and I hated the way I felt it. Like fire without flame. Like bruises blooming under skin.

I shifted to pull the sheets over myself.

"Don't," he said.

I froze.

He came back to the bed—calm, quiet, cruel.

"Lie on your back."

I did.

"Hands above your head."

My breath hitched, but I obeyed. Slowly. Every movement felt like surrender.