CHAPTER 3: The Collar

I woke to silence and the taste of iron in my mouth.

The sheets were stiff beneath me, the scent of him still thick in the fabric. Sweat. Leather. Sex. Blood. It clung to my skin like ash, like a brand I couldn't wash off, no matter how hard I tried to forget.

But I didn't forget.

My body wouldn't let me.

Every muscle ached. My thighs throbbed with bruises I hadn't seen. My wrists burned from where he'd held me down. I lay still, staring at the stone ceiling, and for a moment I thought if I just stayed there long enough, maybe the world would stop asking me to survive it.

Then the door creaked open.

Not him.

A woman stepped inside—tall, sharp-featured, dressed in the black and silver uniform of the Blackthorn keep. Her hands were folded neatly in front of her. She didn't bow. She didn't smile.

"You're expected in the great hall," she said, voice flat.

I didn't move.

She didn't leave.

I sat up slowly, pain blooming in my spine. The sheets slipped from my body. She didn't flinch. She'd probably seen worse. Or maybe she just didn't care.

"There are robes there," she said, nodding to a chair in the corner. "Put one on. Do not be late."

I slid off the bed, careful not to let her see me wince.

The robe was pale grey, thin, and barely reached my knees. No underclothes. No shoes. It was meant to cover, not protect. A formality. A veil on a wound.

"I don't have food," I said, my voice rasping.

She looked at me with something close to disdain.

"You'll eat when the Alpha says."

Then she turned and left, shutting the door with a final, decisive thud.

I stood alone in the middle of Kael's room, wrapped in a robe that didn't belong to me, wearing bruises I hadn't earned, with a stomach that hadn't been fed and a throat full of dust.

This was what being a wife meant, apparently.

I tied the robe tighter.

And stepped into whatever nightmare waited next.

The halls stretched like stone veins — narrow, cold, pulsing with judgment. The guards that flanked me said nothing, but I could feel their glances slicing across my skin like razors. I pulled the robe tighter, even though it barely did its job.

I didn't ask where we were going.

I already knew.

At the end of the corridor, two towering iron doors waited — carved with snarling wolves and runes that shimmered faintly under the torchlight. Voices murmured beyond them: male, low, clipped. Serious. It wasn't a celebration.

It was politics.

I was being presented.

A gift.

A warning.

A trophy.

The guards stopped just before the threshold. One stepped forward to knock — but the doors opened before he touched them.

And Kael stepped through.

He didn't look at me.

He didn't have to.

The others made space without a word. He moved like he didn't walk — like the air obeyed him. He wore a high-collared black coat, silver embroidery curling like vines across the cuffs. A dagger hung at his hip. His hair was tied back, clean, precise. His eyes burned colder than I remembered.

He stopped in front of me and finally looked down.

Then he reached into his coat and pulled out something small and gleaming.

A collar.

Thin.

Silver.

Laced with black leather and edged with ancient rune-work.

My stomach dropped.

He stepped closer.

I stepped back, barely half a pace.

A mistake.

His hand shot out, gripped the back of my neck, and yanked me forward.

My breath caught.

"Still," he said, so softly it could've passed for affection.

I didn't move.

His fingers brushed my hair aside, exposing my throat. The collar glinted in the torchlight as he raised it — beautiful in a terrifying way. It looked like it belonged to something valuable.

Or dangerous.

He fastened it slowly, deliberately, the leather tightening around my throat. It wasn't choking, but it was snug.

Then the silver touched skin.

And burned.

Not like fire — but like needles. Sharp. Radiating. Ancient.

I gasped.

He didn't let go.

"You feel that?" he murmured, fastening the final clasp. "That's obedience."

The metal thrummed against my pulse.

It didn't leave a mark… but it would.

Kael stepped back to admire his work. His eyes moved over me like I was a blade he'd just forged.

"Walk in behind me," he said, turning toward the doors. "Eyes down. Mouth shut."

I didn't answer.

I couldn't.

The silver was already doing its job.

I followed him into the great hall.

And every step burned.

The doors closed behind me with a heavy thud that sounded far too final.

The council hall wasn't what I expected. It wasn't a room for kings or warlords. It was a battlefield disguised as a chamber — stone benches arranged in a broken circle, tall windows barred with cold iron, and a throne carved from blackened wood that rose above all of it like a warning.

Kael's throne.

He walked straight toward it without hesitation.

I followed.

Slow. Barefoot. Knees trembling.

The collar burned hotter under so many eyes.

They were all male — every wolf in that room — dressed in dark armor or high-collared coats, marked with rings of rank and runes of their bloodlines. A few turned to glance at me. Some looked curious. Others amused. One or two simply sneered.

None bowed.

None welcomed me.

Not a single one called me Luna.

Kael reached the throne and sat with the ease of someone who had never been questioned.

He didn't look at me.

Just lifted one hand and pointed down beside his boot.

There was no cushion.

No chair.

No gesture of grace.

Just a cold slab of stone — like a place meant for pets, or prisoners.

I froze.

For a single breath.

Then obeyed.

I lowered myself onto the floor, robe fluttering around my thighs, and kept my eyes fixed on the ground.

The moment I knelt, a murmur rippled through the room.

"Is that her?" one voice said quietly — older, sharp-edged.

"Vale's last girl?" another scoffed. "Small prize for a dead Luna."

I clenched my fists.

Kael said nothing.

He leaned back, bored, and crossed one leg over the other.

"She's not here for beauty," Kael said, finally. "She's here to repay blood."

His words sliced sharper than the collar.

The room fell quiet.

I kept my head down, but my ears were burning. My throat tightened against the silver. My knees ached. My pride bled.

Another voice, younger this time, too smooth to be sincere:

"Will she be… shared, Alpha?"

Laughter.

Not from Kael.

But from the men.

The ones who were loyal to him.

Who feared him.

Who would never ask that question if they thought it would cost them their tongue.

Kael didn't laugh.

But he didn't strike the man either.

He let the comment hang in the air like smoke.

Then finally, he spoke.

"She belongs to me," he said coolly. "No one else touches what I'm not finished breaking."

Silence.

Dead and sharp.

My nails dug into my palms.

The collar burned against my skin like shame made solid.

But beneath the humiliation, something inside me shifted.

The place where my wolf had opened her eyes—where her silence lived—it didn't hurt.

It watched.

It waited.

And for the first time, it hated.

Soon, the council filed out one by one.

There were no bows. No farewells. Just nods exchanged between war-hardened men and the sound of boots fading down the stone hall.

I didn't move.

I didn't speak.