The castle is quiet, most of its inhabitants sleeping or at the dog fight, so I reach the staircase leading down to the kennels undetected.

As I walk onward, the air gets colder and damper. It's as if I am heading into the jaws of a great beast—the darkness below a hungry mouth waiting to swallow me.

When I'm faced with the two guards flanking the heavy iron door at the bottom, I adjust my hood to make sure my hair is hidden. I pray to the Sun Goddess that they do not recognize me. Beneath my cloak, the weight of my satchel is heavy against my thigh. It's full of the items I stole from the apothecary—fabric for bandages, alcohol, willow bark, and water. Items that reveal my intent to help the enemy.

"Alright, love?" says one of the guards. "What are you doing down here?"

I still my nerves. I remember what Sebastian said about how the Wolves are rewarded for their wins.

"I've been sent from the brothel," I say, making my voice sound as husky as I can.

The guard who spoke snickers and opens the door. He passes me a key.

"It's silver," he says as I take it. "Burns if it comes in contact with their skin. But if they try anything, give us a knock and we'll come put them down."

The other guard looks at me with disgust when I slip inside. I am disgusted too. Disgusted at the thought of a woman coming down here and providing such a. . . service to these creatures. Disgusted that he believed I am one of those women.

When they lock me in, I am faced with a long corridor—a damp stone wall adorned with flickering torches on one side, and tall iron bars on the other.

The air is musky with mildew and sweat and blood, and my breath mists in front of my face. There is no one within the cell on my right, but ahead, I can hear a man snarling something under his breath, followed by whimpers.

Pulling my cloak close to me, I make my way down the corridor.

Someone growls from the shadows on my right and I hurry on to the next cell, where the wolf who won the fight that took place before the alpha's is leaning against the bars, a grin on his bloody face. As I pass the next cell, a male with dark tangled hair walks alongside me.

"Hello, sweetheart. I've got something in here for you." He grabs his crotch through his green kilt. "Do you want to come see?"

I look away, quickening my pace. I reach the final two cells.

The alpha is sitting against the wall with his arms resting on his raised knees. He's snarling something through the bars at the shuddering form huddled on the floor in the middle of the final cell. My jaw sets. Hasn't he tormented the boy enough?

He shuts up as I approach and I feel his full attention on me as, hands shaking, I slip the key into the lock.

"You shouldn't be here, Princess," says the alpha as the lock clicks and I slip into the cell. His voice is as gruff as gravel and it's thick with the accent of those north of the border.

My face is concealed by my hood, so I don't know if he has recognized me by some other means. Perhaps that is what he calls all women.

I kneel on the straw by the young wolf, then shrug off my cloak so I can access my supplies.

The male in the green kilt whistles as my nightgown is revealed. A low growl reverberates in the alpha's throat, and he quietens.

I ignore them both as I slip off the satchel.

I am no stranger to healing—my mother was ill for a lot of my childhood, and she often had bruises and scrapes. But this young male looks particularly bad. His face is bloody, and he's writhing in pain.

"Shh." I push the coppery hair off his sticky forehead. "It's okay. What's hurting? Tell me what's wrong."

I feel the alpha's eyes on me. "I dislocated his arm," he says.

"Be quiet," I snap.

I wet a rag, and start to wipe the blood from the young male's face. Surprisingly, the bruising beneath it is not as bad as I expected. The cut across his eyebrow looks like it has already healed, and his nose is crooked, but barely swollen.

"Bring him over here so I can deal with him."

The boy winces.

I turn to glare at the alpha. "Haven't you done enough?"

He stands up and leans against the bars between the two cells, dangling his big arms through the gaps. It's cold in here, and even though he is dressed in nothing but a kilt, his body heat washes over me.

My pulse quickens. If he stretched, he could almost touch my hair. His expression gives nothing away as he watches me.

"You're brave to come here," he says.

On my knees and in my nightgown, he seems even more imposing than he did when he was causing havoc in the ring. Even with the bars between us.

My jaw sets. "I've faced worse monsters than you."

I'm not sure if it's a trick of the torchlight flickering across his face, but I think the corner of his lip twitches.

"Bring the lad to me," he says. "And let's see how brave you really are."

I turn away from him, and lift my leather flask to the boy's mouth. He takes a small sip of water before grimacing and laying his head back on the dirt. He's clutching one of his arms, and it looks red and swollen. I run my hand softly over his elbow and he groans. If I bandage it up tightly before it starts to heal, and create a sling, it might help. First, I pull the willow bark from my satchel.

"For the pain," I say.

"They said you were a beauty, but I didn't know you were a redhead," says the alpha.

"What has that got to do with anything?"

"Not a hair color you tend to see south of the border. Perhaps you have ancestors in the Northlands."

"I don't."

I put the willow bark in the boy's mouth and he chews, looking up at me with bloodshot eyes.

"My people say those with red hair have fire in their souls," says the alpha.

I glare over my shoulder. My mouth dries at the intensity in his gaze, and I swallow. "I don't."

"Hm."

I turn back to the shuddering boy.

"Stop your whining," says the alpha.

Something wild and angry grows inside me, and before I can tame it, I find myself on my feet, whirling to face him.

"How dare you speak to him." At my full height, my eyes align with his shoulders and I have to tilt back my head to glare up at him. "Look at him. He's just a boy. . . and you. . . you did that to him. You're a bully. And a monster. And a bloody horrible brute."

This time, I'm sure the corner of his lip quirks. "No fire in your soul, huh?"

"He's just a child. And you were going to kill him. Are you pleased with yourself? Have you no shame?"

All the humor drains from his face and his expression darkens. "It was your betrothed that put me in that ring."

"So you bear no accountability for your actions? Is that what you're saying?"

A low growl reverberates in his throat. "I had no choice."

"There is always a choice," I snarl back. "It may not be an easy choice. But it is a choice nonetheless."

His breathing is hard, and he swallows—as if pushing down whatever emotion my words have provoked. "What would you know about choices, Princess?"

"Enough."

He drags his teeth over his bottom lip. "I wonder if you'll be so brave when there are no bars to separate us."

"There will always be bars to separate us."

"Will there?"

My heartbeat quickens at his tone—at the implication in it—and from the curl of his lips I wonder if he can hear it.

He turns his attention to the boy as though he is done with me. "Get over here," he snarls.

"No," the boy whimpers.

"Stop being such a bloody great wuss."

"I told you to leave him alone," I snap.

"And I told him to get over here." The alpha's eyes narrow on the boy. "And it's the second time he's disobeyed me in just as many days."

"Why on earth would he obey you?"

He sighs as though I've asked the most exasperating question in the world. "What is he wearing?"

"What?"

He nods at the boy, and I look down at him—at his pale slender chest, then the red tartan kilt he wears.

"And what am I wearing?" he asks.

I turn back to the alpha, noting his kilt, made from red tartan. My gaze inadvertently drops to his calves, which are as thick as tree trunks. I swallow hard.

"They're the same, aye?" he says.

"So?"

"So! You destroy our lands, steal from us, do your experiments on us, kill us, imprison us, and still you don't know a damn thing about us." He shakes his head, and sighs. "We're from the same clan. He's one of mine. The wee shite's called Ryan." He glares at the boy. "And if he doesn't get his arse over here, then he won't be coming with me when I leave."

"I. . . Why would he. . ." I frown. "What do you mean, when you leave?" I fold my arms and look pointedly at the cell he is confined within. "I hardly think you're going anywhere anytime soon."

He shifts, folding his corded forearms through the bars. "No?"

"No."

"Why do you think I'm here, Princess?" He looks pointedly around his dank cell. "For the accommodation?"

"You're here because you're an enemy of the kingdom. And you're a prisoner. And a wolf. And," I add, somewhat shrilly, unsure of why he's getting under my skin so much, "because you killed three men and almost killed this poor boy."

He shrugs a big shoulder. "Be that as it may, I don't plan on staying for long."

I grit my teeth, my breathing faster than it should be. I don't know what is wrong with me. I am a master of my emotions. I have been all of my life. I have pushed them down far enough that most of the time, I forget they are even there.

Why is this prisoner—this wolf—provoking this wildness inside me? "So, what? You actually think you're going to escape?"

"Aye."

"If you're so certain, why on earth would you tell me? That's not very smart, is it?"

"What are you going to do, Princess? Tell your betrothed?" He shakes his head. "I don't think so. Because that would mean telling him you came down here. And I don't think you'll want him to know about that, will you?"

My blood turns cold and the alpha smiles wickedly.

"Now you have a choice, Princess. Bring the lad to me so I can fix his arm, then you can make him a sling. Or leave him here to suffer."

"That's. . . that's why you want him to come to you?"

"His shoulder is dislocated." He points at the whimpering form on the ground. His hand is close enough that I feel a waft of air at the movement. "Look at how his arm is jutting out at that angle. If I don't fix pop it back into the joint, he'll lose use of it until he can see a healer up north. And that'll slow me down. Bring him to me so I can fix it. And be quick about it."

He speaks like a man who is used to people doing as he tells them. Yet he is in no position to be barking orders at me.

"You were going to kill him," I say.

"And you stopped me. And now I'm going to save him. But only if you do as I say."

I furrow my brow. "If this is a trick to. . . to try and get the key from me or something, you should know that it's silver, and there are armed guards outside anyway."

"Aye, I figured as much. It's no trick. And I don't need you to get me out of the kennels."

He says the word with the same distaste as I did earlier.

I look into his eyes, almost evergreen in the darkness. Again, I feel that strange tug on my soul. And for some strange reason I believe him.

I sigh and, as if sensing my submission to his will, he inclines his head. "Bring the lad to me."

I take a deep breath, then I crouch down. "Ryan," I say softly. "You need to get up so we can help you."

He groans. "I don't want to."

"You have a choice," I tell him. "But if you choose not to get up, you'll likely die."

"I wish I'd never come here." He glares over my shoulder.

"Aye, I wish you hadn't too," says the alpha darkly. "But here you are. So stop acting like an insolent pup and do as you're told."

Ryan's sharp jaw sets, and he looks as if he's about to throw a temper tantrum. But then he sits and I see the alpha is right. His shoulder is swollen, and his arm is out of place. It must hurt.

I help him up, and he drags his feet across the dirty floor as I lead him across the cell.

"Good lass," says the alpha.

Something heats inside me. Who does he think he is, speaking to me like that? He is a prisoner, someone from the wolf clans no less, and I'm daughter of the king. I glare at him but he has already turned his attention to Ryan.

He turns the boy around, then pulls him backwards into the bars, hooking a large arm across his chest. He grabs his good shoulder to hold him steady. Ryan whimpers, his breathing growing rapid, as the alpha takes hold of his other forearm and runs his hand down it.

The alpha's eyes flick to mine. "Why do the guards think you're here?"

"I. . ." I force myself to meet his gaze, even though I feel suddenly warm. "I told them I was from the brothel."

He smirks and my cheeks flame. "That should work."

He makes a sudden movement.

"FUCK!" roars Ryan.

The horrible wolf in the next cell chuckles. The alpha grins, too.

"Ah, be quiet, you big wuss." He musses Ryan's hair as the boy mutters obscenities under his breath. He shoves him gently toward me. "You'll need to make a sling for—"

"I know," I snap.

I lead Ryan to the wall and sit him down, grabbing the fabric from my satchel and crouching before him. His face is bright red and his breathing is shuddery as I slide the bandage beneath his forearm, then bring the top end around the back of his neck.

"You don't like being told what to do," observes the alpha.

"No one likes to be told what to do."

"Some people like it." I can hear the smirk in his tone and I look up at him, confused. He shakes his head. "Never mind."

He watches me in silence as I tie the two ends of the bandage together above Ryan's collarbone.

I'm just finishing up when the main iron door screeches open.

I still, panic writhing inside my stomach as I imagine what Sebastian will do to me if he catches me here.

A woman's sultry laughter seeps through the darkness and I let loose a breath.

"Who's been a good boy?" she coos, as if speaking to a dog, and I tense. "Who's a good boy and deserves his treat?"

The horrible wolf who whistled at me chuckles. "I've been a good boy," he leers. "You can come in here, sweetheart."

"Oh, yes?" Her sweet rose-scented perfume permeates the dank air as her footsteps get closer. "And what about you? They say you're an alpha. Is that true? I've always wanted to bed an alpha."

I look over my shoulder.

A pretty woman with long blonde hair leans against the bars of the alpha's cell. Her lips are painted bright red, and her cheeks are rosy. Her dark cloak hangs over one shoulder and reveals that she's not wearing anything underneath.

She flutters her eyelashes, but the alpha keeps his back to her.

"No?" she coos. "Are you sure? How about now?"

She drops her cloak, revealing her naked body. I tense, my eyes widening. I have never seen anyone unclothed before. A muscle feathers in the alpha's jaw and his gaze remains on me.

"Very well, pet." She pouts. "I suppose you'll just have to watch."

She unlocks the door to the next cell and saunters inside, hips swaying.

"That's it, sweetheart," leers the horrible wolf, looking her up and down. "Get over here. I've got something for you."

He pushes her to her knees and my heartbeat starts pounding too fast, too hard, as she smiles up at him. What is she doing? Why is she. . .?

The alpha before me shifts to the side, partially blocking them from view. "It's time to leave, Princess."

His low voice doesn't cover the wet sucking sound that comes seconds later, and the horrible things the wolf is snarling under his breath in the next cell. All the warmth drains from my body and I'm frozen.

Is she. . .? With her mouth?

"Princess." There is a command in the alpha's tone.

I'm distracted by the blur of movement in the shadows of the cell beyond as the wolf flips the woman over so she's on her hands and knees, and mounts her from behind.

If you wish to be taken like a common mutt, that can be arranged tomorrow night after the ceremony. Sebastian's threat floods my mind and my heart beats faster, a trapped bird unable to escape its cage.

The man grunts, thrusting harder, his face twisted and ugly. The woman's hair swishes in front of her face as her whole body jerks. Her hands slide through the dirt and her knees scrape against the cold hard ground. She must be in pain. And the sounds she's making. . .

Dots dance in front of my eyes.

Tomorrow night. Tomorrow night this will happen to me.

The shadows tighten around me, bind me. I can't move. I can't breathe. I am trapped. A prisoner. I'm always a prisoner. I cannot escape this.

Who knows, perhaps I will throw you into the kennels afterwards.

The woman's moans become louder, high-pitched.

"That's it," snarls the wolf. "Take it, you dirty little bitch."

"Yes," she cries back. "Yes."

Perhaps I will even let this alpha have a go with you, seeing as you have denied him his kill.

My throat tightens. I can't swallow. I can't breathe. I clutch my chest. The darkness swims around me. The air is liquid and I'm drowning in it.

"Princess," the alpha barks. "Look at me." His rough voice cuts through the swirling whirlpool that is sucking me under—strong and demanding obedience.

Slowly, I turn my head.

"That's it. Keep your eyes on me." He's crouching down so he's almost at my level, big hands curling around the bars between us. I don't know when he moved. "Deep breaths."

I do as he says, and some of the tightening of my chest loosens.

"That's it. Breathe in. Breathe out." The raging waters become lapping waves as his voice washes over me. "Breathe in. Breathe out."

Everything feels far away. Horrible sounds echo around the cells, but I keep my gaze fixed on the face in front of mine. I keep breathing. His expression is unreadable.

"That's it. Easy now." His voice is surprisingly gentle. "Good lass." I snap back into my body. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," I say, my tone clipped, my voice hoarse. Because I'm not, and he knows it, and now I am weak. I avert my gaze, but something pulls it back again. "I'm fine."

He studies my face, and I study his. He is younger than I first thought. Beyond the warrior physique, the layers of grime, and unkempt hair, there is brightness in his eyes and a youthful glow to his skin. I think he may be in his mid-twenties at most.

The noises behind him get louder and faster. "You'd best be taking your leave now, Princess. The lad's okay. You did a brave thing coming here."

I turn to Ryan, who is watching me with a strange expression.

The horrible wolf roars.

Ryan's nose wrinkles. "I wish I'd never fucking come here," he mutters again.

I take a deep breath, then stuff the spare bandages and the water flask back in my satchel. I throw on my cloak, pulling the hood over my head. It takes me two attempts to do up the fastening due to my trembling fingers.

I hurry out of the cell and lock it behind me.

The alpha stalks across his cell as I pass, his eyes dark. I'm only a few paces away when he says something.

I halt. "What?"

For a moment, all I can hear is the horrible panting sound from the next cell.

"He won't touch you," says the alpha—his voice barely audible.

"Who?"

"Sebastian. He won't touch you." His tone is so dark, so certain. I turn to face him—raising my head to meet his gaze.

"He is to be my husband," I say softly.

Again, I am reminded of the rugged mountains when I look at him. His stance is dominant, powerful, and his face could be carved from rock. His eyes, though. . . those eyes. . . something that looks like remorse, or regret, passes over them.

"No," he says, his voice equally quiet. "No, he isn't."

Does his plan for escape involve murdering Sebastian? Something inside tells me I should feel something about that. Sadness. Gladness. Anything.

I feel nothing.

I wonder if my body, this vessel that I trap my soul within, is slowly turning to stone. A statue for men like Sebastian to look at that has no purpose, no desire, no feeling.

And yet. . . as the alpha stares at me, something stirs.

I swallow hard. Then I look away—averting my eyes from the horrible wolf and the naked woman—and hurry to the main iron doors.

I feel alpha's eyes on my back as I'm let out of the kennels