Chapter 5

Valencia’s POV

The mist grew thicker as Alpha Logan carried me through the marshlands. I could barely see anything beyond the gray fog that swirled around us. The pack house emerged from the fog like a haunted mansion.

The black stone walls seemed to absorb what little light filtered through the fog. Tall towers stretched toward the gray sky, their windows like empty eyes staring down at us. The whole structure felt menacing.

"This place feels evil," I thought, shivering as we got closer to the entrance.

Alpha Logan's boots squelched in the mud as he approached the stables. The wooden building was in better condition than the castle, but not by much. Inside, a massive white warhorse stood in one of the stalls. The animal was beautiful, easily seventeen hands high with muscles that rippled under its coat.

Alpha Logan set me down for a moment while he saddled the horse. My legs shook so badly I had to lean against the stable wall to keep from falling. The pain from my wounds was getting worse, and I was starving, which made me feel physically awful.

"Up," Alpha Logan said, his voice flat as always.

He lifted me onto the horse's back, positioning me in front of the saddle. Then he swung up behind me, his arms coming around either side of my body to grip the reins. I tensed at the contact. His chest pressed against my back, and I could feel the heat from his body through the thin fabric of my torn dress.

The horse began to move, and every step sent jolts of pain through my injuries. Each bounce made me bite my lip to keep from crying out. A blanket would have made this bearable, but why would an Alpha care about a slave's comfort?

I gritted my teeth and tried to endure it. The pain in my back where the whip had cut me was the worst. Every movement reopened the wounds.

A cold voice drifted down from above: "Cold?"

The unexpected question from Alpha Logan caught me totally off guard. "N-no, Alpha, I'm good," I blurted out.

Wait... is he actually worried about me? The thought flickered through my mind.

Then I felt something that made me freeze completely.

A hand was touching my hair.

Alpha Logan's fingers moved through the tangled strands so gently I almost thought I was imagining it. His touch was feather-light, barely there. For a moment I wondered if I was dreaming. This couldn't be real.

But it was. Alpha Logan was actually touching me, his large hand slowly stroking my hair. I could feel his warm skin brushing against mine as his fingers moved down toward my back.

I couldn't breathe. I didn't dare move a single muscle.

The pain from my wounds disappeared. The uncomfortable bouncing of the horse faded away. All I could focus on was his fingertips trailing along the back of my neck. The touch was so gentle.

Why was he doing this? I didn't understand. This was Alpha Logan, the mangler. He killed without hesitation. The man who took orders from no one except the King himself.

I didn't dare turn around to look at his face. I just sat there, trembling under his touch. It was from the heat of his hand against my skin.

His fingers grew bolder, moving from my hair down to my neck and shoulders. He wasn't just touching my hair anymore. His hand traced along my collarbone and moved further down, and I felt my face burn with embarrassment.

No man had ever touched me like this before. Slaves weren't seen as women. We were just property, things to be used and discarded. But the way Alpha Logan was touching me felt different. It felt like he was touching a person, not an object.

The landscape began to change as we rode. The flat marshlands gave way to rolling hills, then rocky terrain. I could see cliffs rising in the distance, sharp and forbidding against the gray sky.

The incredible location left me stunned. This was beyond anything I had ever imagined. The castle sat on top of a massive cliff that dropped away into nothing. From up here, you could see for miles in every direction. It was the perfect defensive position.

But the castle itself told a different story. The stone walls were cracked and weathered. Sections of the roof sagged dangerously. The whole structure looked like it had survived multiple wars but barely.

A group of people waited for us at the main gate. A brown-haired man in light armor stood at the front of the group. His face was covered with stubble and dark circles shadowed his eyes. There was something cold in his pale gray eyes. The man's entire demeanor radiated an aura of barely contained tension, like a coiled spring ready to snap. The others stood behind him in a respectful formation. They all bowed their heads as Alpha Logan dismounted.

"Alpha," He said. "How did the funeral proceed?" I guessed he must be the Beta.

Alpha Logan didn't answer immediately. He reached up and lifted me down from the horse, his hands spanning my waist easily. I stumbled when my feet hit the ground, and he steadied me with one hand on my arm.

Beta’s eyes flicked to me for a moment, clearly noticing the iron collar around my neck. His expression filled with disdain. His gaze stung me. I was all too familiar with this kind of look. Why would a slave have a relationship with an Alpha?

"Rogues attacked during the ceremony," Alpha Logan said finally. "Wiley was dead."

The pack members exchanged shocked glances. The Beta's face went pale.

"And the slave?" one of them asked, looking at me with obvious confusion.

Alpha Logan's hand tightened on my arm. "She's mine now."

Without another word, Alpha Logan scooped me up in his arms. Heat flooded my cheeks as everyone stared. I squirmed against his chest, mortified by the public display.

"Alpha, please put me down," I whispered desperately.

"Don't move," he commanded coldly.

I fell silent, not daring to protest further.

Gasps of shock rippled through the group. I could see the confusion and surprise on every face. He didn't explain further. He just walked toward the castle entrance with me in his arms. The others followed at a distance, their whispered conversations floating behind us.

The inside of the castle was as sparse as the outside. The walls were bare stone with no tapestries or decorations. The furniture was simple and functional.

Alpha Logan carried me up the narrow staircase to the fourth floor, then down a long hallway. He stopped at a wooden door and pushed it open.

A massive bed dominated one wall, its dark wood frame carved with simple patterns.