The room they give me has a bed in the Blood Ridge pack.

Not a cot shoved into a storage closet or a thin blanket spread across a cold floor. An actual bed with big pillows and sheets that smell like lavender, positioned beneath windows that overlook the mountains.

I stand completely frozen in the doorway, unable to make my feet cross the threshold.

“This can’t be right…” I whisper to Elena, the pack healer who guided me here. “The servant quarters must be somewhere else.”

“There are no servant quarters for you.” Her silver-streaked hair catches the afternoon light as she gestures me inside. “Alpha Paul was very specific about your accommodations.”

The room sits on the same floor as the Alpha suite, with an attached small bathroom and a closet that Elena immediately begins filling with new clothes. The sizes look generous, cut for a fuller figure than Sarah’s willowy frame, and my throat tightens at the realization that someone measured me with gentle accuracy.

“Let me see your injuries now.” Her voice carries the gentle authority of someone accustomed to healing broken things.

I hesitate, shame burning through my chest as I pull up my sleeve. Her intake of breath cuts through the silence.

“This scarring is extensive.” Her fingers ghost over years of belt marks, knife games, creative punishments. “This rib was broken and never set. Goddess, what did they do to you?”

“I deserved…” I tried quietly.

“Barbaric.” Elena’s jaw tightens with barely contained fury. “Absolutely barbaric Silver Moon practices. No child deserves this.”

She works in focused silence after that, applying salves and wrapping bandages with hands that never cause unnecessary pain. The gentleness undoes me more than any cruelty ever could.

A knock interrupts her ministrations, and a man appears in the doorway with Paul’s pale blue eyes but none of his intimidating presence. His smile comes easily, warmth radiating from him like sunlight.

“You must be Morgan.” He strides forward with casual confidence. “I’m Zane, Paul’s younger brother and Beta of Blood Ridge.”

“It’s an honor to meet you, sir,” I manage, unsure of the protocol for addressing pack royalty when you’ve been gifted as a slave.

“The honor is mine.” His eyes travel over my face with open appreciation. “My brother failed to mention how beautiful you are.”

Heat floods my cheeks, and his grin widens with obvious delight.

“I see I’ve discovered a weakness already,” Zane teases gently. “Elena, are you almost finished torturing our guest?”

“Medical care isn’t torture, you impossible man.” Elena ties off the last bandage with practiced efficiency. “She needs rest and regular meals.”

“Then she’ll join us for dinner at the main table tonight.” Zane’s statement carries no room for argument.

The main table. Where pack members eat together as equals.

I open my mouth to protest, but he’s already gone, whistling down the hallway with infuriating cheerfulness.

Dinner proves more overwhelming than any beating I’ve endured.

Pack members introduce themselves with friendly curiosity, their questions genuine rather than mocking. They ask about my interests, my favorite foods, my thoughts on the mountain weather.

No one asks why I flinch when they move too quickly.

Alpha Paul sits at the head of the table, but every time an unmated male speaks to me, his shoulders tighten and his jaw flexes with barely contained tension.

I don’t understand any of it, really.

Sarah arrives the next morning with her wedding party, and the fragile peace I’ve started to find in this territory shatters instantly.

“Why isn’t she in the servant quarters?” Sarah’s voice carries across the entrance hall. “She’s supposed to be scrubbing floors, not sleeping in guest rooms.”

Alpha Paul’s expression hardens into cold command as he turns to face his intended bride.

“I decide where members of my pack stay.” His tone leaves no room for negotiation. “Morgan’s accommodations are not your concern.”

“She’s a slave!” Sarah’s face goes blotchy. “Father gave her to you as property!”

“Exactly.” Paul’s smile could freeze hell. “MY property. Not yours.”

The dismissal is so complete, so public, that Sarah actually stumbles back.

The wedding preparations consume the following week, and I help where I can despite Sarah’s constant verbal abuse. She always waits until Alpha Paul leaves each room before striking with venomous precision.

That night, I couldn’t sleep. The bed’s too soft. The room’s too warm. Everything smells like safety and I don’t trust it, trying to process everything that’s happened.

A knock at my door makes my heart stutter violently against my ribs.

Alpha Paul fills the doorway when I open it, still dressed formally from the day’s events. He steps inside without waiting for permission, his presence overwhelming in the small space.

“It’s my bar.” I wrap my arms around myself. “Why are you here? Why did you demand me as part of the treaty? Why any of this? The room, the clothes, the way you look at me when others talk to me.”

His breath burns against my skin, and my body responds without permission, melting toward his heat.

“You are driving me insane,” he confesses against the curve of my neck.

“This is crazy…”

“Yes.” His hand slides to my throat, feeling my racing pulse. “Completely fucking crazy. So tell me to leave. Tell me this is inappropriate. Tell me to go.”

I open my mouth. Close it. Can’t form the words.

Because despite everything—the danger, the insanity, Sarah waiting in another room—I don’t want him to leave. This strange pull won’t let me push him away.

Then his mouth finds mine, and the world disappears.

The kiss is hard and possessive, his hands gripping my waist as fire ignites beneath my skin. I’ve never been touched like this, never been wanted like this, and a small sound escapes my throat.

I make a sound I don’t recognize, pure need, and he swallows it, deepens the kiss until I can’t breathe. My hands fist in his shirt without permission, pulling him closer when closer isn’t possible.

He breaks away suddenly, both of us gasping.

“This is my first kiss,” I gasp when he pulls back for air. “I’ve never done any of this before.”

He makes a sound like I’ve gut-punched him. “Morgan, you can’t say that when you’re looking at me like—”

“Like what?”

“Like you want me to teach you everything.” His hands clench at his sides. “Like you’d let me corrupt every innocent inch of you.”

He forces himself to step away, his chest heaving with the effort of control.

“Lock your door,” he says suddenly, backing away further. “Don’t open it for anyone but me or Zane.”

“Why?”

“Please, Morgan.” The desperation in his voice stops me cold. “Please lock the door. Because if I stay another minute, I’m going to spread you on that bed and find out if you taste as sweet as you smell. And you deserve better than that for your first time.”