Page 17 of Wolf Chosen

A growl rumbles from deep within his chest, guttural and feral in a way that has the fine hairs along the nape of my neck standing on end. Coarse gray fur erupts along his forearm before vanishing just as quickly, leaving me to wonder if I've simply slipped into the depths of a waking nightmare.

A presence stirs to frantic life inside me. It writhes and twists in the confines of my body, straining against an unseen barrier just out of reach. I try to give voice to the panic clawing at my mind, but the words shrivel on my tongue.

All I can do is keep walking, toward the hut and the stranger. The air around the hut shivers with an eldritch energy, which sucks me in the closer I get.

“Enter,” is all he says, a simple command that resonates through every fiber of my being, banishing any last vestiges of resistance.

Against my will, against every desperate plea screaming through my mind, I step across the threshold. Liam follows, his features contorted in a mask of impotent fury.

As I step inside and the door swings shut behind us with a dull thud of finality, it takes a moment for my brain to catch up with my eyes. What I'd assumed was a ramshackle hovel reveals itself to be something far more imposing up close. The crooked beams and gnarled logs are woven together with an almost architectural precision, runes and sigils etched into the wood in dizzying, overlapping patterns. Shelves crammed with ancient tomes and glass vials filled with ominous liquids line the interior visible through the open doorway. The inside is far, far bigger than what it appears to be from the outside.

In the center of the space, a crackling firepit casts flickering shadows across the walls, highlighting a large cauldron suspended over the flames. The scent of herbs and spices hangs thick in the air, mingling with the metallic tang of something far more unsettling.

Liam's presence is a seething force at my back. His growls have taken on a guttural, feral edge, punctuated by the occasional jerking motion, as if he's physically battling against whatever unnatural compulsion holds us in its thrall.

Trepidation gives way to outright terror as the man turns, fixing us with an impassive stare. “Sleep, wolf,” he intones.

Liam goes unnaturally still. Panic claws at my throat as I try to whirl toward him, only to find my own movements equally restricted, unable to so much as turn my head in his direction.

“That's better,” the stranger remarks without a flicker of expression on his face. “Now follow me.”

My feet follow the stranger from the relative warmth of the room to a dark doorway. A dank corridor stretches out before us, the rough-hewn stone walls glistening with moisture. Frigid air clings to my skin. An acrid undertone of rot and decay mingles with the damp, musty scent, filling my nostrils with each shallow breath.

Terror streaks through me, but I can't give voice to the screams building in my throat. Can't fight, can't flee, can't even turn my gaze from the path ahead as the shadows twist and contort in the flickering torchlight. We reach a cell at the end of the corridor, the heavy iron bars and crude stone walls sending a fresh wave of dread crashing through me.

“Get inside,” is all he says, the mild tone at odds with the undercurrent of power resonating through those two simple words.

I find myself obeying and stepping into the confines of the cell. Liam passively follows me, his eyes wide and wild, his features twisted into a mask of fury and panic so visceral, I can practically taste it on my tongue.

A mirrored torrent of emotion slams into me and leaves me reeling. I want to scream, to fight, to get the fuck out of here, but I'm utterly helpless, a prisoner in my own mind and body as the cell door clangs shut with the dull, final thud of the lock sliding into place.

Only then does the unnatural hold over me loosen. I stumble on shaking legs. Liam, too, is in motion the instant the invisible bonds release their grip. He charges the bars in an explosive burst of speed, snarling and snapping like a beast as his hands—no, his claws—reach through the unforgiving iron.

How have his fingers turned into claws?

“Let my mate go!” The words tear from his throat in a bestial roar that has the hairs along my nape standing on end. “I'll do anything you want, just let her go!”

Mate? What…what does that mean? The term, spat with such vehement possession, sends a fresh jolt of confusion lancing through me. I stumble backward, until I hit rock.

“Who the hell are you and why in the name of the goddess have you brought us here?” Liam rakes those deadly claws that should be his fingers against the bars.

The man sighs. “I suppose it’s only manners I introduce myself. You can call me Rowan. And in answer to your questions, it’s quite simple. When I have your wolf under my control, all you have to do is bring me the Chalice of Lunar Rites, and I'll release you both. Refuse and your mate...” His gaze slides to me and his lips lift in a cold smile. “Surely he's told you the truth by now?”

I shake my head, increasingly convinced that we've stumbled into the stronghold of a madman. “The only truth I know is that you’re insane. Whatever you think we can do for you, I assure you, we can’t. We're not important, I swear.”

The man chuckles, and the fine hairs on my nape rise again. “Not important? Oh, but you are, little one. The most important guests I've entertained in quite some time, in fact.”

The weight of his stare intensifies in a way that has me shrinking back against the chill stone wall.

“You,” Rowan murmurs, something like reverence tingeing his words, “are going to be the one to turn your mate feral.”

The words make no sense, whirling through my mind in a tsunami of confusion and disbelief. How can Liam turn feral? He's just a man…

“It's easy, you see,” Rowan explains with a casual wave of his hand. “Simple even, to twist a fated mate wolf shifter's instincts until he becomes a mindless beast who will serve me without a thought in his head. All I need to do is use the bond. Don’t worry. You won’t miss out. You’ll feel exactly what he does.”

Fated mate? Wolf shifter?

The bottom drops out of my world in an endless spiral. The man is insane. Irrevocably, certifiably insane. I open my mouth, but no sound emerges save a thin, reedy whine of denial and dawning horror.

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