Chapter 2

-Kit-

I rolled over, the chains biting into my wrists and ankles as I did. I barely even registered the pain, my sensations all instead focused onto the burning sensation on my back.

I had been whipped. Again.

Being a prisoner of war in the humans’ camp is pretty horrific. But, I’ve been here for 5 years now, so I’ve become accustomed to the horrors. A whimper behind me forced my head around to look at the other wolves in my cage with me.

They’re all significantly smaller than myself, and extremely undernourished. I am too, I haven’t had more than a scrap of bread in a week, but my build is naturally larger than theirs. That’s just my alpha genes peeking through.

I hadn’t been supposed to be imprisoned at the same time as the others - there’d been a sneak attack in the middle of the night, and I could have gotten away. But, that would mean abandoning my pack.

My older sister, the next alpha, would never do that. I respect her more than life itself, and so, I did what would make her proud. I went down with the ship. Or the wolves, I guess.

We’d always been told horror stories about what happened to the prisoners of war taken by the humans, but I didn’t realise how truly awful it was until I experienced it myself.

The cages. Hundreds of wolves stuffed in together, the chains on their ankles and wrists and necks becoming tangled with each other.

The chains themselves. They constantly eat into our skin, never giving us enough time to heal. Not that we even can heal. We’re too weak; continued malnourishment and injury keep our energy levels at the minimum, until we can’t expend any on anything other than breathing and keeping our eyes open.

Some can’t even manage that.

The worst of all, however, is the prison guards themselves. They get a kick out of hurting us, so they do it all the time. I’m a particular favourite of theirs, because I’m big. Because I look strong. Because I’m their leader.

Eventually, they had to stop whipping me daily because a high up got involved - they didn’t want me dead, apparently I was wanted for something else. I had no idea what they wanted, so I genuinely thought they were joking when I was informed I was to be wed to the third prince of the Karlisle Kingdom.

Apparently, my alpha decided that. He knew I had been taken as a prisoner, and was probably just guessing I was still alive. I didn’t know if I should thank him or not; I was finally out of the prison, I was given a bath and food and my wounds cleaned.

But, I was leaving my pack behind.

Eventually, I was taken to meet a woman. She seemed nice, or as nice as a human royal could be anyway. Apparently she was the queen, not that I really cared. She told the maids to help me get ready to marry her son, and my wrists had finally healed enough that they weren’t bleeding all over the place.

The same couldn’t be said for my back.

They were making me marry some pompous prince on the same day as taking me out of the prisons. It was a bit of a change of scenery, all in a very short time. I soon realised that the queen didn’t know I was a prisoner. In fact, I don’t think she knew about what was truly happening down in those prisons at all.

I eventually had to meet the king, and I could immediately tell that he was the one who wanted the wolves to suffer like that. The hatred in his eyes said it all. I was hurried along, my hair cut so it wasn’t a long, matted mess any longer.

They let me keep it shoulder length though, and I was happy about that at least. Most wolves had long hair, it makes us feel safer than short hair, whilst in our human forms.

I wanted to shift.

I hadn’t shifted in five years, and it was going to be painful whilst my body got used to the feeling again, but I could deal with it. It wouldn’t be as bad as the daily whippings. I’m pretty sure nothing would be as bad as that. Not when they used the chains from the fire.

That was pure hell.

I was put in a weird suit thing; I’d worn one before, but I hated it just as much as the first time. Before I knew it, I was staring into the purple eyes of a human, and my gaze caught on the mole under his left eye.

If he wasn’t a human prince, I’d probably think he was cute.

He kept staring at me, and I was transfixed. Suddenly, the final part of the ceremony came, and I was leaning down to kiss him. I enjoyed it. I especially liked how his hand tangled in my hair, and he didn’t even seem to realise until we broke apart.

He looked rather surprised, and he was biting gently on his lip. His lips I just kissed. Oh no. I could already feel a blush forming under my skin as I tried to bite back my smile. I gave up when he tentatively smiled back, a light blush of his own colouring his cheeks.

He was really cute. I couldn’t even deny it.

We were hurried out of the hall by the queen, who promptly shut us in a room, saying to ‘get to know each other’. I wanted to get to know this guy.

My husband.

The thought was still very strange, so I pushed it to the back of my mind. I opened my mouth, attempting to say hello, but I forgot how long it’d been since I was allowed to speak, and wouldn’t get hurt in response.

No sound escaped.

My throat closed up, and I couldn’t tell if it was the memories and fear, of if it was simply my voice, having been unused in literally years.