02

Chapter 2

The next day stretched out in a fog of broken sleep.

Annabelle surfaced several times, her body heavy, and each time her eyelids closed again on the same foreign scene: the burgundy drapes, the wolves on the ceiling, the scent of wax and leather.

Memory came back to her in flashes, like a slap: the truck, the stranger, the velvet dress, her humiliating flight.

She lifted a hand to her throat, where the skin was intact, but a dull heat pulsed there, as if a burning ember had been placed beneath it.

It wasn’t pain. It was worse: an expectancy.

When Gisèle entered with a tray of steaming herbal tea, Annabelle accepted the cup without protest. Her rebellion the day before had led only to a wall of muscle and a grey gaze that made her head spin.

She sipped slowly, watching the housekeeper over the chipped rim of the porcelain.

“He will not harm you,” Gisèle said, as if reading her thoughts. “The Alpha King is… possessed of a patience that very few suspect. But he is also the most powerful of Alphas. The other packs fear him, and that is why they leave us in peace. You are safe here.”

Annabelle set the cup down with a sharp gesture.

“Safe? I’m a prisoner. I can’t even die in peace.”

Gisèle’s eyes misted over.

“Forgive me, miss, but I have seen too many young girls desire what you refuse. The soul bond is not a chain. It is… a breath. A recognition that goes beyond reason. The King chose you before you were even born. The Moon wove you together.”

“I never asked anything of your Moon.”

“No one asks her,” Gisèle sighed, smoothing the sheets. “But when the bond is sealed, it heals everything. Even the diseases that eat away at the bones. Elias, our healer, will explain it to you better than I can.”

Annabelle didn’t answer. She turned toward the wall and let the tears fall in silence. Gisèle slipped out, and the chamber became a velvet tomb once more.

She spent the following hours pacing the room, searching for an exit that the guards, posted on permanent watch, denied her without a word. Anger gave way to a distress so deep she thought she might drown in it.

She thought of Anaïs, of their laughter under the duvet, of their promises to grow old together. That life no longer existed. All that remained was a palace of wolves and a king with rain-grey eyes who spoke of destiny as if it were a sentence.

Evening was falling when the door opened again, and this time it was Kevin who entered. His mere presence altered the weight of the air.

He no longer wore his open shirt, but a black tunic buttoned up to the collar, emphasizing the breadth of his chest and the sharp edge of his jaw. He held a book with a worn leather binding.

“You didn’t give me the chance to explain,” he said, sitting in the armchair near the fireplace without coming closer to her. “This is not a jail, Annabelle. It is the Chamber of Moons, reserved for the queens of the pack. For centuries, promised mates have waited here for their coronation.”

“I will never be a queen,” she answered in a flat voice. “You don’t understand. I am going to die. My blood is destroying itself. The doctors gave me a few months. Perhaps less.”

He opened the book without really looking at it.

“Human doctors know nothing of the power of a soul bond. When you accept to be mine, the bond will transform you. Your sick cells will disappear, replaced by a lupine strength. Sickle cell disease is nothing against the blood of an Alpha.”

She let out a bitter laugh.

“So I only have to belong to you to be saved? It’s a bargain, is that it? My body for my life?”

Kevin’s face closed, and a low, almost inaudible growl rumbled in his chest.

“I am not a merchant,” he growled. “If all I wanted was your body, you would already be marked. I want your consent, Annabelle. I want you to look at me without fear. To come to me because your heart calls for it. The bond isn’t forced. It is tamed.”

He rose, walked to the window, and parted the curtain slightly.

A pale ray of moonlight fell on his shoulders, cloaking them in spectral silver. Annabelle held her breath.

In that light, he was no longer entirely human. His fingers, resting on the wood, had imperceptibly lengthened, and his pupils gleamed with a fleeting, animal shine.

“Tonight, I will not come,” he went on, lower. “But I will watch over you. As I did last night. And the night before, when you were still at your parents’ house and you screamed with pain without knowing that I could hear you.

The bond is already there, Annabelle. It has been vibrating between us since your birth. I felt it tighten when your sister died. I nearly went mad from being unable to reach you.”

His last words struck her with full force. Anaïs.

She brought her hand to her mouth to stifle a sob. How did he know? Kevin did not turn around.

“I know everything about you,” he said in a murmur. “Because I am bound to your soul before you even knew my name. And I will wait for you, Annabelle. Even if you hate me. Even if you refuse. But do not ask me to watch you die. I could not bear it.”

He left without a sound, leaving her trembling, her heart plowed by an emotion she dared not name.

Long after he had gone, Annabelle stared at the closed door, and a new warmth bloomed in her chest, timid like an ember beneath the ashes.

It wasn’t love. Not yet. But it was the end of indifference.

That night, she did not sleep. Around three in the morning, a wave of pain seized her, throbbing, in her pelvis and shoulders.

She curled up, groaning, her fists clenched.

Suddenly, a warmth from nowhere enveloped her, a tepid breath that spread from inside her bones, as if an invisible hand were massaging the knots of her pain.