Jennifer’s Pov

The second the High Priestess told me to go prepare for the wedding night, my breath caught in my throat.

I turned and looked up at Christian, hoping for something — I didn’t even know what. He didn’t look at me. That was my cue to leave.

I walked away from the clearing with legs that barely felt like mine. Amelia and another girl fell into step beside me and led me into the Alpha’s chambers. The guard at the door let only me and Amelia through.

The room took my breath away. It was massive, with a chandelier hanging from the ceiling and a bed dressed in fabric so fine it looked untouched. It was beautiful… and completely lifeless.

“I really wish you were going to survive,” Amelia said quietly.

I looked down at the floor. “I wish that too. But if anything happens to me, just know it was nice knowing you, Amelia.”

“It was nice knowing you too.” Her voice cracked a little. “The other brides begged me to help them escape. It’s like you’ve already accepted it. I just hope fate is kinder to you than it was to them.”

She pulled me into a quick hug, then left the room.

I stood there alone after she was gone, her words sitting heavy in my chest. Fate had never been kind to me. Not once.

I didn’t know what I was supposed to do. Sit? Take off the dress? Then I saw a nightgown laid out on a chair and figured that answered the question.

I peeled myself out of the wedding gown and slipped into the nightgown. After that I sat on the edge of the bed, staring at the window across the room.

It was high. Really high.

Still, I couldn’t look away from it.

Is this it? I thought. Is this really how everything ends for me? Dragged here because of my sister, forced into a marriage with a man who has already buried seven women, and then left to die in a room that doesn’t even feel real?

The thought made my chest tighten.

I got up before I could talk myself out of it.

I moved around the room with shaky hands, pulling the long curtains free, finding a belt, some decorative rope used to hold the drapes. My fingers fumbled as I tied them together, knot after knot, until I had something that looked like it might hold my weight. I dragged a chair to the window, pushed it open, and secured the rope to the bedpost.

I was just swinging one leg over the sill when the door opened.

I froze.

Christian stood in the doorway.

His eyes went from my face to the rope, then to the open window. For a second neither of us moved. My hands slipped. The rope fell uselessly against the wall.

There was no way out now.

I stepped back slowly, heart slamming so hard it hurt.

He shut the door behind him and walked closer. His long dark hair was loose around his shoulders. I forced myself to lift my head.

“Do I scare you?” he asked.

“No,” I said quickly, even though my pulse was racing.

He raised a brow slightly. “If you’re not scared, why were you trying to run?”

I opened my mouth, then closed it again. Heat crept up my neck. “That’s… different.”

“Is it?”

“Yes,” I muttered. “Being scared of you and wanting to live are two separate things.”

For a moment he just looked at me. Then something that almost resembled amusement flickered across his face.

“You’re strange,” he said.

“I’ve been told,” I replied before I could stop myself.

The corner of his mouth lifted just slightly. Not a full smile, but enough to ease a little of the tightness in my chest. He walked over to the table, poured wine into two silver goblets, and held one out to me.

“Sit,” he said.

I sat on the edge of the bed. He handed me the goblet and sat down near me, close enough that I could catch the clean scent of him but not close enough to touch.

“Thank you,” I said.

He watched me over the rim of his own cup as he drank. The attention made my skin feel warm.

“You’re beautiful,” he said after a while.

The compliment caught me so off guard that I nearly choked on the wine. “Thanks,” I managed, immediately wanting to disappear into the floor.

He looked mildly entertained by my reaction. “You’re not very good at receiving compliments.”

“I’m not very used to them,” I admitted.

“That’s a shame.”

I stared down at my goblet, trying to ignore the way my face still felt hot. None of this was what I had expected. I had prepared myself for coldness, for distance, for something cruel. Not wine and quiet conversation with a man the entire territory feared.

“What are you thinking about?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

“Tell me.”

I gave a small, awkward laugh. “It’s nothing, really.”

“Tell me,” he said again, softer this time. “I’m listening.”

I hesitated, then finally said, “You’re being… nice. The wine. The talking. It just feels strange. Like you’re delaying what we’re actually here to do.”

Christian went quiet.

He set his goblet down slowly, then turned his body toward me. When I looked up, his eyes were already on mine — that deep, dark gray that made it hard to think straight. Up close, he was even more striking than I had realized. The sharp lines of his face, the stillness in the way he watched me… it made my stomach twist with something I didn’t want to name.

“What we’re here to do,” he repeated, his voice lower now.

I felt heat crawl up my neck.

“I think,” he said, tilting his head slightly, “you’re thinking about something that’s making you blush.”

My fingers tightened around the goblet.

“What are we here to do, Jennifer?”

The way he said my name made the question feel heavier. More dangerous. I opened my mouth, but no proper answer came out. My face was burning. I hated that he could see it.

“You already know,” I whispered.

“I want to hear you say it.”

I couldn’t. The words sat stuck in my throat. I was still scared — scared of him, scared of this room, scared of what the night was supposed to end with — and yet the way he was looking at me made it hard to breathe for an entirely different reason.

Christian reached over and took the goblet from my hands. His fingers brushed mine as he set it aside. Then his arm slid around my waist.

He pulled me toward him in one smooth motion.

A small gasp left me before I could stop it.

My hands landed against his chest. We were so close that I could feel the heat of his body through the thin fabric of my nightgown. His scent wrapped around me, clean and dark and overwhelming. My heart was hammering so violently I was sure he could feel it.

His hand came up and cupped the side of my face. His thumb brushed slowly across my bottom lip, lingering there.

My breath hitched.

He watched the reaction with dark, focused eyes, like he was memorizing it. Then his hand moved lower, tracing the line of my jaw, the side of my neck, the curve of my collarbone. Every place he touched left a trail of heat behind it. My skin felt too sensitive. My thoughts felt scattered.

When his fingers slipped just slightly under the edge of my nightgown at my shoulder, a soft, helpless sound almost escaped me.

Christian leaned in until his lips were right beside my ear.

“I like how you respond to me.”