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The Cursed Alpha’s Mute Bride – Episode 03
Nikolaus’s smile remained polished, almost charming, but there was nothing charming in the way he blocked the path to Wolfhart territory. Two men emerged behind him, both wearing Eclipse Pack colors and the loose, flushed expressions of wolves who had drunk too much at the engagement feast.
Wren clutched the wet dress to her chest and measured the clearing. The creek cut off one side, deep enough near the rocks to drag her under. Dense thornbushes crowded the other. Nikolaus had chosen his approach carefully, leaving her nowhere to run without passing one of them.
“It’s just me,” he said, as if her fear were an insult to his feelings. He glanced at his companions and widened his smile. “Why so shy, Wren? We’re all family—or we will be soon.”
The men chuckled. Wren’s stomach turned. She shook her head and raised one hand in a clear command to stop. Nikolaus had watched her sign often enough at the castle to know exactly what she meant, but he continued forward, boots sinking into the wet bank.
“Leave me alone,” Wren tried to say. The words formed perfectly in her mind, fierce enough to shake the trees, yet only a scraped breath crossed her lips. Pain tightened around her throat where Gertrude’s curse held fast.
Nikolaus tilted his head in mock concern. “What was that? You’ll have to speak up.” His friends laughed again, and he basked in their approval. In the great hall, he had played the attentive fiancé. Here, beyond the music and Anneliese’s sight, the mask sat badly on his face.
Wren retreated until icy water seeped into her shoes. Her fingers searched the ground and closed around a stone. It was small, slick, and unlikely to stop a wolf, but the solid weight steadied her. She would not make this easy for him.
Nikolaus’s gaze lowered to the weapon, then returned to her face. “Careful. Anneliese would be heartbroken if her strange little sister injured the man she’s going to marry.” His voice carried the lazy confidence of someone certain the family would blame Wren for anything he did.
That certainty frightened her because it was justified. Gertrude would call her a liar without needing to hear an accusation. Anneliese would protect the engagement and her pride. The other men would repeat whatever story Nikolaus ordered, and Wren had no voice with which to challenge them.
One of his companions moved toward the border trail. The other circled closer to the creek, boots crushing ferns. They were her packmates, men who had sworn loyalty to the Wolfhart family, but their amused faces held no trace of duty.
“I saw the way you looked at me in the hall,” Nikolaus said. “You should be grateful I noticed you at all.” He reached for a strand of wet hair clinging to her cheek. Wren struck his hand away before he could touch her.
His expression changed. The pleasant curve of his mouth remained, but anger hardened his eyes. Wren knew that look. It was the same outrage Gertrude showed whenever a person she considered beneath her dared to resist.
Nikolaus caught Wren’s wrist and twisted until the stone fell from her fingers. “You need to understand your position,” he murmured. “Once I marry the Alpha’s daughter, this pack will belong to us. I can keep you safe in the kitchen, where useless things can still serve a purpose.”
Wren pulled against his grip, but he dragged her closer. Wine soured his breath. “And when I want you elsewhere,” he continued, letting his eyes travel over her, “you’ll know your place in the bedroom too.”
Revulsion burned through her fear. She drove her heel down on his boot and wrenched sideways. Nikolaus cursed as his grip loosened, and Wren tore free, nearly falling into the creek before she caught herself on a low branch.
“Grab her,” he snapped. His companions stopped laughing. They rushed from opposite sides, their movements quickening with the unnatural speed of wolves close to a shift. Wren ran for the thornbushes, choosing torn skin over whatever Nikolaus intended.
Branches clawed at her cloak. She forced her way through, hearing fabric rip and men crash after her. A hand brushed the hood at her neck but failed to catch it. For three breathless strides, the darkness ahead looked open.
Then a body slammed into her from the side. Wren hit the earth hard enough to lose the air in her lungs. Damp leaves filled her mouth, and the wet dress slipped from her grasp. Before she could rise, one of the men seized her ankle.
Panic erupted, hot and blinding. Wren kicked until her heel connected with his jaw. He snarled, eyes flashing amber, and raised one hand as if to strike her. She curled inward, expecting the blow.
Nikolaus stopped him. “Not the face. We still have to take her home when we’re finished.” He sounded calm again, which made the threat more terrible. “Her family may not value her, but they’ll ask inconvenient questions if she arrives broken.”
