Aylin walked into the restroom, the warm steam wrapping around her like a gentle embrace. The scent of cedarwood and something darker—Sasha's scent—hung in the air. It was rich and earthy, and her wolf shifted in quiet recognition. She exhaled sharply, gripping the edge of the stone basin next to the tub.
'No,' she reminded herself. 'Not ours. Not safe.'
Her reflection stared back at her from a polished brass mirror mounted on the wall. She looked worse than she felt: her face was smudged with dirt, her lower lip was split from an earlier fight, and dried blood streaked her arms where she had been too exhausted to wash them properly. The hunting suit she wore clung to her like a second skin, stiff with old sweat and dirt.
She swallowed.
Roland's words echoed in her mind. You may have escaped one cage, but do not run straight into another.
Her fingers trembled as she reached for the fasteners on her suit, gradually peeling away the layers of fabric. As the stiff material fell to the ground, the cool air bit at her exposed skin, causing her to shiver. She took a step toward the bath, slipping into the water with a quiet sigh as the warmth enveloped her sore muscles.
Her mind was too restless to enjoy it.
She had fought so hard for her freedom. Had spent years plotting, running, surviving. But now she was standing in the heart of an unknown fortress, surrounded by men and women who answered to a wolf stronger than any she had ever encountered.
A wolf who had claimed her.
Aylin clenched her jaw, sinking deeper into the water.
The fortress was nothing like she expected. She had assumed that Sasha, as a rogue leader, would live like a scavenger, taking whatever he could and hoarding what he needed to survive. But the truth was starkly different. The fortress was flourishing.
Even now, beyond the heavy stone walls of Sasha's chambers, she could hear the distant hum of voices, laughter, quiet conversations, and the soft rustling of movement as people went about their lives. Not soldiers, not prisoners. Normal people.
Sasha hadn't just built himself a home. He had built a sanctuary.
Aylin exhaled, dragging a hand down her face.
Why does that bother me so much?
She had spent her whole life knowing that power meant control. That every leader she knew, especially Silas, used strength to dominate. Sasha, however, was different. His people didn't fear him. They respected him.
And she didn't know what that meant for her.
Her wolf stretched lazily within her, purring in satisfaction.
'He is strong.'
Aylin scowled. 'You're insufferable.'
The wolf's response was nothing but an amused huff.
She pushed herself upright, reaching for the nearest cloth and soap. Her fingers ached as she scrubbed away the layers of dirt and dried blood, slowly revealing the bruises beneath. Some were old, fading into dull yellows and greens, while others were fresher, stark against her skin.
'I look like I barely made it out alive', she thought bitterly.
She ignored the sharp twist in her chest at the realization. She had survived. That was all that mattered.
Aylin dried herself off, wrapping the thick towel around her body. As she did so, her gaze flickered to the door, her senses still alert to the presence beyond it.
She could feel him, a steady, unshakeable force on the other side of the heavy wooden door. The knowledge should have irritated her, but it settled in her chest, grounding her in a way she refused to question.
Before she could dwell on it further, the door to the washroom creaked open—not the one leading to his chambers, but another, smaller entrance to the side.
Aylin turned sharply, instincts on edge, but what she saw made her still in surprise.
Three women dressed in dark, simple clothing moved into the room with a speed that defied logic. They carried folded garments, steaming cloths, and fresh towels; their movements were fluid and coordinated.
Before Aylin could say anything, they had everything set down, with one of them carefully gathering her discarded hunting suit. The other two unfurled a dress that was simple but undeniably soft, made of a material far too fine for a rogue's den.
"You'll be more comfortable in this," one of them said, her voice calm and efficient. There was no hesitation in their actions, no wasted movement.
Aylin stared, still caught off guard. "I—" She glanced down at the dress.
It was not silk or lace, but it was finely woven, the stitching was flawless, and the material was light enough not to cling to her skin. It was something noblewomen from simpler households might wear when retiring for the night, free of corsets and rigid designs. I was something she left behind in Silas's castle. Lilliana came to mind.
She hesitated.
One of the women, possibly the eldest of the three, took a step forward, her sharp, knowing eyes passing over Aylin's bruises with little reaction. "Lord Sasha asked us to prepare something for you."
Lord Sasha.
Not Commander, not Alpha, not Master. Lord.
Aylin exhaled slowly, unable to delve into what that meant right now.
Instead, she grabbed the dress, ignoring the way her wolf practically purred with delight at the feel of soft fabric against her fingertips. "Thank you," she murmured, unsure why she even said it.
The woman nodded, and as quickly as they had arrived, the three servants disappeared, vanishing through the side entrance like ghosts.
Aylin stood there for a moment, the room oddly still in their wake.
She had never seen anyone move that quickly or efficiently. Not even the best-trained warriors back in Silas's court had functioned with such seamless precision. It was almost unnatural.
Shaking off the thought, she slipped into the dress. The fabric settled lightly against her skin, the loose fit allowing ease of movement while still feeling undeniably… comfortable. More comfortable than anything she had worn in years.
And that, more than anything, unsettled her.
With one last breath, she pushed open the door to Sasha's chambers.