2. Asher

ASHER

W hen the party ended two hours ago, Connor ordered me to the shed behind his manor to wait for him. The prick still hadn't shown up.

The old tool shed was about five by five feet, with the ceiling only an inch or so above my head. At least I didn't have to hunch. After three days in this shack, I had cleared the worst of the dust and cobwebs, but it was far from comfortable. The shed looked as haggard and angry as I felt. I longed for my old bed and the scent of my woods. Here, all I had was the lingering scent of dust, the sickeningly sweet scent of oil that had spilled years ago and soaked into the wood, and the scent of a forest that wasn't my own. Worst of all, the wood creaked whenever I shifted my weight slightly, so pacing in this cage created a cacophony of noises.

Though it was the last thing I wanted to think about, the events of the party played through my mind. Shame and anger burned through me. I'd felt so fucking ridiculous standing up on that stage in front of all those people, forced to do Connor's bidding. An alpha should never be made to feel that way. The fact Phaedra was there to see my greatest shame only made the event more painful.

But Goddess, she'd looked incredible. It had been the first time I'd seen her since Connor captured me, and from the moment I set my eyes on her, all I wanted was to take her in my arms and bolt. That orange dress made her stormy-gray eyes stand out, and her hair looked so soft, so feathery. I still remembered those strands passing through my fingers like silk, and how soft her skin felt in my hands. She was the picture of beauty and grace, the most stunning woman in that ballroom. My wolf whined at the thought of her, and I couldn't blame him.

That was why it hurt to think of how easily she was able to play the part of a member of high-wolf society. The woman I fell in love with, the spitfire who wasn't afraid to speak her mind, would never have fit in with the sort of people Connor was schmoozing up to. And yet I had to admit she played the role well. I couldn't listen in on the conversations Connor had with those other people, though I wanted to.

But from what I observed, Phaedra knew exactly how to keep her features impassive, friendly even. I knew she was playing this part to protect me and my pack… but I wasn't sure how to reconcile the woman I knew with the person on Connor's arm.

If I were a stronger wolf, a better alpha, none of this would have happened. If I had just killed Edgar, my pack and I would be free of my father's curse, and Phaedra… Phaedra would be on the mainland, living her dreams and making new connections. She would be far away from this island, far away from the trouble I seemed to bring to everyone who cared about me. In that way, it was as much my fault as Connor's that Phaedra had to do this.

Footsteps approaching the shed made me stop cold. From the sound of it, there were three people, one of whom wobbled unsteadily on their feet. It had to be Connor and two of his guards. My wolf growled just below the surface. It was so strange to feel him there but unable to access him.

I wish I had Taig by my side. Not for the first time, I thought about calling Taig to me. I was still alpha of the Dagger pack. I could do it. But I didn't know where he was being held or if he would have the ability to get to me. If he was by my side, I'd feel stronger, more capable. I wasn't afraid of Connor or his guards or any of his high-wolf society lackeys, but I doubted I could take all three of them at once. Not to mention the two already standing guard outside.

What's more, Connor was alpha now. He would be able to call more of his men to help take me down. Maybe if I knocked Connor out first… But no. Even if I could get an opening, what would I do then? Grab Phaedra and leave? Try and find my pack? That seemed like a surefire way to get myself killed, and I wasn't quite desperate enough to risk everything on a plan I hadn't thought through.

So, with no other options, I squared my shoulders and stared at the door, readying myself for whatever came next.

Connor kicked the door open, sending little splinters of wood through the air. The door was so old, it was a wonder it didn't break off its hinges. And, as I guessed, two of his guards flanked him. He was still wearing his suit, but he'd taken off his tie, and the first buttons of his shirt were undone. He held a mostly empty bottle of whiskey in his hand.

"Hello, mongrel," he said. "Have fun at the party?"

My upper lip curled in disgust. He smelled like booze and expensive perfume. There were smudges of red lipstick on his collar. I didn't have to wonder what he'd been doing with his time while I was waiting for him.

"You are the worst kind of scum," I said, my voice almost a growl.

He let out a laugh. "That's rich coming from you. You're the one in this shack with nothing to your name. You're the one under my control. What does that make you?"

"A prisoner?—"

"Pathetic!" he interjected, then continued to howl with laughter. "It makes you pathetic. A real alpha would never have let his enemy capture him."

His laughter made my blood boil. I wanted to lunge at him and tear his throat out, but I stayed rooted to the spot. Behind Connor, his guards remained stony-faced and silent. I couldn't get a read on them. Why wasn't Randall, his right-hand, with him?

Perhaps he was with the girls Connor had left behind. Then again, when I thought about that brick wall of a man, I couldn't imagine him taking part in any of that.

When he stopped laughing, he straightened and ran his fingers through his hair. He looked at me with eyes the same color as his father Edgar's, the late alpha of the Wilcox pack, and the man I'd found out was my uncle on my mother's side. Goddess, that was still such a blow. Three days wasn't nearly enough time to come to terms with it. I hadn't even had time to tell my uncle Garrett about our extended family.

Connor took a swig from the bottle and wiped the excess from his chin with his sleeve. "Look at you," he said. "You're probably so jealous."

My eyes narrowed. "Jealous?"

"I've got my pick of the women in my pack. Hundreds of women just begging to get in my bed."

"Congratulations," I said dryly.

He took another drink, eyeing me. "You should be congratulating me, mutt. Because I've got her. Phaedra."

Blood rushed in my ears. This fucker didn't deserve to speak her name. I clenched my fists. I wasn't an idiot. Phaedra didn't love Connor—she despised him—but the fact that he would disrespect her by having sex with other people made me want to smash his teeth in. Thanks to Kestrel's ritual, I got to see how Connor and Edgar had treated Phaedra after she wasn't able to shift. They and the rest of high-wolf society rejected her in the cruelest way.

He still treated her like she was nothing, like she had no worth. Even for the sake of keeping up appearances, he couldn't treat her well.

"You don't deserve her," I said before I could stop myself. "You don't deserve any of this."

Unfortunately, my outburst was exactly what Connor wanted. His grin was that of a snake's as he walked around me. "I don't envy you at all," he said. "You had her once, but now she's mine. You had victory at your hands, and you squandered it. Just like your good-for-nothing father on the battlefield."

Seething, I gritted my teeth. He wasn't exactly wrong, but that didn't make his words hurt any less. I'd had Phaedra, but I'd ruined that. I'd had the chance to kill Edgar, but I chose to protect her instead. In the end, I couldn't protect her, I hadn't killed Edgar, and I'd lost touch with both my wolf and my pack.

Maybe I was an idiot after all.

"I'm going to run your pack ragged," Connor said. "And make you watch every second of it. As your people die one by one, my empire will grow."

Some empire. This incompetent fool had no idea that his hedonism would only reveal him to be a selfish alpha. And selfish alphas made for a restless, unhappy pack, which would lay the groundwork for a coup. But I wouldn't share that with him. A revolution likely wouldn't happen soon enough for me to save my people. In fact, it was likely the Daggers would get caught in the crossfire.

"Nothing to say?" Connor asked. The alcohol on his breath stung my nose. Underneath it was the scent of something else, but I couldn't quite tell what that was. "I'm surprised. You've usually got more fight in you." He tapped his chin with the opening of the bottle. "Oh, I know. Maybe you're accepting defeat. Is that it?"

I glared at him. I'd have liked nothing more than to wrap my hands around his throat and crush his windpipe.

He chuckled, drained the last of the whiskey, then tossed the bottle on the ground. It shattered into thousands of tiny shards. "Hope you have a good night's sleep, Asher." He gave me a mock bow, then strode out, his guards following behind him. The last one to leave slammed the door.

I let out a long, tight breath and kicked at the sharp, sparkling remnants of the whiskey bottle. It was going to be a long night.

Shrugging off my blazer, I wrapped it around my hand, then crouched and started sweeping the glass into a corner. As I worked, my mind returned to that scent. I wanted to be wrong, but deep down, I knew I wasn't. There was a scent on him, something like cloves and dead moss. The scent of Kestrel's hut.

But that didn't make any sense. What could Connor possibly want with that old witch? Or, more accurately, what did she want with Connor?