Chapter 11 - Wren

The morning light filtered through the gauzy curtains, barely illuminating the opulent room. Wren's eyes fluttered open, her mind still foggy with sleep. For a moment, she forgot where she was, the unfamiliar surroundings disorienting her.

Her pulse quickened with a mix of anxiety and anger when, like a tidal wave, the memories of the previous day crashed over her.

The auction. The marriage.

Articus.

Her body tensed, every muscle coiled tight as she sat up abruptly, her gaze darting around the room. She half-expected to see him there, looming over her with that infuriatingly handsome face of his. But the room was empty, save for her.

He didn't come.

The realization hit her like a punch to the gut. She'd spent the night tossing and turning, her mind conjuring up increasingly horrific scenarios of what Articus might do to her. After all, wasn't that what men did when they bought virgin brides at auction?

What twisted game is he playing?

She had anticipated Articus’s arrival, expecting him to come to claim what he had purchased. The thought of his imposing figure entering the room, of him taking what she had been dreading and yet preparing herself for, had been a source of nervous tension all night.

But the night had passed, and he hadn't appeared. Wren's fingers curled into the silken sheets, her knuckles turning white. She looked around the room that had been too dark to make out the previous night.

She saw that her dinner plates had been cleared off the reading table. It surprised her that someone was in and out without her noticing.

I must have been more tired than I thought.

The bed was enormous, easily big enough for four people, let alone one. It was a stark contrast to the threadbare cot she was used to back home.

Home. As if I have one of those anymore.

She swung her legs over the side of the bed, her bare feet sinking into the plush carpet. The room was larger than her entire shack, decorated in shades of cream and gold. A crystal chandelier hung from the ceiling.

It was beautiful. And it made her sick.

Wren stood, her legs shaky beneath her. She caught sight of herself in the full-length mirror across the room and froze. She looked... different. Her hair was a tangled mess, her eyes wide and wary. But it was more than that. She looked like a stranger in her own skin.

Is this what being owned does to a person?

She turned away from her reflection, unable to bear the sight any longer. Her gaze fell on the bathroom door and she decided to shower before Articus most likely came looking for her.

The bathroom was as luxurious as the bedroom, all marble and gold fixtures. Wren stripped off the clothes she'd been wearing and stepped into the shower, turning the water as hot as she could stand it.

As the scalding water pounded against her skin, she finally allowed herself to break. Sobs wracked her body, the sound of them drowned out by the rush of water. She cried for her lost freedom, for the life she'd left behind, for the uncertain future that stretched out before her.

And, as much as she hated to admit it and would never tell him, she was also hurt that Articus hadn't come for her. Was she not beautiful enough?

What kind of person am I to be upset that my captor didn't come to claim me?

When the water began to run cold, Wren stepped out of the shower, her skin pink and tender. She wrapped herself in a fluffy towel, avoiding her reflection in the steamy mirror.

Just as she was wondering what she was supposed to wear, her eyes landed on a neatly folded pile of clothes on the counter. They hadn't been there when she'd entered the bathroom. She could smell his scent.

He was here. While I was in the shower.

The thought sent a shiver down her spine, a mix of fear and something else she didn't want to examine too closely. Wren dressed quickly in the provided clothes—simple jeans and a soft sweater that fit her perfectly.

She braved the mirror once more. She looked much better than she had when she woke from her sleep.

Maybe I just needed a shower.

She could hear voices outside the door. Articus’s and another authoritative one just like his. Articus was thanking the voice for his hospitality.

That must be Cassius.

The voices walked away and she focused on finger-combing her damp hair and didn’t notice any other sounds until a knock at the door made her jump.

"Wren?" Articus's deep voice called from the other side. "Are you decent? We need to leave soon."

Wren’s heart leaped into her throat. Wren’s eyes widened in surprise, her mind struggling to catch up with the abrupt change in plans.

Leave? Where?

"I'm dressed," she called back, her voice surprisingly steady.

The door opened, and there he was. Articus White, in all his infuriating glory. His white hair was slightly tousled as if he'd been running his hands through it. His blue eyes were intense as they locked onto her, and Wren felt her breath catch in her throat.

Stop it. He bought you.

"Good morning," Articus said, his tone cautious. "Did you sleep well?"

Wren snorted, unable to help herself. "Oh, wonderfully. Nothing like the threat of impending rape to lull a girl to sleep."

Articus flinched as if she'd slapped him. "I would never—"

"Save it," Wren cut him off. "Where are we going?"

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Home. My home, that is. Not too far from here. But my business here is finished, so I am leaving now."

Wren blinked, confusion momentarily overriding her anger. "This... this isn't your pack?"

"No," Articus shook his head. "This is my cousin’s pack. I thought it would be better than taking you straight to my territory."

How considerate of him.

"Well then," Wren said, her voice dripping with sarcasm, "Lead the way, Master ."

Articus's jaw clenched, but he said nothing as he turned and walked out of the room. Wren followed, smiling mischievously, her bare feet silent on the plush carpet.

The hallway outside was just as opulent as the room, with gilded mirrors and ornate light fixtures lining the walls. Wren tried not to gawk, but it was hard. She'd never seen such luxury up close before.

They took the stairs in tense silence, Wren acutely aware of Articus's presence beside her. He smelled like pine and something uniquely him , and she hated how it made her stomach flutter.

He owns you. Don't forget that.

The courtyard was bustling with activity, wolves in training gear and simple outfits milling about. Wren felt painfully out of place, her damp hair hanging loose around her shoulders.

Articus led her through the crowd, his hand hovering near the small of her back but never quite touching her. Wren wasn't sure if she was grateful for that or not.

They reached the outside of the mansion, where the cold morning air was a sharp contrast to the oppressive warmth of the interior. The chill bit at Wren’s skin, heightening her sense of discomfort.

The street outside was clean and well-maintained, nothing like the grimy alleys she was used to.

"This way," Articus said, gesturing to a black SUV idling nearby.

Wren climbed into the backseat, Articus sliding in beside her. The driver, a broad-shouldered man with a stern face, nodded at them in the rearview mirror before pulling away from the curb.

After about an hour of driving, they arrived at a small airfield. A sleek helicopter sat on the tarmac, its blades already spinning. The sight of it did little to calm her nerves; if anything, it only deepened her sense of foreboding.

As they approached the helicopter, Wren felt a flutter of anxiety in her chest. She'd never flown before, had never even been this close to an aircraft. The hum of the blades created a low, persistent noise that seemed to vibrate through her bones.

Articus must have sensed her hesitation because he paused, turning to look at her. "Are you alright?"

Wren squared her shoulders, refusing to show weakness. "I'm fine."

He studied her for a moment longer before nodding and helping her into the helicopter. The climb into the helicopter felt like an ascent into a new level of her predicament, one she was not entirely prepared for.

Articus moved with the ease of someone accustomed to such opulence, his casual demeanor a stark contrast to her tense and uncertain state.

Of course, he is used to this.

The interior was plush and comfortable; the leather seats and polished surfaces were nothing like the utilitarian machine she'd imagined.

As they took off, Wren's stomach dropped, and she gripped the armrests tightly. Articus watched her, a hint of concern in his eyes, but said nothing.

The aircraft lifted off with a powerful shudder, and Wren’s gaze was drawn to the window. As they ascended, the view of the blizzard-covered mountains spread out below was both beautiful and terrifying.

The snow-covered ridges and valleys were a stark reminder of the dangers of the terrain, and her mind raced with thoughts of travelers who had been lost to the harsh elements.

How many have died trying to cross these mountains?

The thought sent a chill down her spine. She'd heard stories of rogues attempting to make the journey on foot, never to be seen again. From up here, she could see why. The terrain was treacherous, and the weather was unpredictable.

But as they approached the mountains, the landscape changed dramatically. Snow-capped peaks loomed before them, their jagged silhouettes stark against the blue sky. As they flew higher, the air grew colder, and Wren shivered despite the helicopter's heated interior.

If he wanted to get rid of me, all he'd have to do is open the door.

The thought came unbidden, and Wren tensed, eyeing Articus warily. But he seemed completely at ease, his gaze fixed on the horizon.

Just when Wren thought the journey would never end, they crested the highest peak, and suddenly, everything changed.

The dark grey of her side of the mountains disappeared as if it had never existed. The transformation was dramatic, the harsh, snow-covered landscape giving way to clear blue skies and sunshine. Below them stretched a patchwork of green fields and sparkling rivers.

The view from the air was breathtaking. Wren couldn't help but gasp as they soared over lush forests and sparkling lakes. It was like nothing she'd ever seen before. In the distance, Wren could make out the outlines of towns and cities, their structures gleaming in the sunlight.

It was the light side of the mountain. The land of the original packs.

Wren's breath caught in her throat. It was beautiful, more beautiful than she'd ever imagined. But with that beauty came a rush of bitter realization.

This is where he's from. He's one of them.

Articus, with his privileged background and apparent disregard for the lives of those from the harsher side of the mountain, seemed to embody everything she resented about the elite.

The stories she'd heard as a child came flooding back. Tales of the original packs, of their arrogance and cruelty. They thought themselves better than the rogues, purer somehow. They were the ones who had cast out her ancestors, condemning them to a life of hardship on the Dark Side.

And now, here she was, in the clutches of one of them. Anger bubbled up inside her, hot and fierce. She turned to Articus, her eyes blazing.

"So this is where you're from," she spat. "The great and mighty light side. Tell me, do all of you make a habit of buying people, or are you just special?"

Articus's expression hardened. "It's not like that."

"Oh really?" Wren laughed bitterly. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks exactly like that. The perfect Mr. Articus White, Alpha of the White Moon pack, stooping to buy himself a virgin bride. How noble of you ?."

"You don't understand—"

"I understand perfectly," Wren cut him off. "You light-siders think you're so much better than us. But look at you. You're just as corrupt as the rest of them."

Articus's eyes flashed dangerously. "That's enough."

But Wren was beyond caring. All the fear, anger, and helplessness of the past day came pouring out of her in a torrent of words.

"What's the matter, Alpha ? Can't handle the truth? Did you think I'd be grateful? That I'd fall at your feet and thank you for buying me like a piece of meat?"

"I saved your life!" Articus roared, his composure finally cracking.

The helicopter fell silent, save for the whir of the blades. Wren stared at Articus, her chest heaving.

"What?" she whispered.

Articus ran a hand over his face, suddenly looking tired. "I saved your life," he repeated, quieter this time.

"If I hadn't bought you, someone else would have. Someone who wouldn't have cared about your well-being. You know I am telling the truth."

Wren's mind reeled. "But... why?"

"Because it was the right thing to do," Articus said simply. "I couldn't leave you there, knowing what would happen to you."

Maybe because the adrenaline had died down or the sleep she sorely needed. They were the same words he had said yesterday or similar. But looking at him now and hearing them again, the anger drained out of Wren, leaving her feeling hollow.

"So what now? Am I supposed to be your slave? Your wife ?" she asked.

Articus shook his head. "No. I'm going to help you break the brand, and then you'll be free to go wherever you want."

Wren blinked, not quite believing what she was hearing. "You... you'd do that?"

"Of course," Articus said, as if it were the most natural thing in the world.

For a moment, Wren didn't know what to say. She'd been so ready to hate him, to fight him at every turn. But now...

"I... I'm sorry," she said finally, the words feeling strange on her tongue. "For what I said. I shouldn't have assumed..."

Articus's expression softened. "And I'm sorry for not explaining sooner. I should have known how it would look to you."

They lapsed into silence, but it was different now. Less tense, more... contemplative.

As the helicopter began its descent toward a sprawling estate nestled in the hills, Wren found herself stealing glances at Articus. He wasn't at all what she'd expected. Maybe... maybe she'd been too quick to judge.

Maybe I'm just as close-minded as I accused him of being.

The thought was uncomfortable, but Wren forced herself to consider it. If Articus was telling the truth and something in her gut told her he was, then she owed him a chance. At the very least, she could try to keep an open mind.

As they touched down on a private helipad, Wren took a deep breath, steeling herself for whatever came next.

"Ready?" Articus asked, his hand on the door handle.

Wren nodded. "Ready."