Chapter 6 - Wren

Wren Knight wiped down the bar counter, her mind still buzzing from the previous day’s events. The argument with that pack wolf had stuck with her longer than she wanted to admit.

Why did he get under my skin so easily?

She shook her head, trying to dismiss the thoughts. It wasn’t like she hadn’t dealt with rude customers before.

She finished cleaning and glanced at the clock. The morning rush had died down, leaving the bar quiet. Mara was busy stocking the shelves, humming a tune under her breath.

Just as Wren was about to take a break, the door swung open, and in walked the last person she expected to see.

Oh damn.

His tall, muscular frame filled the doorway, his white hair and blue eyes making him stand out even more against the dim interior of the bar. Her heart skipped a beat, though she quickly pushed the feeling aside.

What is he doing back here? She wondered, her body tensing as he approached the counter.

“Wren,” he greeted her, his voice deep and smooth. “I wanted to apologize for yesterday.”

She folded her arms, not making it easy for him. “Grudgingly” was the word that best described how she felt about accepting an apology from him. “Apologize? For what, exactly?”

“For what I said about rogue wolves. I spoke out of ignorance,” he admitted, his gaze earnest. “I’m not from around here, and I’ve heard things… things that colored my judgment. I shouldn’t have made assumptions.”

Wren studied him, searching for any sign of insincerity. But all she found was a genuine apology, and something else—a vulnerability she hadn’t noticed before. Her stance softened slightly.

He really doesn’t seem like a bad guy.

“That makes sense,” she said slowly. “You’re a pack wolf, not from around here. You’ve probably heard all sorts of things about us. But just so you know, it’s better to ask before you judge. It could save you from being offensive.”

He nodded, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You’re right. And I’m sorry. I’ll remember that.”

Wren let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding.

At least he’s willing to learn .

There was something about him that made her want to lower her guard, though she wasn’t quite ready to do that yet.

“By the way, I didn’t introduce myself yesterday,” he said, extending a hand. “I’m Articus.”

She hesitated for a moment before taking his hand. “Wren,” she replied, though she knew he already knew her name. His grip was firm but gentle, and she found herself surprised by the warmth of his touch.

“Could I… spend some time with you today?” Articus asked, his tone careful, as if he didn’t want to push too far too soon.

She raised an eyebrow. “Maybe after my shift,” she replied, not committing to anything.

“Would it be alright if I spent the shift with you then?” he persisted, his eyes hopeful.

Before Wren could respond, Mara chimed in from across the room. “Just go sit with him, Wren. I can handle things here.”

Wren shot her boss a look, but Mara simply waved her off with a smile. “He’ll pay for taking you out of work for the day, won’t you, handsome?” Mara added with a wink at Articus.

Articus chuckled, nodding. “Of course. I’ll make sure it’s worth your while.”

Wren sighed, unable to help the small smile that crept onto her face. “Fine, but only because Mara said so.”

They moved to a corner booth, away from the few patrons who had trickled in. Articus held her chair out for her, a gesture that caught Wren off guard.

Who is this guy?

She wondered as she sat down while he took the seat opposite her.

“So, you really aren’t from around here?” she asked, studying him.

“Yeah,” he replied, leaning back in his chair. “I’m from very far away. Had to fly here.”

Wren’s curiosity piqued. “Wow. What did you come here for?”

“Just some business,” Articus said vaguely, though there was a hint of something deeper in his tone.

Business.

Wren repeated in her mind. A lot of people do come to this area for business. Sometimes it’s to find information, or to hire someone to get information. She glanced at him again, noting his strong build and confident demeanor.

He looks like he can handle himself in the rough parts of town. Maybe he’s the type who gets paid to find things out. But then, darker thoughts crossed her mind.

Some people come here for other reasons… to hire assassins, or to buy slaves. A cold shiver ran down her spine at the thought. Wren hated anyone involved in the slave trade, despised the idea of people being bought and sold like property. But something told her Articus wasn’t that type of man.

At least, I hope he isn’t.

They continued to chat, the conversation flowing more easily than Wren had expected. Articus was surprisingly easy to talk to, and she found herself enjoying his company more than she wanted to admit.

There was a connection between them that she couldn’t quite explain—a pull, almost like her wolf was delighted to be near his. She noticed the way his eyes would soften when he looked at her, and the way his presence made her feel oddly safe, despite the short time they’d known each other.

Her wolf stirred within her, sensing the same connection, a bond that felt natural and strong.

Why am I feeling this way?

She was confused by the intensity of her emotions. But she pushed those thoughts aside, focusing instead on the man sitting across from her.

Just as the conversation was getting more comfortable, Mara called out to Wren from behind the bar. “Sorry, Wren, but could you grab something from the back for me? I can’t find Bruno.”

Wren sighed but stood up, giving Articus an apologetic look. “No problem. I’ll be right back.”

Articus nodded, his expression neutral, though Wren noticed a flicker in his eyes. She brushed it off, heading toward the backroom.

I won’t be gone long. He can wait.

As she got to the storage area behind the bar, she found the box Mara had mentioned and began to lift it.

What now?

The silence of the alley was interrupted by the distant hum of a vehicle engine, growing louder by the second. Wren’s steps slowed as she glanced around, her senses suddenly on high alert.

The van appeared out of nowhere, its headlights cutting through the darkness like a knife. Panic surged through her, and she froze as the vehicle screeched to a halt beside her.

The stories she’d heard about kidnappings and rogue attacks flashed through her mind, each one more horrifying than the last. Tales of people vanishing without a trace, snatched off the streets, never to be seen again.

Before Wren could react, the van’s door slid open, and two figures jumped out, moving with a speed and precision that sent a chill down her spine. She stumbled back, her heart pounding in her chest.

I have to run. I have to get out of here.

But her body seemed frozen, her limbs refusing to obey the frantic commands of her mind. Fear gripped her as the figures closed in, their faces obscured by shadows. Wren’s thoughts spiraled as she realized the gravity of the situation. This wasn’t just a random attack; they were after her.

Wren’s survival instincts finally kicked in, and she spun on her heel, ready to bolt back toward the bar. But it was too late. A rough hand clamped down on her arm, yanking her back with a force that knocked the breath out of her. She screamed, but the sound was swallowed by the night, unheard and unanswered.

No, no, this can’t be happening.

The world around her blurred as they forced her toward the van. Wren fought with every ounce of strength she had, kicking and thrashing, but it was like trying to escape from a steel trap. The more she struggled, the tighter their hold became.

Her defiance was short-lived. A sharp pain exploded at the base of her skull as something hard struck her, and the darkness closed in.

The world tilted sideways as Wren crumpled to the ground. Her vision blurred, darkness creeping in at the edges. She tried to call out, to scream, but her voice failed her, and her consciousness slipped away.

The world faded to black.

***

Wren’s head throbbed as she slowly regained consciousness. The first thing she noticed was the cold, hard surface beneath her. Hard concrete pressed against her cheek, and the chill seeped into her bones.

Her eyes fluttered open, and she winced at the dim light filtering through the small window of the cell she found herself in.

Where am I?

Panic surged through her once more as she remembered what had happened. It wasn’t a nightmare; this was real.

No, no, no.

She pushed herself up, her body protesting with every movement. The rattle of chains accompanied her movements, and she realized with growing horror that she was shackled, hands and feet bound to each other.

As her vision cleared, the reality of her situation came into sharp focus. The room was small, with rough stone walls that reeked of dampness and decay. A faint, acrid smell lingered in the air, making her stomach churn.

Where the hell am I?

Her gaze darted around the cell, searching for any sign of escape, but there was nothing, just cold stone and iron bars. She was trapped.

Panic surged through her, and Wren began thrashing against her restraints. "Help!" she screamed, her voice hoarse and desperate. "Somebody help me!"

"Shut up," a tired voice called from a neighboring cell on her left in the dark. "There's nothing you can do. Once you're here, it's over."

Wren's head snapped toward the voice, anger flaring hot and bright. "What the fuck are you talking about? Shut up! I'm getting out of here! There's no way I'm dying here!"

A low groan from the corner of the cell on the right, where the dim light flickered, caught her attention, and she turned to see another figure huddled in the shadows.

It was a woman, her face pale and gaunt, her eyes hollow with fear. Wren’s throat tightened as their gazes met. The woman’s eyes held a silent plea, one that mirrored Wren’s despair.

Before Wren could say anything, the door to the cell creaked open, and the sound of approaching footsteps silenced her protests. Wren looked up, her breath catching in her throat as a figure appeared before her cell.

He was tall, impeccably dressed in a tailored suit that seemed out of place in the grimy surroundings. An ornate mask covered the upper half of his face, similar to those worn at masquerade balls.

He had pale skin that seemed to almost glow in the dim light, and a predatory smile curled his lips. But it was his scent that made Wren's blood run cold.

Vampire.

The sickly-sweet smell of death clung to him, unmistakable to her heightened senses. He looked down at her with disdain, his lips curled in a sneer.

The vampire’s gaze swept over the cell, lingering on Wren for a moment before he spoke. “Welcome, my dear. You’ve had quite a night, haven’t you?” His voice was smooth, almost soothing, but Wren could hear the underlying menace in his tone.

"You should stop acting up," he said, his voice smooth as silk but laced with venom. "You already know it's too late. Why be so... annoying?"

Wren’s heart raced as she took in the sight of him. The stories she’d heard about vampires, their cruelty, and their thirst for power flooded her mind, and fear gripped her once more.

I have to stay calm. I can’t show fear.

But it was easier said than done. The vampire took a step closer, his crimson eyes locked on Wren. “Don’t worry, we’re not going to hurt you… much.” His smile widened, revealing a set of sharp fangs that gleamed in the dim light.

Wren’s stomach twisted in fear, but she forced herself to meet his gaze, refusing to let him see how terrified she was. She bared her teeth, feeling her wolf stir beneath her skin. "You'll never take me willingly," she snarled.

The vampire laughed, a cold, mirthless sound that echoed off the cell walls. "Nobody is ever taken willingly, little wolf. If you know what's good for you, you'll start behaving. We put down rabid dogs."

A growl rumbled in Wren's chest, her wolf pushing closer to the surface. She had been struggling for so long, fighting against the mindlessness that came with being a rogue. Memories of her family, of better times, had kept her grounded. But now, faced with this new threat, she felt that control slipping.

The vampire's eyes narrowed, a cruel smile playing at his lips. "We've been watching you, you know. A lone wolf with no one to miss her. How long before you lose yourself completely, I wonder?"

Watching me? At the shack before I left?

Wren's heart raced, fear and anger warring within her. "I was fine," she spat. "I am fine."

"Oh yes," the vampire mocked. "You've held on longer than most. But your time is up, little wolf. Your mind is slipping, and soon you'll be nothing more than a mindless, blood-lusting animal. We're simply... expediting the process."

He paused, his gaze narrowing as he studied her. “You’re braver than most, but bravery won’t get you far in here.”

The vampire’s smile faded, and his expression grew serious. “You’re in a dangerous place now, little wolf. You’re no longer free, and the sooner you accept that, the better.”

Before Wren could respond, a massive figure appeared beside the vampire. The new arrival was easily seven feet tall, with broad shoulders and arms thick as tree trunks. His scent was musky and wild—a werebear.

The werebear stepped closer, towering over Wren with a build that seemed to be made of pure muscle. His eyes were dark, almost black, and his expression was one of grim determination. He didn’t speak as he stepped forward, but the way he moved, with a predatory grace that belied his size, made Wren’s heart skip a beat.

The vampire gave the werebear a curt nod before turning back to Wren. “It’s time.” His voice was cold, devoid of any of the earlier amusement. “Try not to struggle too much. It’ll only make it worse.”

Without a word, the werebear reached into the cell and grabbed Wren. Wren’s mind raced as she was pulled from the cell, the werebear’s grip on her arm like iron. She kicked and screamed, her nails elongating into claws as she fought against his hold.

"Let me go!" she yelled, twisting but two backhand hits, one to the top of her head and another to her cheek, and she stilled as the werebear carried her down a dimly lit hallway.

She fought the rising tide of panic, forcing herself to focus on her surroundings. The corridor they walked down was dimly lit, the walls lined with cells similar to the one she had just left. She could hear the faint sounds of others—whispers, sobs, the clinking of chains—but she forced herself not to think about them.

They reached the end of the corridor, where a heavy door loomed before them. The werebear pushed it open, revealing a room that was stark and clinical, with a large stone slab in the center. The air was thick with the scent of burnt flesh and something else—something dark and magical that made Wren’s skin crawl.

A petite woman stood next to a blazing fire, her hands moving in intricate patterns over a glowing brand. The witch—for that's what she must be—looked up as they entered, her eyes glowing with an otherworldly light. Even from a distance, Wren could feel the power radiating from her.

The witch turned as they entered, her eyes glowing with an unnatural light. “Place her on the slab,” she ordered, her voice as cold as the stone beneath Wren’s feet.

The werebear obeyed, lifting Wren as if she weighed nothing and laying her on the slab. She tried to lunge away, but the bear's massive hand clamped down on her shoulder, holding her in place. The witch began to chant, her words ancient and filled with dark power.

"What are you doing?" Wren demanded, her voice trembling despite her attempts to sound brave. "What is that?"

The vampire sauntered into the room, his mask glinting in the firelight. "You're quite noisy," he observed casually.

"No!" Wren screamed as the witch approached, the brand sizzling with heat and magic. "Stop! You can't—"

Her words cut off in a scream of agony as the brand pressed against her flesh. White-hot pain seared through her, and Wren felt a wave of magic wash over her. Something inside her shifted as if chains were wrapping around her very soul.

The pain was unlike anything she had ever felt before; it was as if her entire being was being torn apart, piece by piece until there was nothing left but agony.

The pain didn’t stop; it spread through her, burning through her veins until it reached her heart. And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it was over.

The witch stepped back, her eyes gleaming with satisfaction as she surveyed her work. “It is done,” she said, her voice cold and devoid of any emotion.

When the pain subsided to a dull throb, Wren found herself on her knees, gasping for breath. The room spun around her, and she barely registered the werebear removing her shackles.

Why... why are they freeing me?

As the dizziness began to clear, a wild hope flared in Wren's chest. She didn't stop to question it, didn't pause to think. With a snarl, she launched herself at the vampire, her claws extended, and teeth bared.

But before she could reach him, pain, unlike anything she had ever experienced, ripped through her body. Wren crumpled to the ground, screaming as every bone seemed to shift and crack. She retched, her stomach heaving as the agony overwhelmed her.

The vampire watched her with cold detachment, his expression unchanging. “The brand,” he said calmly as if discussing the weather. “It’s a mark on your soul, not just your body. Any act of defiance, any attempt to fight back, will be met with pain. You’re ours now.”

Wren’s breath came in ragged gasps as she tried to process his words. They filled her with a deep, overwhelming despair. She had always prided herself on her independence and her strength, but now, it felt like all of that had been stripped away.

The vampire crouched beside her, his masked face inches from hers. "Quite stubborn, aren't you?" he mused. "That's good. It means you're healthy. But you'll never be able to defy me again."

"What did you do to me?" Wren croaked, her throat raw from screaming.

"You are property, and whoever we sell you to will hold that ownership. You'll never fight against us, never resist doing anything we say," the vampire calmly stated.

Wren's eyes widened in horror. "That's a lie," she whispered. "I would never—"

The vampire straightened, a cruel smile playing on his lips. "Really? Shall we test that theory?" He took a step back. "Clean up your mess."

Wren wanted to spit in his face, to tell him exactly where he could shove his commands. But to her horror, she found her body moving of its own accord. The werebear handed her a rag and bucket, and she began cleaning the floor where she had been sick.

No. No, this can't be happening. Stop. STOP!

But no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't make her body obey her commands. Tears of frustration and fear rolled down her cheeks as she scrubbed the floor clean.

The vampire watched, sipping from a glass of blood that seemed to have appeared from nowhere, sporting his fanged smile. When she finished cleaning, the werebear took the bucket to dispose of it. The vampire then commanded her to follow the werebear.

As Wren followed the bear out of the room, her legs moving against her will, the vampire's words followed her:

"Welcome to your life as property, little wolf."

The heavy door slammed shut behind her, the sound echoing with a terrible finality.