Fred's Pov
The door clicked softly behind me, leaving her in.
I stood still, one hand resting against the door, and took in a slow breath. Her scent lingered in the hallway; unique on its own earthy, warm, and wild. Not the scent of fear. They were something else.
I stepped away.
My footsteps echoed around the hallway, sharp and deliberate. Servants bowed as I passed, but I was not bothered, nor did I notice any of them. My mind was still with her in the room.
The girl. The breeder. Or no Syria.
They had not told me anything about her at the auction. I had read it in the confidential scroll attached to her cage. A name with no bloodline attached. No pack origin.
Just Syria. And also, an odd-looking book. But I was not interested in prying into people's personal information, so I had not bothered opening it.
I did not trust the odds.
She had not screamed like the others did when taken. She had not begged. Her eyes had burned instead. She had looked at me not with submission or hatred, but with eyes that could not accept defeat.
I had bought that. Not her body or her womb but the fire in her eyes.
When I reached my study, I pushed the door open and stepped in. The room was dark, and not a pin drop could be heard. I shut the door and unfastened the heavy coat from my shoulders, letting it drop carelessly on the floor.
The study was lined with bookshelves filled with documents, scrolls from the council, territorial maps. But I was not in the mood for that.
My fingers reached for the locked drawer on my desk and unlocked it with the key, pulling out the scroll the council had sent me two days ago. I rolled it open.
Her blood report.
Her fertility level was ninety-eight percent. Her hormone readings were off the charts. Her body had been tested without the appearance of a full moon, yet still ranked higher than any other she-wolf in the northern and southern packs.
That alone made her the target of many Alphas, but that was not my concern.
It was her genetic signature. She had none.
No wolf pack. No ancestral DNA. It was like she had dropped down from thin air, raw and pure. And that was not natural.
I leaned back in the chair, making it squeak at my movement. My jaw clenched.
"What the hell are you?" I whispered to the air.
She had not reacted much when I told her about our need for an heir. She had stared back at me with no emotion, as if she were in control.
But the council wanted results.
After so many years of failures death, miscarriage, infertile she-wolves. we finally had someone with a high fertility rate and they were ready to chain her down and breed her dry until she gave any of us a cub.
I should have felt nothing. But this was about the survival of the bloodline. The Blackfang legacy. Our future.
But I felt something. Not pity—but curiosity. She was like an unsolved puzzle, which I hated.
I rose from the desk, walking to the tall cabinet at the end of the room. Inside were stacked ten vials of red serum each labeled with the name of breeders we had lost and tested.
Opening the cabinet, I stared at an empty spot where her vial would sit if she failed or died. I crossed the word death silently in my mind because I was somehow convinced she would flip everywhere in this house before anybody could break her.
A knock came at the door. Without waiting for a response, the door opened.
Turning my head, I saw him; Rohan, the second child sauntered in, shirt half-opened, his usual smirk plastered on his face.
"So?" he started, leaning against my study table. "How is our breeder? Still breathing?" Chuckling at his own words.
Which I didn't respond to.
He raised his brows. "You are unusually quiet though there is not much difference. Are you thinking about the breeder?"
I was not.
He grinned wider. "Liar."
Walking back to my chair, I took the scroll and rolled it short. "We begin the rotation in five days. Until then, nobody touches her."
Rohan whistled. "I did not know you were the possessive type. I thought you were the cold-hearted one who doesn't care about anyone."
I met his eyes, my voice cold. "I am the strategic type. She is not like the others, and I do not trust her yet."
"Because she talks back?"
"No. Because she is hiding something."
Rohan's smirk faltered.
"She does not have a pack scent," I continued. "No root. No ancestral DNA. With or without the moon, her blood reacts. You tell me what it means."
Rohan scratched his chin, expression turning serious. "Do you think she is lying about who she is?"
"She has not said anything about who she is," I said. "That is the problem."
"Should I investigate?" He asked.
"No. Not yet. Let her settle down. Maybe she might reveal something."
Rohan nodded in agreement. "What if it is a trap?" he muttered.
I looked down at the locked drawer. "I am also thinking the same thing."
Unlocking it again, I pulled out the book from the auction; odd, old, covered in leather and strange markings. No name was on it. Its looked eerie.
Rohan raised his brows as I handed the book to him.
"This came with her," I said. "We will use it to keep her under control. I have a feeling this is important to her."
He reached out and asked, "What is in it?"
"I did not open it," I replied. "And neither will you."
He scoffed, his face contorted. "You are serious?"
Dead serious.
"Yes, I am."
"It is hers," I said. "As long as she does not cause any trouble, I have no problem with her. She should be the one to open it. Tomorrow, all the brothers must be at the dining table together. I can use this book to control her into obedience."
"If you say so," he shrugged, already heading towards the door.
The door creaked open, and just before stepping out, he added over his shoulder:
"I bet she is more than what we bargained for."
And then he was gone.
Leaving behind nothing but silence… and the unsettling certainty that he was right.