To Rule the Alpha's Heart

3. Stolen

Calla wasn't given the chance to say goodbye to her family. Almost as soon as she agreed to the savage Alpha's bargain, the dark-haired man turned around and barked an order to his subordinates. On cue, two men stepped out of line and wrapped strong, calloused hands around Calla's forearms, binding her like rope.

They tugged her forward, away from the village men of Berlyne, and panic tightened Calla's chest. "N-no! I need to say goodbye! My f-father!"

If the two men understood Calla's cries, they didn't show any sign of it. They simply continued to haul her toward the reception hall doors, where the other shifters were already filing out of the massive space.

In desperation, Calla tried to twist one of her arms out of the warrior's grip. Pain splintered through her forearm, but she managed to steal one finally glance at her father and Branson. The former had wrapped his arms around her betrothed's chest, holding him back as if Branson planned on battling every shifter in the room to get her back.

Calla knew that Branson's actions were not fueled by love. They did not love one another. She'd certainly hoped that their relationship would blossom after marriage, but it was not a union based on affection. No– Branson's anger was fueled by male pride. He undoubtedly felt like it was his duty to protect his future wife and Seer, and now... Now, she'd handed herself over to another man– a beast.

Tears prickled Calla's blue orbs as she felt her future slowly slip away with every step she took toward the reception hall exit. Merely hours ago, she'd been preparing for her wedding night. Twenty years of training to serve the people of Berlyne as their Seer... it was for nothing. She hadn't even been able to predict this travesty.

Her two escorts pushed the hall's doors open, and a blast of crisp, night air peppered Calla's exposed skin. Her silk dress had been sewn to impress her future husband. It possessed no protection against the cool autumn breeze that swept through the cobblestone streets of Berlyne. Her skin went taut as little bumps scattered down her arms.

Calla didn't realize that her tears had spilled over until the taste of salt slipped between her lips. The man holding her right arm tightened his grip, tugging her forward at a faster pace as they navigated the darkened streets. Calla's blurry vision reduced her to a stumbling mess, tripping over cobblestone and her own feet alike.

She was certain the male's fingers would bruise her arm. "R-release me," she ordered between sobs. "You're hurting me."

Again, no one listened. Calla searched the darkness ahead, where Alpha Einarr stalked through the streets of Berlyne. The golden-haired negotiator strode beside him, and the pair seemed to be engaged in deep conversation. Did no one else in this group speak the common tongue of Eatrela?

Defeated, Calla stopped struggling against her captors and became numb to the pain of their grip around her arms. She became numb to the autumn chill that pricked her skin. She became numb, keeping her head down as they trekked through the emptied streets of her beloved city.

Soon, the stone avenues of Berlyne transformed into a dirt path, which transformed into brown sand. The sound of crashing waves drew Calla out of her catatonic state, and she gazed across the black ocean abyss. At night, the Atlas Sea looked like it was made from ink, hiding no shortage of monsters beneath its clouded surface. The sky held a crescent moon, which offered minimal illumination.

Away from the lanterns of her city, Calla needed to squint to properly make out the shapes of three, massive longships anchored offshore. Torchlight danced on the decks of all three, indicating that the shifters had left some of their force behind when they invaded Berlyne. She didn't want to think about what the Nortend warriors could have done to her city if they'd brought their entire force...