Alyssa POV:
The basement door creaked open. The heavy, metallic scent of iron and rust wafted in.
Brennan walked down the stairs, followed by Brianne and Debbi. Debbi had a bandage wrapped around her wrist—a wrist I hadn't even touched.
"My father built this Pack," I said, my voice hoarse from the damp air. "You drag his daughter into the dungeon?"
"Your father was a weak man who let outsiders walk all over us," Brennan replied. He stopped in front of the cell bars. "Debbi told me about your threats. About how you plan to use your father's old connections to stage a coup."
"What?" I looked at Debbi. She hid behind Brennan, peeking out with a triumphant smirk. "I never said that."
"She's afraid, Brennan," Debbi whimpered. "She said because she can't give you pups, she'll make sure no one else can."
It was a brilliant lie. It targeted Brennan's deepest insecurity: his fear that he was only Alpha because he married me, not because he was strong.
"Open the gate," Brennan ordered the warrior guarding the door.
The metal gate swung open. Brennan walked in. The small cell felt instantly claustrophobic.
"The Pack laws are clear," Brennan said. "Physical punishment for harming the future Luna."
"She is not the Luna!" I screamed. "I am!"
Brennan stared at me, his expression unreadable, almost bored. He turned to Brianne.
"Handle it," he said coldly. "Make sure she understands her position."
He turned on his heel and walked out of the cell, pulling Debbi with him. He didn't look back.
"No," I pleaded, reaching through the bars. "Brennan, don't leave me with her!"
The heavy door at the top of the stairs slammed shut.
Brianne smiled. It was a predator's smile. She pulled a small pouch from her pocket.
"He's gone, Alyssa," she whispered. "And now, we can have some fun."
She signaled the warrior to hold my arm against the wall. She dipped her fingers into the pouch and pulled out a pinch of glittering dust.
Silver filings.
"Brennan said punishment," Brianne said, her eyes gleaming with malice. "He didn't specify the method."
"Brianne, please," I begged. "We were sisters."
"You killed Marco," she hissed.
She pressed the silver dust into the cuts on my palm.
A scream tore from my throat. It felt like he had pressed a branding iron into my flesh. The silver sizzled as it touched my blood. Smoke rose from my hand. The pain was blinding, white-hot, shooting up my arm and into my chest.
I slumped against the wall, sobbing, cradling my burning hand.
Brianne wiped her hands on a handkerchief and dropped it on the floor. "Let that be a reminder."
She turned and walked up the stairs, the lock clicking behind her.
I was alone in the dark. The silver in my hand continued to burn, a relentless fire.
I looked at the handkerchief she had dropped. It was one I had embroidered for Brennan for our first anniversary. It had a little wolf stitched in the corner.
With my good hand, I took a lighter from my pocket—one I kept for lighting candles during prayer to the Moon Goddess.
I flicked the flame. I held it to the fabric.
I watched the little embroidered wolf catch fire. The fabric curled and blackened, turning to ash.
"Burn," I whispered, the pain in my hand fueling the rage in my heart. "Burn it all down."
I realized then that I had been holding onto hope. I had been holding onto the idea that my Mate was still in there somewhere. But he wasn't.
Brennan was gone. And I was done being the victim.
