Isolde POV:
The cold was a physical assault. It didn't just numb; it bit, like thousands of tiny, invisible teeth gnawing at my exposed skin.
"Bring them in," Austen commanded.
A side panel of the glass cage slid open. Two Pack Warriors-men I had grown up with, men who had sworn to protect the Blackwell line-stepped inside. They wore thick thermal gear.
"Please," I gasped, my teeth chattering so hard I could barely speak. "Marcus, verify. It's me. It's Izzy."
Marcus, the head warrior, didn't meet my eyes. "Orders of the Alpha, Luna. I'm sorry."
He grabbed my arm. His grip was iron.
"Strip her," Austen's voice came over the intercom system inside the cage.
"No!" I tried to fight, but the cold had made my movements sluggish. My human strength was nothing compared to a warrior, and my wolf was suppressed by the strange, heavy atmosphere of the cage.
With a brutal rip, the back of my evening gown was torn away. The silk gave way with a sound like a scream. I was left in my undergarments, my swollen belly exposed to the freezing mist.
The shame was worse than the cold. In werewolf culture, forced exposure was a sign of total submission, a punishment reserved for traitors.
"Now," Austen said, his voice devoid of mercy. "The water."
The second warrior stepped forward with a large metal bucket. I could smell it before I saw it. The water smelled metallic, sharp, and dangerous.
Silver.
"Don't!" I shrieked, covering my belly with my arms. "Silver will kill the baby! Austen, stop this!"
A ripple of murmurs went through the crowd. "Silver on a pregnant female?" an older woman whispered near the front. "That's forbidden."
Austen heard it. His jaw tightened. "She is a threat!" he barked at the crowd, then nodded to the warrior. "Do it."
The warrior didn't hesitate. He splashed the contents of the bucket over me.
It wasn't just water. It was ice water mixed with silver dust.
The moment it touched my skin, I screamed. It wasn't the burn of fire; it was the burn of corruption. Silver is anathema to wolves. It halts our healing, it burns our flesh, and it poisons our blood.
Smoke rose from my shoulders where the silver water landed. Blisters formed instantly.
I fell to my knees, curling into a ball on the freezing floor. "Austen... why?" I sobbed, my voice cracking. "I loved you. I gave you everything."
Through the glass, I saw Austen's face twitch. For a second, just a microsecond, his arrogance faltered. He looked at my belly, at the child he had claimed to want.
"Austen," Debra whispered, but her voice was amplified by the microphone she had snatched. "Look at her. She's attacking!"
"What?" Austen blinked.
Debra suddenly cried out in pain. She grabbed a silver letter opener from a nearby table-how convenient-and slashed her own palm. Blood welled up.
"She used her mind!" Debra shrieked, holding up her bleeding hand. "She's a witch! She tried to kill me through the glass! Oh, Austen, save me!"
It was so absurd, so obviously staged. But Austen needed an excuse. He needed to justify his cruelty to the doubting crowd.
"She attacked my mate!" Austen roared, his hesitation vanishing into a cloud of manufactured rage. "She attacked Debra!"
The crowd gasped. Attacking a pack member without provocation was a crime. The doubt in the room evaporated, replaced by the mob's thirst for justice.
"No!" I cried, but the silver was seeping into my pores, making me dizzy. "She's lying!"
"Silence the traitor!" someone in the crowd shouted. It was one of Austen's new business partners.
"Freeze the evil out of her!" another voice yelled.
The mob mentality took over. They wanted blood. They wanted a show.
Austen looked at me with pure hatred now. "Turn the cooling to maximum," he ordered. "And give her another bucket. Make sure she learns her place."
The warriors raised another bucket. This one was larger.
I looked at my stomach, blistered and red from the cold and silver. I'm sorry, little one, I thought, tears freezing on my cheeks. I'm so sorry.
