After a long pause, Selene sighed. “If you’re thinking of running, you’ll need more than courage.”
My breath hitched. I met her gaze in the mirror, searching for any hint of malice, but all I saw was exhaustion.
“I’m not—”
She raised a hand. “I won’t stop you. But be careful. Ronan doesn’t forgive, and he doesn’t forget.”
I nodded, my mind spinning with plans.
Over the next few days, I gathered supplies—scraps of bread, a stolen canteen—hidden beneath the loose floorboard in my room. Selene distracted others just enough to buy me time.
The night I got caught, I was in the pantry, stuffing food into a bag. The house was quiet, most of the pack busy with Blood Moon preparations. I thought I was safe.
Then I heard boots behind me.
“What do you think you’re doing?”
Ronan’s voice cut through the dark like a blade.
I froze, turning slowly to face him. His eyes burned with fury.
“I—I was just—”
“Stealing?” He stepped closer, his presence suffocating.
I backed away. “It’s not what it looks like.”
He snatched the bag, dumping its contents on the floor. “Were you planning to run?”
My silence betrayed me.
His face twisted with rage. He grabbed my arm and yanked me toward him. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”
“Let me go!” I struggled, but his grip was iron.
“You think you can walk away?” His voice was low, dangerous.
He slapped me hard. I stumbled, tasting blood, but didn’t cry.
“You’re nothing,” he snarled. “And you dare defy me?”
I spat blood on the floor. “I’ll defy you every chance I get.”
His eyes darkened. He grabbed my hair and dragged me to the dungeon.
The cell was cold and damp. He threw me inside. “You’ll stay here until the Blood Moon. Breathe wrong, and I’ll throw you to the rogues myself.”
“You’re a monster,” I said, glaring at him.
He smirked. “No, Elena. I’m your 'Alpha.' And you’ll learn to obey.”
The door slammed shut, the sound echoing through the chamber.
I sank to the floor, shaking but determined. This wasn’t over.
I closed my eyes, leaning back against the cold stone wall. A memory surfaced, warm and golden, so far from this nightmare it felt like cruelty to remember.
My grandparents’ house always smelled of fresh bread and lavender. Grandpa sat in his creaky chair, his glasses slipping down his nose as he spoke with quiet conviction.
“Werewolves aren’t just stories, Ellie,” he said, wagging a finger while Grandma chuckled in the kitchen. “They’re real—strong, bound by loyalty... and sometimes, darkness.”
I’d laughed, brushing it off. “Folklore, Grandpa. Just bedtime stories.”
His face grew serious. “Folklore starts with truth, little one.”
I hadn’t believed him.
Now, in the cold dungeon, his words haunted me. Werewolves were real, and I was their prisoner. My ribs ached, my cheek throbbed, and my lip stung. Each shallow breath reminded me this wasn’t a dream. This was reality.
---
Time blurred in the darkness—no light, no sound but the occasional scuttle of rats. Hunger gnawed at me, and thirst burned my throat. When the metallic clank of keys echoed through the hall, I flinched.
“Get up,” a guard barked.
I didn’t move fast enough. Rough hands yanked me up, dragging me through the twisting halls. My bare feet scraped against the stone floor.
“Please,” I croaked. “Don’t—”
“Shut up,” the guard snapped, shoving me forward until we entered a steamy room.
Other women scrubbed the floor, their hands raw. One glanced up at me, pity softening her hollow gaze.
“She’s for the ritual,” a guard sneered.
“Strip her,” another ordered.
I shrank back, trembling. A she-wolf stepped closer, her hands shaking as she held a cloth. “Don’t fight. It’ll hurt worse if you do.”
Saltwater was poured over me, icy and stinging. It burned every bruise, every cut. I bit my lip until it bled, choking back my scream.
“Clean her,” the guard growled. “The Alpha wants her ready for the witch.”
They scrubbed me until my skin felt raw, then draped me in a thin white robe. My body shook as guards grabbed my arms, dragging me outside into the woods.
The clearing blazed with the crimson glow of the Blood Moon. Smoke curled from copper bowls around the stone altar. Ronan stood at the front, his towering figure shadowed against the moon. His eyes gleamed with dark intent.
Beside him, the witch chanted in a strange language, her robes shifting like smoke. Selene sat nearby, her face pale and lips pressed tight. Her sad eyes met mine and didn’t waver.
“Bring her,” Ronan commanded.
I was shoved forward, my knees buckling as I stumbled toward the altar.
The guards threw me onto the altar, cold stone knocking the air from my lungs. My wrists were yanked above my head, leather straps biting into my skin.
“No! Please!” I thrashed, voice raw, but no one cared.
Ronan loomed over me, his face a mask of cruelty. “Your life has meaning tonight. Be grateful.”
The witch’s chant grew louder, the air thickening. Something unseen clawed at my chest, a darkness pressing, pulling.
“Please, don’t!” My cries broke as the dagger sliced my forearm, blood spilling onto the altar.
“Enough,” Ronan barked, his cold gaze unwavering. The witch’s dagger rose high, her voice hitting a crescendo.
But then—chaos.
Selene moved, her hands slamming into a burning bowl. Embers scattered across the altar. The witch shrieked, momentarily breaking her chant.
“Run!” Selene’s voice cut through the confusion.
Adrenaline surged. My wrist tore free from the restraint, skin burning as I yanked myself loose. My other hand slipped free, and I bolted, the sound of Ronan’s roar crashing behind me.
“Get her!”
