CHAPTER 6: SHADOWS OF A BROKEN SOUL

Danielle’s POV

The darkness wasn’t just around me — it was inside me, suffocating every last flicker of light or hope I might once have carried. I stood motionless in that cursed room, a hollow shell swallowed by shadows darker than any night. The very walls seemed to bleed the echoes of my screams — those raw, desperate howls of agony I had released night after night, drowning in my own torment.

Beneath me, blood-soaked drapes clung to my ankles like chains. My battered body had been an unwilling canvas, painted with bruises and scars — a story no one wanted to read but everyone had authored. That bare mattress, rough and unwelcoming, had swallowed my tears, my sweat, my blood — the invisible testament to every moment I had been broken. And above, the cracked ceiling — an unchanging witness I had stared at more times than any masterpiece, yearning for an escape that never came.

Every day, I wished I had never been born.

Though my body was a rare miracle — born with both a womb to nurture life and testes to create it — the gift had been no blessing.

“Holy.”

They whispered that word as if it was a crown, a mark of honor. Yet their so-called wisdom was nothing but a hollow relic from a world that had turned cruel and twisted. Greed and selfishness ruled now, and I was left to suffer for a fate I never chose.

Was being born a Demon a curse?

Was having the power of both genders a curse?

Was being “pretty” my true damnation?

Or was my very existence the curse that doomed my family 18 years ago?

No one dared touch my face — too delicate, too beautiful to harm. But my body, unconventional and marked, was a battlefield. Bruised, broken, and battered beyond measure.

I felt like a ghost trapped in flesh.

Disgusted. Used. Empty. Exhausted.

I was the living dead — breathing in oxygen, exhaling carbon dioxide — yet with deadened nerves and a heart turned to stone.

I longed to disappear. To erase myself from this world as if I had never been.

But I refused to give in to that dark temptation.

Not yet.

Not until I avenged my clan’s slaughter.

Not until my royal Demon parents’ sacrifice was honored.

I was born for a purpose.

A purpose that only led to ruin.

This was not the fate I agreed to.

No soul should suffer what I endured.

The prophecy — that cruel, heavy chain — and the secret letter, hidden in my locket beneath the royal insignia, were my only lifelines to a past I barely knew.

I was barely hours old when the monster who called himself Alpha of the Zorean Pack reduced my clan to ashes with a single snap.

Curse their magic.

I never knew childhood without pain. No innocent laughter, no gentle touch — only ceaseless abuse, torment, and the scorn of my body and identity.

But two flames kept me alive — a relentless thirst for revenge and a desperate hunger for love.

Mates. Plural.

That truth fueled every ounce of strength I had left.

I buried myself in forbidden knowledge — secretly learning the Dark Arts in silence, swallowing my pride to appear dumb and voiceless, a puppet for the witches and wizards who mocked me while they practiced their magic.

My only true friend was the Alpha’s forbidden library, a sanctuary of ancient power hidden beneath cruelty.

For eighteen brutal years, I devoured every spell, every chant, every secret whispered in those pages.

When fate granted me rare reprieve — when Zompano, the cruel Alpha, was away — I practiced in the shadows, in a corner of my tiny bathroom, hidden from prying eyes.

No one dared enter. No one wanted to waste time on me when they could torment me instead.

I was the pack slave, their living punching bag — kept alive only to be broken, used, and discarded at their whim.

At times, while others rested, I was forced to labor endlessly, tending to their every whim despite the pain that tore through my body.

On worse days, their frustration exploded through brutal violence.

And yet, I kept moving — numb, untouchable.

My body endured painful testosterone shots, a cruel disguise to fool the pack into believing I was merely a human transgender slave.

My mother’s enchantments shielded my true powers — hidden, suppressed until my mates found me, awakening the Demon within.

The prophecy promised a rise, a reckoning — the Grand Master of the Dark Arts, the Father of all magic.

The pack feared this, so they destroyed everything… but forgot the “human” they failed to kill.

I knew my Alpha mate would find me.

Every day, my demon ached for her.

Our souls cried out in unison, bound by a yearning stronger than pain.

Hope was the fragile thread I clung to — the only reason I survived.

Tonight, with Zompano and his Luna gone on a rare trip, I soaked in the bitter sting of my makeshift bath, replaying my shattered past like a broken record — but no longer feeling the pain. Nothing.

Numb.

Insensitive.

Dead inside.

Once, their filthy hands on me sparked revulsion, panic, agony.

Now, there was only emptiness.

If there was one torment worse than the Alpha’s cruelty, it was Zev — the brothel king, the greedy, grotesque beast who monopolized my suffering.

He was a grotesque shadow over this hellhole, worse than the Alpha or his Luna.

He never let another wolf touch me, but his lecherous gaze and unwanted touch haunted every moment Zompano was away.

Disgusting.

He’d sit on my lap, stare at my “beautiful” face like I was his prize, suffocating me with his vile presence.

I could overpower him easily — yet I dared not reveal my true strength.

A cruel irony — feared for purity, the pack forbade bonding with me, the “human filth.”

That rule was my grim salvation — keeping them from losing control, blaming me for their weakness, punishing me for their lust.

Thank the Moon Goddess my parents hid my true nature until the day my mates arrived.

Being a transgender human among wolves wasn’t the worst fate — but Zev was my nightmare.

Right now, I scrubbed at my skin, the soap burning my blisters, desperate to erase the traces of his filthy caresses.

I secretly enjoyed provoking him — a twisted little pleasure — but it always came with a cost.

Minutes ago, that carnal animal burst into my room.

Even in the shadows, I saw the hunger darken his eyes.

His tongue flicked over his lips as he took in my near-naked form, the black boxers I was allowed to wear barely covering me.

His lust ignored Zompano’s warnings.

He trapped me between his thick legs, smirking with misplaced confidence.

I laughed — bitter, hollow laughter — for the first time in years.

Zev froze, shocked by the madness he couldn’t understand.

“Oh, honey,” I sneered, “Who’s the bitch now? Ready to crawl on all fours and beg to be used?”

His rage flared.

“Don’t make me throw you in the vermin-filled darkness. I want to hear your screams all night,” he growled, slapping my cheek.

“But your body sings a different song, Zev,” I teased, trailing a finger over his exposed chest, watching his eyes darken in want.

I relished watching the filthy brute unravel — my only escape from this hell, besides the ancient books I loved.

The Alpha’s couple had entrusted me to Zev for a whole month — a sentence worse than death.

“You’re begging for punishment, aren’t you, scum?” he hissed, and the brutal cycle began again.

But I didn’t beg.

I didn’t cry.

I felt nothing.

Like stone.

Like death.

“Find me…”

“Find me, Aira.”

“I need you.”

“Find me…”

My demon screamed silently, aching for salvation.

We were desperate for a miracle.

A miracle to break the chains.

A miracle to find our mate.