Chapter 004

The iron chains dug deeper into Sara’s bruised wrists as Kyle dragged her through the dense forest. She struggled to keep up with his long strides, tripping over rocks and rough ground that cut into her bare feet. Every step felt like walking on glass. Her whole body ached.

Her ribs hurt with each breath reminding her of the beating she'd endured in Soomdale. The burned skin on her wrist stung every time Kyle yanked the chain. Her legs were about to give out, but she forced herself to keep going. Stopping would only make things worse.

Kyle didn't so much as glance at her. His grip was strong and cold, like she was nothing more than a burden.

When she tripped over a sharp root, her body jolted, and she cried out softly. But Kyle didn’t pause. He jerked her forward again with a low growl.

“Keep up,” he snarled. “I don’t have time to babysit a weak little rogue.”

Sara bit down hard on her bottom lip to keep herself from screaming. There was no use talking back to him. No point in explaining her pain. He had already made one thing clear—her pain meant nothing to him.

Time dragged on. There were no breaks, no chance to rest. Just the sound of her heavy breathing, the crunch of sticks under their feet, and Kyle’s steady pace as he dragged her deeper into the unknown territory.

Was this what she had escaped death for? To be dragged like animal into a place even more merciless?

Then, finally, the thick trees began to clear.

Sara lifted her head just enough to see it. Massive stone walls surrounded a large area, with sharp spikes lining the top like the bones of some giant creature. Smoke rose from the chimneys, and she could hear mental clanging, whips cracking and men shouting. Everything about the place screamed danger.

The Nightbane Pack.

She had heard the stories; Whispers of dark rituals, merciless warriors, and a cruel Alpha who ruled by fear. But seeing it with her own eyes was far worse than anything she’d imagined.

At the edge of the camp, Kyle released her wrist and she staggered, barely managing to keep herself from falling.

“Your Majesty, welcome back,” a deep voice called out.

Sara looked up and saw a tall warrior covered in scars. He looked at her with a smirk.

“What do we have here?”

Other warriors began to gather, surrounding her and Kyle like hungry predators.

Kyle gave an annoyed sigh. “A stray,” he muttered. “She crossed into my lands during my run.”

The warriors laughed.

“A rogue?” one said with a mocking laugh. “Since when do we let those live?”

“She’s not worth killing,” Kyle said coldly. “She’s too weak to even scare a cub.”

His words hurt more than any injury. He didn't even consider her a wolf anymore. Not a threat, not important, not worth anything.

“Look at her,” another scoffed. “She can barely stand.”

“I’ve seen pups with more strength.”

A rough push from behind sent Sara stumbling, her knees buckling. She caught herself before she hit the ground. Pain shot through her burned wrist, and a small whimper slipped out of her mouth, but she quickly silenced it.

They wanted to see weakness.

She wouldn’t let them.

Kyle didn’t say a word. He didn’t stop them or defend her. He just watched with a blank face as she struggled to stand.

“Enough,” he finally barked, his voice cutting through the air. The laughter stopped. “I didn’t bring her here for entertainment. She’ll serve the pack. If she can’t, she’ll die.”

One warrior grinned. “Guess we’ll be digging a grave soon.”

The others laughed—cold, cruel, heartless.

Sara stared down at the ground, trying to swallow the fear and shame rising in her throat. She felt like she was shrinking under their gaze, becoming smaller and smaller until she wasn’t even a person anymore.

Kyle turned and walked away without a second look.

Just like that, she was alone.

And that’s when the real suffering began.

******

Sara’s first task was to clean the floors of the main pack house.

At first, it didn’t seem too bad. She had cleaned before. Scrubbing floors wasn’t new to her.

Until she saw what she was meant to clean.

Blood.

It was everywhere. Thick smears covered the stone floor. Some stains were old and dried like dark paint, while others were fresh, still wet and shining under the dim lights.

Her stomach twisted. She forced herself to breathe through her mouth to keep from getting sick.

Someone handed her a filthy rag and a bucket of dark, lukewarm water that already smelled like rot. No instructions. No time limit. Just silence and a circle of sneering warriors watching her like hyenas.

She dropped to her knees, the stone floor biting into her skin, and dipped the rag into the bucket. Pain shot through her injured wrist. Her ribs felt like they might crack open. But she started scrubbing.

“How long do you think she’ll last?” one warrior asked.

“A day? Two, if she’s stubborn,” another answered.

They laughed.

Sara didn’t respond. She kept her eyes on the blood-stained floor and scrubbed harder.

Time faded. The sun went down and the lights in the hall flickered on.

Her hands were raw. Her knees bruised. The smell of blood was everywhere—on her clothes, in her nose, stuck to her skin. But she kept working.

Stopping meant she failed.

And failing meant punishment—or worse.

Her vision blurred. Her head pounded. Her arms shook. Breathing became harder.

And then, everything started to turn black.

Sara collapsed onto her side, the cold stone floor pressing against her face.

A sharp kick to her ribs snapped her back to consciousness. She cried out and curled into a ball.

“Get up!” someone shouted.

She gasped, clutching her ribs.

“I—”

A heavy boot pressed into her shoulder, pinning her down.

“You’re not done here,” the warrior sneered.

“Guess she’s already reached her limit,” someone muttered.

“Pathetic,” another spat.

She tried to rise, but her limbs wouldn’t cooperate. Her body was past its limit.

“Should we let her rest?” a mocking voice asked.

The boot lifted, and she sighed in relief—

But then another kick hit her side, harder this time. The pain stole her breath, and her vision blurred again.

She wanted to fight. To scream. To beg. But she couldn’t even speak.

Then the room went quiet.

“Enough.”

The voice was sharp—cold and commanding.

Kyle.

He stood in the doorway, his face unreadable, but his eyes showed annoyance. He looked around, then let his gaze fall on her.

“You really are pathetic,” he said with disgust.

Then, without waiting for a response, he turned and walked away.

He didn’t care. Not even enough to give her a second glance.

Sara lay there, still and silent, listening to the sound of his footsteps fading. No one else said anything. One by one, they walked off, bored with her suffering.

******

She wasn’t sure how she made it back to her so-called sleeping quarters. One of the servants must have dragged her there, or maybe she had crawled herself. Her memories were a blur of pain and darkness.

The room was a small, forgotten space in a storage shed. The air was damp and smelled terrible. The floor was cold stone, and the only thing close to a bed was a pile of dirty rags someone had tossed into a corner.

But at least it was quiet.

And it wasn’t a dungeon.

She dropped to the floor and curled up, every part of her body aching. Her muscles twitched, her bones hurt, and her skin felt like it was on fire.

She should’ve let them kill her in Soomdale. At least that would’ve been fast.

Now she was stuck here—beaten, trapped, humiliated. There was no way out.

Her eyes started to close.

Then suddenly, a loud, monstrous roar shattered the silence.

The walls trembled.

Sara shot upright, her heart racing.

What was that?

She heard doors slamming, locks clicking shut, and whispers from nearby servants.

“The beast is awake,” someone said.

Sara’s blood ran cold.

The beast?

What did they mean?

She didn’t know.

But if the Nightbane Pack was already a nightmare… then this beast had to be the worst part of it.