A MATE WORTH HATING

LYRA'S POV

Tears fill my eyes for what feels like the millionth time as I reach for the bond between father and me.

Nothing.

No warmth. No reassurance. No father.

I quickly press a hand over my mouth as a sob breaks free, the sound small and broken. I may have lost Father, but if the others heard me crying, then the last of Misthollow's courage would die with him.

I sag against the wall behind me but an indignant huff from Nicole in the next cell, had me releasing a relieved sigh. But that relief is quickly obliterated when I hear the sound of chains and bolts being undone in some cells.

“Let me g-" 

The familiar grumpy sound of elder Rowe's voice is cut off by the sharp sound of a slap. But that doesn't stop his protests before he's gagged and marched out.

I move closer to the door and try to see the faces of the wolves being rounded up in the dim light.

The cell beside me is thrown open and I immediately rush to the wall as I hear Nicole being dragged from the cell. She screams and curses as the bundle her up and march her away.

The entire dungeon falls quiet and I rock myself as I try and fail to not imagine them in dangerous scenarios. Why would our captors want high profile captives like Nicole and elder Rowe if not to demoralise the entire pack?

A sudden smell of jasmine fill my nose and a tear dribble down my cheeks and onto the dry floor of my cell.

That is how peaceful Misthollow once was. Peaceful enough that our dungeons were unused and smelled like an apothecary instead of a place where fear and death were dished out at random.

My head snaps up when the bolts to my cell are thrown open, and five warriors wearing different variations of Blackthorne's banner walk inside.

My eyes latch onto the familiar man with a scar running down the side of his face.

Viktor. Beta of Blackthorne pack and the second name on my kill list.

We glare at each other for a moment before he waves a hand towards me, and the four other warriors advance on me, one of them going to undo my chain.

I kick my legs out when the first warrior comes closer, taking him down before I quickly swipe at his throat with my claws and ignore the sickening sound he makes as blood sprays everywhere.

One of the warriors screams, but he's too close, and I manage to slice open his throat with my claws before he can get away.

I reach out for the third warrior, but my breath is stolen from my lungs as a large body rams into me, pressing me flat against the floor of my cell.

“You do that again and I slice open twenty of your people. Understood?" Viktor grates into my ear.

He doesn't wait for a reply before dislodging himself and nodding at the other warriors leaning over the corpses of their comrades. One of them gives me a hateful glare that I return.

This is what Father must have felt when he watched Ronan tear Criston, his Beta, apart.

I don't fight as they roughly put me in chains and march me out of the dungeon and into the partly charred rubble that used to be Misthollow.

The night air is thick with smoke and celebrations as we walk through the familiar grounds of my pack. I try not to look around, but with every blood splatter and every odd article of clothing I see scattered across the ground, my chest grows tighter.

My heart speeds up as more and more Blackthorne banners come into view. More of their warriors patrol Misthollow like they've already claimed it as theirs. A few warriors drinking in groups boo at me as we pass, their cruel laughter ringing inside my skull.

The training courtyard filled with Blackthorne wolves falls quiet when Viktor marches into the yard and deposits me on the stage set up in the middle of it.

I focus intensely on the muscles of Viktor's back as I feel hundreds of eyes crawl over my skin, watching me with either intrigue or disdain.

My eyes move to the faces of the wolves sitting at the head table. Anger pulses through my veins when I see the unmistakable face of Ronan Blackthorne.

Murderer.

Ronan looks bored, uninterested in everything happening around him, while his surroundings bend and cater to his every whim.

My attention is pulled away when the door to the side of the courtyard bursts open, and my jaw falls open as Nicole, Bellamy, and the surviving elders are marched into the courtyard and forced to kneel.

I try to keep the bloodthirsty rage I feel deep in chest, off my face when a tall, lanky man with sharp features clad in dark robes approaches me. He stands over me and looks me up and down as though I worth nothing.

“State your name."

I bite the inside of my cheek, resisting the urge to strike out and tear open his throat.

“Lyra Ashwood, Alpha of Misthollow and daughter of Ethan Ashwood," I say as loudly as I can.

“Alpha?" He cocks his head at me.

I glare at him but don't answer.

“Misthollow has been vanquished," Viktor thunders from the head table. "There is only Blackthorne now."

A rumble of laughter passes through the crowd at his jab.

“Don't be a fool," I thunder back. "Misthollow is a place, not a person. You are in Misthollow."

The crowd boos at me, growing angry with how unfazed I remain.

“Shut up, girl," the man on the stage hisses at me.

The angry crowd falls quiet when Ronan rises and begins climbing down the stairs. Wolves fall over themselves to move aside for him, and the air shifts into something unsettling as he draws closer.

He stops about fifty feet away from the stage before cocking his head at me for a few moments.

“Since you are the Alpha of this..." He lazily waves a hand at Nicole and the others. "I'd advise you to serve your people well. One last time."

“You have no sensible advice to give me, Blackthorne," I hiss.

“Submit to me," he continues as though I hadn't spoken. "Recognise me as your Alpha. It will not save your life, but it will save that of your pack."

In my peripheral, I see Nicole and Elder Rowe thrashing against the warriors restraining them, shaking their heads and screaming muffled cries behind their gags.

Anger boils in my blood as I watch him stand there lazily, as though he hadn't just told me I was going to die and hand over my people as willing slaves.

Father would never have submitted to him.

And for that, I'll not.

“My people would rather be thrown off cliffs than accept you as their Alpha, Blackthorne. So I'll serve them one last time by rejecting you and everything that you believe in."

He throws his head back and releases a laugh that sounds like a string of insults.

“Always with the beliefs. Your father died because of his foolishness, and now you want to share the same fate?"

He begins walking towards me, his eyes looking me up and down as though searching for something.

“Bow to me."

“I'll never bow to you."

“Then you'll die like your father." He smirks.

“It is not the insult you think it is." I throw back.

“His old, weak neck snapped by his enemies."

My eyes sting with the information, but anger overcomes my sadness.

“You will have to prove the other packs right about what they say about you, because not a single wolf of Misthollow will bow to you. Harbinger of Death."

He stops a few feet away from me.

“Then you will die just like your father. His neck snapped and broken..." A frown overtakes his features, and his nose twitches as his claws begin to protrude. "...by me."

I gasp as a painful wave of heat rolls through me. My nose fills with the scent of Mist and cedar as my mind tries to grasp what Ronan had just said.

“By you?" I ask in shock. 

“Mate," he growls.