Chapter Two: Hunter and his Pack

The morning after her arrival was colder than the night before not in temperature, but in treatment. The thin cot they'd tossed her onto in the servants’ quarters offered no warmth, only a sliver of moldy hay and a damp wool blanket that barely reached her knees. She hadn’t slept. 

Every time she closed her eyes, she saw the look in Hunter’s golden gaze, that soulless void that had stripped her bare in front of a pack of strangers. 

By dawn, the sharp sound of boots on stone signaled her summons. A female servant, mute and hollow-eyed jerked her upright and dressed her without a word, shoving Zara’s arms into a rough brown dress with seams that scratched her skin. Her hair was barely combed. Her face was left unwashed. They wanted her seen like this, they wanted her exposed.

They led her through winding halls of gray stone and bitter silence until the corridor widened into a vast, open arena packed with wolves, some in human form, some only half-shifted, their eyes gleaming and claws already out. They stood in formation like soldiers awaiting command, and standing at the center of them all, high on a raised platform draped in black and red banners, was Hunter. 

He wore no crown or robe, yet his presence was heavier than armor. The entire pack bowed their heads as he lifted a single hand. Zara remained standing, frozen out of defiance, and a sheer displacement. She didn’t belong to this place, these people, this hierarchy where bloodline outweighed justice and cruelty earned respect. She was a victim in a game whose rules she hadn’t been taught.

When he finally turned toward her, the crowd fell into a silence so complete it hurt.

 “This is Zara,” he said, his voice echoing off stone, low and indifferent.

 “The daughter of the man who poisoned our rivers, who sent hunters into our lands, who slaughtered our scouts like they were nothing. A man too weak to die fighting, and too cowardly to face judgment. Instead, he sent her.” The murmur that followed was sharp and full of disdain. Hunter let it build before cutting through it again with his calm and cold voice.

 “She is not your guest, nor is she your Luna. She is a gift. And what we do with gifts… is up to us.” His words were not laced with threat. They didn’t need to be. 

Every wolf in that yard understood the hierarchy he had just created. She wasn’t packed, she was just a property and not one of them.

The first to step forward was a woman with blood-red lips and a smirk that didn’t quite reach her eyes. She walked like someone who had never been told no. Her hair, the color of midnight, was pulled into a high knot, and her figure was wrapped in black leather that hugged her like a second skin. 

“Daphne,” she said simply, extending a hand not to greet Zara but to showcase her nails, long and sharpened like claws. She looked Zara up and down, pausing at the girl’s wrists, which still bore faint bruises from chains. 

“So this is the peace offering, she looks soft. We’ll see how long that lasts.” Behind her, another woman chuckled, she's taller, and crueler in the eyes. That was Tori. She's pale blonde with a jaw that could cut glass and a voice that drips venom even when she whispers. 

“Bet she doesn’t even know how to kneel properly,” Tori said, tilting her head in mock pity. “It doesn’t matter. She’ll learn or she’ll bleed.”

Zara said nothing, she didn’t drop her gaze either. But she felt the sting of their laughter like thorns beneath her skin. Her hands were cold. Her stomach churned with acid and something dangerously close to fury. But still, she stayed silent. Because she knew this wasn’t the place for rebellion.

The gathering lasted only a few more moments. Hunter dismissed them with a nod, and the pack dispersed like a tide drawing back into the sea, some casting curious glances, others simply ignoring her like one might ignore a statue placed in the wrong hall. 

Daphne and Tori lingered only long enough to brush past her, Daphne’s shoulder colliding with Zara’s hard enough to send her stumbling. 

“Careful,” Daphne murmured, her lips brushing Zara’s ear. 

“Prey doesn’t get second chances here.” Then they were gone, their heels clicking on the floor as their laughter trailing like perfume.

She was escorted back to the servants’ quarters, given a bowl of cold porridge, and left in a tiny, unlit room with stone walls and no windows. Hours passed. The sun bled into dusk, and dusk bled into nothing. The silence was almost comforting until the footsteps returned.

This time, they didn’t knock. The door burst open and two guards stepped in, one holding a lantern, the other holding chains. Zara didn’t resist. She didn’t ask why either. She just stood, trembling slightly, as they latched the iron around her wrists again and led her down a different hallway, this one steeper, damper, and choked with the scent of mildew and ash. 

The light grew dimmer. The sounds of the upper halls vanished. Below the heart of the fortress, they opened a heavy iron door and pushed her inside.

The chamber was a box of stone, there were no windows, fire, or bed, just walls and a single rusted bucket in the corner. The door slammed shut behind her, the clang echoing through her bones. She stood there for a moment, frozen, trying to comprehend the change. This wasn’t the servant’s quarter that they took her to last night, and frankly thinking to herself, she preferred the servant's quarter.

She crossed the floor and knelt, lowering herself slowly onto the cold stone. Her muscles ached from tension. Her bare feet burned from the long, unkind walk. She curled into herself, drawing her knees up to her chest, resting her cheek on her forearm, and closed her eyes to sleep, to escape the harsh reality. Just for a heartbeat.

Then, from beyond the wall, she heard a low, distant sound of howling. It sounded like hungry wolves and it's not just one, there are many. Their voices rose into the night air in a savage chorus that echoed through the halls. Zara clutched her arms tighter around herself. Every instinct screamed to run, but there was nowhere to run to.

And then… footsteps again, but it was as if it was coming towards her. Then the steps stopped just outside her door. Then a low, male voice, cruel in its amusement slipped through the slit in the door like smoke.

“He’s going to break you.” And immediately the footsteps retreated and the howling rose again.

And Zara, she curled on a floor of stone with nothing but her breath and a growing scream in her throat, realized that whatever games had begun in her father's house… they had ended here. This was no longer a negotiation, this was a hunt. But she pushed everything aside and slept off.