BETRAYED BY THE MOON

Amara’s POV

I was already on my knees cleaning the blood-stained stone floor of the Lycan Pack's great hall before the sun had even risen. The strong soap left my fingertips sore and hurt. As though the pack wanted to constantly remind me of my position, the wolves' strong, overpowering scent permeated the air around me.

"Slave, hurry up!" yelled Greta, a member of the pack's elite. She spoke in a deep, icy tone. "Are you going to be on this floor all day?"

Knowing that answering would gain me more than just words, I chose not to do so. What happened when I dared to resist them was evidenced by the scars on my arms and back.

I looked at the floor instead. Dirty, hollow-eyed, and sporting knotted black hair, my reflection in the pool of soapy water looked back at me. The girl in that reflection was someone I detested. Weak. Sad.

"Do you see that, Greta?" As they went by, one of the other women of the elite said. I could hear them, but their voices grew quieter. "On her wrist." That mark.

I went cold. My left wrist's crescent-shaped scar was the topic of their conversation. I never gave it any thought, even though it had been there for as long as I could remember.

A second person said back, "It means something." "However, what could it"

"Nothing'!" Greta interrupted them with a snap. She scowled down at me as though my very existence was a criminal. In any case, she is a dirty slave. Amara, get back to work!

"Yes, Greta," I said quietly, looking down. I tightened my wrist, concealing the imprint under my dress's frayed sleeve. I didn't have time to think about it, whatever it meant. My only concern was surviving.

Later that night, pack members crowded into the main hall. The Moonlight Ceremony, a celebration of the Lycans' power and unity, took place tonight. I had to serve even though I was not permitted to take part because I was a slave.

I swerved through the crowd, dodging sneers and stinging elbows, while holding a tray of beverages. Excitement filled the air, and I felt unnoticeable.

Then I looked up, which was a mistake.

I saw him at that point. Darius.

Like a king among wolves, he towered above everyone in the middle of the hall. He was hard to miss with his wide shoulders and sharp golden eyes. The Alpha. Strong and invincible. I instantly averted my gaze to blend in with the background as my heart thumped in my chest.

However, my tray slipped as I turned. Wine spilled at his feet as a cup fell to the ground.

The audience became quiet.

I went cold. With all eyes on me, the atmosphere felt oppressive.

"You there," he said in a deep, powerful voice. "Come on over."

As I stepped out into the open, my legs shook. I avoided looking into his eyes and kept my head down.

"I apologize, Alpha," I said. "It happened by accident."

"Observe me," he commanded.

I had no desire to. I was unable to. However, the draw was too great. I experienced it—a sudden surge of warmth, an odd tingle that traveled throughout my body—when my eyes finally locked with his.

My friend.

I kept hearing the word. It was so heavy that my knees almost gave out. This cannot be taking place. Not to me.

His face grew stern. "No."

I felt sick to my stomach.

"This is a mistake," Darius stated in a chilly, disinterested tone. "I could never have you as a mate—you are a weak, pitiful slave."

Murmurs broke out among the gathering.

Someone started to say, "Alpha," but he silenced them with a raised hand.

He declared, "I, Darius of the Lycan Pack, deny you as my mate." His words sliced right through me like knives.

My eyes ached with tears, but I fought the need to cry. Not in this place. Not in public. Their whispers and laughing chased me out of the hall as I turned and fled.

I sat with my knees pressed to my chest in the shadowy corner of the servant's quarters. My soul, not just my emotions, ached from the rejection.

"What made the Moon Goddess so ruthless?" I said to myself in a whisper. She paired me with someone who detested me, but why? Someone who thought I was just a dirty slave?

The moonlight coming through the small window seemed to give a subtle glow to the crescent mark on my wrist. Wishing I could remove it, I rubbed it.

I hastily cleaned my face as I heard footsteps echoing down the hallway. With a creak, the door opened, and two elderly people entered, their features obscured by darkness.

One of them questioned, "Is she the one?"

"Yes," said the other. "It is confirmed by the crescent mark."

"What are you looking for?" My voice trembled as I asked.

With icy eyes, the first elder took a step forward. Slave, you don't belong in this pack. You'll be sent away tomorrow. Alpha Viktor has already purchased you at a high cost.

My blood froze. Alpha Viktor had a reputation for being cruel, particularly to women. I wouldn't make it if they sent me to him.

I shook my head, saying, "No." "This is not possible!"

The older hissed, "You're not in a position to argue." "Thank goodness we didn't kill you."

My thoughts were racing as I paced the tiny space. I was unable to allow them to send me to Viktor. I needed to get out.

However, there was strict security at the servant's quarters. There was no way out.

As the hours went by, I could hear footsteps coming. Two pack warriors barged in as the door crashed open.

One of them grabbed my arm and said, "Time to go."

"No!" I struggled against their hold and yelled. "Give me a break!"

Despite my cries, they pulled me into the packhouse's dim hallways.

We went outside, and the chilly night air assaulted my face. The wheels of a carriage creaked menacingly in the quiet as it waited close to the gates.

I was filled with panic. Desperate to escape, I thrashed more violently. "Darius!" Even though I knew he wouldn't arrive, I still yelled his name.

With a smash of the door, the warriors pushed me into the carriage. With tears running down my cheeks, I put my hands against the little window as the wheels started to revolve.

I had no idea what was waiting for me when I left the only house I had ever known.