Chapter Twenty four

Avery's POV

The collar irritated my skin. I could feel the prickly edges against my chin.

Lucian looked at me with the eyes of a man who had finally found a cage strong enough for his most troublesome bird.

“Go back to the kitchen,” he commanded, his voice vibrating through the metal against my throat.

“Scrub the blood from your skin if you must, but don't you dare try to take off the collar.”

I pushed myself up and managed a shaky step as I headed for the door when his voice stopped me.

“One last thing. Don't be late for the preparations tomorrow. It's the lunar festival, and the Silver-Ridge pack will be here.

The word made my heart pause for a second. Silver-Ridge. My former pack. The ones who cast us out. I turned to face him swiftly.

“Silver-Ridge?” I repeated, unable to hide the bitterness in my voice. “What do they want here?”

Lucian didn’t hesitate to answer me. “You'll find out tomorrow.

I bit down on my lips so hard that I tasted blood. The collar felt heavy on my neck as I tried to resist the urge to press further.

“If you step out of line tomorrow…” he continued, “I won't just tighten the collar. I'll make you watch while I finish what your father started.”

I didn’t answer. Just turned and fled the room.

The door slammed behind me with a deafening bang, taking the weight of my frustration with it. By the time I reached the maid quarters, my clothes were already coming off as I rushed into the bathroom, desperate to wash the blood from my skin. I kept scrubbing hard—again and again—until my skin burned.

It still didn’t feel clean.

The steam of the shower had barely cleared when a knock sounded on my door. “Come in,” I called out, my voice sounding thin and foreign to my own ears.

One of the maids opened the door slightly and peeked through. “Avery, there you are!” She hissed, stepping inside.

Her jaw fell open as her eyes dropped straight to my neck. Her hand flew to her own throat as if she could feel the weight of the iron.

“What…What did you do? Did you annoy the Alpha again?”

“Why are you here,” I cut in.

She scoffed. “Ma'am Marla wants you in the kitchen,”

“She isn't in the right state of mind. She's been pacing the kitchen, screaming your name. And if you don't get down in a minute, she’s going to have your head on a platter.”

She turned and walked out without another word.

A sudden realization hit me that I have actually been given a duty. I hurriedly got dressed and dashed out for the kitchen.

As I reached the corridor, the whispers began. It wasn't the usual mockery. It was worse.

“Look at her neck,” a girl hissed, pulling her skirts away as I walked past. “That collar is only worn by prisoners. I guess the Alpha put it on her to remind her of her place.”

“I heard her own father sold her,” another whispered

I kept my head down, and my fingers tightened around the hem of my dress as I moved towards the kitchen.

There was absolutely mayhem in the kitchen. Flour coated every surface, making the floor slick enough to skate on. The sauce was bubbling over onto the stove.

Marla was mid-shout. Her fingers pointed at the clock when she saw me. Her anger evaporated, turning instantly into a pale, hollow expression.

“Avery,” Marla whispered, her wooden spoon lowered slowly.

“I…I'm sorry ma'am Marla,” I stammered. Every time I moved my neck, the cold iron of the collar bit into my skin.

Marla didn't scold me for being late. She didn't even look me in the eye. She stepped aside, her movements jerky and fearful, and pointed toward the silver tray on the central island.

"Take it," she murmured, her voice stripped of its usual authority. "Take it and go, Avery

Quickly."

I felt their stares like needles against my skin as I lifted the heavy tray. I didn't look back. I carried the scent of fried meat and the cold weight of the iron back toward the stairs.

As I reached Lucian’s door. My hands were

shaking so hard the silver covers on the plates rattled. I pushed the door open. The body was gone. The floor was sparkling clean, as if the massacre had been a fever dream.

But Lucian was there, sitting in a high-backed chair by the window, his shirt off, his chest still streaked with faint, missed smears of red.

“You’re late.” Lucian’s voice cut through the room the moment I stepped in.

“I had to take a bath.” I moved closer, setting the tray down on the table.

“You can take it away. I'm not eating,” he said rough, not even glancing at me.

“Okay Alpha,” I murmured, trying to lift the tray again.

“Won't you get mad. Or ask me why I won't eat.?” His voice made me freeze mid-motion.

“Ask you why? I don't care if you eat or starve.”

Then, slowly, he stood. The chair scraped softly against the floor. He took one step. Then another.

“Is that so?” he said quietly.

He stopped right in front of me. Close enough that I could feel the heat of his body. His hand came up.

His fingers curled under my chin, tilting my face upward. “Then you won’t mind staying,” he murmured.

Before I could react, his other hand reached past me, lifting the tray from where I had set it down. He placed it back on the table.

“I thought you weren’t eating,” I said, my voice tight.

A pause. Then, “I changed my mind. Pass me the fork.”

My head snapped up. “Why? It's right beside you.”

His eyes lifted to mine. Sharp. “Or maybe you'd prefer to feed me.”

I hesitated for some time before moving. I stepped closer and placed the fork into his hands, the fines creating sharp little indentations in his skin.

He didn't flinch. His hands remained rigid as I finally let go.

I didn’t wait. I turned and walked out.