Chapter 3

~~Imogene's POV~~

It had been three days. Three endless, nightmare days since they dragged me and locked me in this cold cell.

I could still hear the echo of their accusations on the stone walls of my prison cell, the hateful words replaying over and over in my head. Even down here, I could hear their voices; murmurs and insults that dripped with venom.

Three days.

Three days of suffocating air and silence so loud it almost made me mad.

They had me locked away like a mad dog, chained and alone, and even though I had no wolf to howl for me, I almost wished I did. Maybe then I could scream. Maybe then someone would listen. But no one cared.

The cell smelled of old blood. Rats scurried around the corners, bold enough to steal crumbs from the last traitor who probably died here. I wondered if he’d died alone like I would. I wondered how he might have died. Probably peacefully. 

But I wouldn’t even have that.

Damian and Vivian had made sure of it.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw that day replay itself; Vivian’s smile, Damian’s cold, triumphant eyes, and my father’s convulsing body. I heard their rehearsed screams as they lied to the pack. How everyone was quick to surround me, how quickly they bought the lie that I had poisoned my own father.

They said I’d used wolfsbane mixed with a deadly drug and I injected him right through his veins. They said I wanted to continue being Alpha so badly that I killed my own father for it.

Those words cut deeper than any blade.

I never wanted to be Alpha. Never. The title, the weight of it, every day it crushed me. I tried so hard to do what was right, to serve, to protect, but it was never enough. I was never enough.

In their eyes, I was the cursed wolfless child, the broken daughter who somehow still clawed her way to the She-Alpha seat. They tolerated me only because they had to. And the second they had a reason to hate me openly, they seized it.

The whole pack turned against me without a second thought.

And now, here I was, kneeling in dirt that smelled of dried blood, three days without food until today. The guard came marching up, a sneer on his lips.

“Here you go, maggot,” he spat, throwing a tray into my cell. There was a muddy watery substance and stale bread, already filled with mold.

I crawled toward it with hands that shook. My stomach rumbled with hunger.

The guard watched me like I was a worm. “How the mighty have fallen,” he hissed through his yellow teeth. “Cursed wench. Even speaking with you makes me scared that I might catch your cursed luck.”

He leaned closer, and the stench of onions on his breath almost made me vomit. “Today’s your trial, little She-Alpha,” he sneered, saying the title with a sarcastic hiss. “I hope the goddess grants us the chance to see your head roll.”

Then he spat at me. Right on my cheek.

His boot sounded as he walked away, leaving me alone with the stale bread and muddy water.

I wiped the spit off and forced myself not to cry. There was no point in crying. Nobody cared.

My shaky hands lifted the bread. It was hard as stone, but I forced myself to chew. Three days with no food, I couldn’t afford to waste it. I even drank from the muddy water.

I will survive today.

Why? I didn’t even know. Maybe just instinct that was deeper than reason. Maybe just to see it through. Maybe because of the child I was carrying.

Hours passed before they finally came to take me. It was the same guard from earlier, grinning like a child with a new toy. He unlocked the cell and pulled me to my feet using the chains, my wrists scraping painfully against the iron cuffs.

“Time to meet your people, She-Alpha,” he mocked, shoving me forward.

I stumbled through the tunnels, the cold stone hitting my bare feet. Each step felt heavier than the last. We climbed the stairs, and the sunlight hit me like a slap.

I flinched.

The yard was filled with people. Practically the entire pack. Faces I had known since childhood were all twisted with hate. They had loved my father and respected him, and I had betrayed him. That was the story they believed.

The boos started instantly.

“Murderer!”

“Traitor!”

“Witch!”

Tomatoes, eggs, and even stones came flying at me. One struck my cheek, splitting the skin. Warm blood trickled down my face.

I kept walking. 

They wanted to see me break. To see me scream.

But really, what more was left to break?

****

Chains dragged me down, binding my wrists and ankles, so heavily that I could barely stand upright. I didn’t even fight when they dragged me to the front, right before the council table.

I lifted up my eyes.

Damian sat in my father’s seat, wearing the Alpha crest like it had been his birthright all along. By his side stood Vivian, beautiful and radiant and victorious. Their eyes met mine, and I saw no remorse. No shame.

Vivian had her hand on Damian’s shoulder, a proud queen in her stolen castle.

I wanted to scream. I wanted to tear their faces off.

But I couldn’t.

I didn’t even have the strength to stand straight. I could barely look up.

Damian stood, and the crowd fell silent.

He raised his voice, calm and measured, like the perfect leader. “Let us first hold a minute of silence for Alpha Ronin,” he said, putting his hand over his chest. “He ruled with wisdom and might, only to be killed by his own child.”

My stomach churned.

He spoke so relaxed, so smoothly, like he and Vivian weren't the real villains in this story. 

The crowd bowed their heads, even as some kept glaring at me.

When the silence ended, Damian smiled sadly, like an actor on set in his final scene.

“Thank you,” he continued, his voice remaining perfect. “Today, we decide the punishment for treason against the Alpha. The punishment for betraying one’s pack. We will hear from the people.”

A roar went up instantly.

“DEATH!”

“DEATH!”

“She killed her own father, death!”

“She killed her mother and now her father!”

They had turned me into a monster in their minds.

I wanted to shout the truth.

But my voice wouldn’t come.

Damian raised a hand, silencing them with practiced ease.

He looked right at me, his lips curling into something dark and wicked.

“As the new Alpha of Moonclaw,” he announced, “I must place my people’s wishes above my own. You have spoken, and I have listened.”

He paused, letting the moment hang in the air for a minute.

“Imogene Howling,” he said, savoring every syllable, “for your crimes of treason against Alpha Ronin, you are sentenced to death by the sword. You will die today by the chief warrior’s hand so that your stain on this pack may finally be washed away.”

The crowd cheered.

The sound was so loud it made even my bones shake.

I couldn’t move. Couldn’t think.

My knees buckled, and the chains clattered as I collapsed, sobbing. My forehead touched the ground, my tears mixing with the earth.

I was going to die.

There would be no redemption, no explanation. No one cared. They didn't even give me a chance to argue my case before deciding.

I heard Vivian laugh softly and saw her grin. The people who I called family screamed for my blood like wild animals.

I was alone.

So alone.

My mind drifted, for just a moment, to the tiny life growing inside me. I wanted to protect it, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t even protect myself.

I closed my eyes, letting the darkness swallow me.

Maybe dying would be easier.

Maybe only then would it all end.

A hush fell over the courtyard.

My eyes blinked open.

The chief warrior came, the sword gleaming in the sunlight. I could see my terrified reflection on the sword.

This was it.

The blade lifted high, about to strike.

I squeezed my eyes shut, bracing for pain, for the final slice of metal that would end everything.

But instead…

A CLANG.

Metal against metal.

My eyes flew open.

Standing in front of me, blocking the chief’s warrior’s sword with a blade of his own, was a man dressed in a dark, heavy cape that blew like shadows that had come to life. His aura was raw power, crackling through the air.

A tattoo inked pattern spiraled around his exposed arm.

My heart nearly stopped when I recognized who stood in front of me.

Fenrir!

The rumored mad and ruthless king. Alpha of the rogues.

Whispers exploded from the crowd.

Fenrir raised his head, silver eyes flashing dangerously. “Drop your sword before I drop your head to the ground,” he growled, his voice so deep and commanding even the air itself stopped.