Craving The Cruel Alpha

Talia's POV

“Get up, omega. You’re not done yet!” Dylan barked, yanking my hair so hard I almost fell. He dragged me to my feet and half-pulled me across the cold floor toward the pile of Lydia’s clothes.

“Please, you’re hurting me,” I begged, voice cracking. “I just wanted to eat... I was going to come back and wash them, I swear.”

He sneered, tightening his grip. “Eat? You think you deserve to eat before you’ve done what you’re told? Wash Lydia’s clothes first. Lydia always comes first!”

I winced, my scalp burning. “I’m not your slave... I’m your mate.”

Lydia’s laugh rang out. “Mate? Don’t make me laugh. You're nothing but a slave to us. An ugly joke the pack’s laughing at.”

Dylan smirked, pulling Lydia closer. “She’s a free slave, though, isn’t she? No strings. I can do whatever I want. Watch her crawl, watch her suffer. Hell, I love making her eat like a stray dog.”

I choked back a sob.

Lydia’s eyes glittered cruelly. “Look at her, begging like a whipped pup. It’s almost entertaining.”

“Almost?” Dylan whispered in her ear, his hand sliding down to cup her hip. “I love it. The way she breaks, how she worships me even as I crush her.”

I slammed my fists against the ground, scrubbing harder just to keep from screaming.

“Get rid of her, babe,” Lydia purred, tracing a finger along Dylan’s jaw. “She’s holding you back. You could have a real Luna. Not this weak, pathetic thing.”

Dylan chuckled, his arm still wrapped around Lydia’s waist as they strolled away, their laughter echoing down the hallway.

I stayed where I was, kneeling on the cold floor, my nails digging into the wet fabric beneath me. He couldn’t get rid of me. No alpha could. Every alpha needed their mate by their side to stay strong, especially a young one like Dylan. Without me, he’d be nearly powerless.

But what did that even matter? He treated me like nothing.

As soon as they were out of sight, the dam broke. I sank to the floor, pressing my palms to my eyes as sobs wracked my body. Three years. Three years of this. Of being dragged, slapped, spit on. Of hoping Dylan would wake up one day and see me. Really see me. That he’d remember I was his mate and not his slave.

But that day would never come. Not with Lydia’s claws so deeply sunk into him.

Before she showed up, things were bad, but never this bad. Now, I was more than just Dylan’s plaything. I was the pack’s joke, the omega everyone loved to humiliate. And Lydia... she was worse than all of them combined. I could see it in her eyes. She was ready to do whatever it took to get rid of me.

And I had to get out before she did.

I finished washing the clothes, my hands aching, fingers numb from the cold water. Once the last piece was hung to dry, I slipped into the kitchen. No one was there.

Good.

I moved quickly, grabbing the leftover pies, stuffing them beneath my shirt, into my sleeves, anywhere they could fit. If I didn’t, I’d starve for the rest of the day. And maybe tomorrow, too.

Once I’d taken as much as I could, I crept down the corridor, heart pounding, eyes darting around for any sign of Lydia or the other slaves. I was almost at the door to the slave quarters when a shadow blocked my path.

Madame Gloria.

Her beady eyes swept over me, a slow, predatory smile curving her lips. She folded her thick arms across her chest and leaned in close, her breath hot and sour against my cheek.

“What do you have there, little thief?”

I tried to step back, but she was already on me, her hand gripping my chin, nails digging into my skin.

“Strip,” she said, her eyes glittering with wicked glee. “Now.”

I was shaking.

Fuck. I was doomed. She was going to whip me, beat me bloody. And tomorrow, I’d be the pack’s latest joke... the alpha’s mate turned slave, caught with stolen pies stuffed down her clothes like a fool.

Madame Gloria’s hand swung before I even saw it coming. Something hard and cold smashed against my cheek, sending me reeling backward. Stars burst behind my eyes. My head snapped to the side, and the taste of blood filled my mouth.

“Strip!” she roared. Her voice echoed through the corridor, bouncing off the walls.

I swallowed the bile rising in my throat and forced my trembling hands to my waist. My fingers fumbled with the waistband of my skirt. Eyes were on me now, slaves peeking from the corners, guards snickering behind their hands.

Madame Gloria reached beneath her coat, pulling out her whip.

The first pie slipped from between my thighs and hit the floor with a sickening splat.

A snicker echoed from the guards. A murmur of disgust from the slaves.

“Look at the little thief,” someone said.

I bit my lip, my hands moving to my shirt. My fingers shook as I lifted the hem, peeling the fabric over my head. Pies tumbled from my chest and arms, rolling across the ground.

I closed my eyes, bracing myself for the first strike.

But the strike never came.

Madame Gloria didn’t move. She just stood there, eyes fixed on my stomach, face drained of all color.

I frowned, following her gaze. My stomach. A faint line ran down the middle, barely visible beneath the bruises, but still there.

“When was the last time you had your period?” Madame Gloria’s voice was flat

When was the last time I had my period? Two months ago? Or was it three?

I hadn’t thought much of it. My cycles had always been all over the place. But now... that line, faint but unmistakable, staring back at me. The only way to get that line was to be pregnant. With an alpha’s child.

Dylan’s child.

Holy shit.

“Put your clothes back on,” Madame Gloria snapped. I fumbled with my skirt, my fingers clumsy and cold as I dragged it up my hips and shoved my shirt over my head. My mind was reeling. Pregnant. With Dylan’s baby.

Before I could even catch my breath, Madame Gloria grabbed my wrist, her nails biting into my skin as she yanked me down the hall. My feet stumbled to keep up.

The palace’s main quarters loomed ahead, the grand staircase curling up. Madame Gloria dragged me up the steps, not even pausing as she shoved open the heavy oak doors to Dylan’s office.

Inside, Dylan lounged in his chair, Lydia perched on his lap like a queen on her throne. Her arms were draped around his neck, her fingers playing with his hair. They both looked up at us, twin expressions of annoyance and confusion.

“What’s this?” Dylan asked, brow furrowing.

Madame Gloria didn’t waste a second. “She’s pregnant, Alpha.”

Lydia was on her feet so fast, she nearly toppled the chair. Her eyes blazed, wild and furious, as she whirled on Dylan. “You said you weren’t fucking her!” she screeched

Dylan’s face had gone ashen, his jaw working like he was trying to find the right words. “I didn’t want you to be mad. I swear, it was just a few times.”

Lies.

Three times a week, every week, whenever Lydia was away visiting her parents. Three times a week where he’d sneak into my room, press his hand over my mouth, and take what he wanted.

Lydia’s gaze snapped to me, her eyes sweeping over my disheveled clothes, the bruises peeking out from beneath my collar, the tears still wet on my cheeks. Her lip curled in disgust.

“You slept with this filthy little slave?” she spat, pointing at me like I was something she just scraped off her shoe.

Dylan’s throat bobbed as he swallowed, his hands twitching on the armrests. “Lydia...”

“No,” Lydia cut him off, her voice shaking. “You told me you hated her, and that she disgusted you. Whole time you were fucking her without a condom!”

I didn’t know what I was expecting. Maybe Dylan would tell Lydia not to speak to me like that. Maybe he’d drop to his knees, take my hands, and beg me to forgive him. Maybe he’d say he was ready to change, to finally treat me the way a mate was supposed to.

But none of those things happened.

Dylan pushed himself up from the chair, his expression hardening. His eyes met mine for a brief second.

Lydia crossed her arms over her chest, her lip curled in disgust. “So, what are you going to do about it?”

Dylan’s gaze flicked to my stomach, then back to my face. His nostrils flared, and his voice came out cold. Detached. Like he was talking about taking out the trash.

“I’ll call the pack doctor tomorrow,” he began calmly, like he was talking about the weather. “You’ll abort the baby.”