Trip to hell

HAZEL**

“Sold,” my father declared coldly, stripping the moment of all warmth. “She is now yours.”

The word struck me like a punch to the gut, leaving me breathless. My father had just bartered me away to Lucian D'Arden, the formidable Alpha of the Silver Crescent Pack.

Would I ever be enough to satisfy him?

From my earliest memories, I had been a source of disappointment to my father, the daughter he never wanted to have.

 My mother, who had perished in childbirth, cast a long shadow over my existence, and I had always felt the weight of her loss and my father’s resentment.

To make matters worse, I was supposed to wolf out at 18—but here I was at 26, still not transformed.

Now, with that indifferent exchange, he had traded me for potential power, hoping to ascend the social ladder of the werewolf hierarchy from a lowly fifth position to a respectable third.

As I stuffed my meager belongings—a few tattered clothes and a frayed photograph—into an old suitcase, a wave of anxiety churned in my stomach, leaving me feeling exposed and vulnerable.

Would Lucian be a monster hiding behind charm and authority?

The luxury car that awaited me was a sleek black SUV, its polished exterior betraying nothing of the chaos brewing inside me.

My heart ached as I stole one last look at my childhood home, with its peeling paint and overgrown garden. It had been a sanctuary for me, now reduced to a memory I would carry into the unknown.

“Fasten your seatbelt,” the driver instructed, a young man with an unreadable expression. I barely processed his words, lost in pity for myself.

As the city rushed by in a dizzying blur of neon lights and bustling streets, fear coiled tighter in my stomach, a heavy weight that threatened to consume me.

“What’s your Alpha like?” I finally summoned the courage to ask the driver, my voice shaky with uncertainty.

“You’ll find out shortly,” he replied, his tone flat, deepening the pit of fear settling in my chest.

When we arrived, the mansion loomed before me, a luxurious structure that radiated wealth and power.

 Its grand frontage was adorned with hard-to-understand stonework and vast windows that seemed to watch me as I approached.

I followed the driver or perhaps his beta through the high wooden doors, feeling like a ghost as I crossed the threshold into a world so far removed from my own.

“Wait here,” he instructed, leaving me for a moment alone in an expansive living room that dazzled and intimidated me. 

The high ceilings were adorned with elaborate chandeliers that cast a warm glow over the well-arranged furniture, but the beauty felt suffocating, like a trap holding me captive.

As I sank into the couch that enveloped me in its softness, anxiety bit at my insides—an unsettling reminder of my impending future.

 Outside, dark storm clouds mirrored my internal fear. My very existence felt reduced to that of an object, a mere property to someone I knew nothing about.

Just then, the inviting scent of freshly baked bread floated through the air, briefly distracting me from my panic. My stomach growled in response, urging me to seek out the kitchen.

I followed the aroma, drawn by the warmth and promise of sustenance, and found an enticing loaf resting on a polished countertop, its crust golden and crackling. I knew what I was about to do was irrational, but I couldn’t help myself.

I took a bite; the soft, warm bread melted on my tongue. However, my moment of calm was shattered by a small sniff nearby. 

I turned to see a little girl sitting a short distance away, trembling with fear, her finger bleeding profusely.

“Oh dear… you’re hurt,” I exclaimed, rushing to her side.

My concern for her welfare collided with the storm of uncertainty within me, tugging me between the impulse to comfort her and the coiling fear of my own fate.

I tore a piece of cloth from the hem of my shirt to at least stop the bleeding. The knife she had just used lay beside her.

“Where are your parents?” I asked gently.

She remained silent, still sniffling—I could tell she was scared.

“Nora!” a voice called from behind me, filled with terror and authority.

Before I could turn to see him, he moved swiftly to where I was, shoving my hand away from the little girl’s fragile hand. He was 6 feet tall, his body perfectly built, his chiseled jaw neatly set, his golden eyes radiating, his raven-black hair neatly trimmed. For a moment I was lost in a world of handsomeness; his lips were perfect for a lady to feel their taste.

“It’s okay, honey… I'm here,” he said calmly, the authority in his voice juxtaposed with his soothing tone.

Is she his daughter? He even got a Luna. Then what the hell am I doing here?

“You did this,” his golden eyes pierced through and met mine; jolting me back—he gently ran his hand through Nora's hair to calm her down.

“No, I didn't,” I protested.

“Then how come you’re in here, with your hands soaked in blood?” His voice dropped to a deep rumble, and if eyes were daggers, I felt I would’ve been stabbed countless times.

“I swear, I didn’t do that! I was just—”

“Stealing.” He stood sharply, cutting me off, his hand still firmly held to Nora's. “That’s what you’re doing. On your first day, you’re already showing off.”

His tone sent chills down my spine. My hands grew sweaty, and my legs felt unsteady.

He tilted as he carried Nora out of the kitchen.