Legacy: One made out of blood.

Scarlett’s POV

Beta David dragged me across the rough, cold floor by my hair, each pull igniting a fire of pain across my scalp. The agony was unbearable, each tug making it feel like my skin might tear away.

My eyes filled with tears, and no matter how hard I tried to blink them back, they spilled over, hot and unstoppable, streaming down my cheeks.

Every inch of my bare skin felt raw, scraping against the gritty, jagged stones below, each scrape opening fresh cuts that stung and burned.

I couldn’t even grieve my father’s death. I wasn’t given a moment to mourn, to reflect, or to breathe before they decided I was next to be discarded.

My father—Alpha Nikolay Vladislav—had been taken down by silver poisoning after a brutal battle. He was the Alpha of the South, feared by many but loved by none.

He was ruthless, a man with an iron heart and fists to match. His power was overwhelming, and he ruled with cruelty that was legendary.

He took anything he wanted without hesitation or mercy, leaving people broken in his wake. Greedy and never satisfied, he always wanted more. And I, his only child, was no exception to his cruelty.

To him, I was a disappointment from the moment I was born. He had wanted a son, and I—weak, late-blooming, and female—was a disgrace in his eyes.

Valkin Alphas were supposed to get their wolves at sixteen, yet here I was, eighteen and still wolf-less, marked as nothing more than an ordinary werewolf. He blamed my mother for this, and he never hesitated to let that hatred show.

He scorned her because she wasn’t his fated mate.

Valkin Alpha werewolves, like my father, only truly manifested their magic when they bonded with their fated mate, yet he had chosen my mother.

With no magic to amplify his power, he channelled all that bitterness and resentment onto her. I bore the brunt of it as well, his daughter, his unwanted child, a symbol of his regrets.

Valkin Alphas were different from other Alpha werewolves. They held immense power, unmatched strength, and a magic that made them superior.

They could dominate other Alphas, command respect with a look, but only if they were united with their fated mate.

My father never possessed this magic because he’d chosen my mother—a choice that twisted his resentment and anger until it consumed him. And that hatred only grew darker when he discovered the truth: my mother had killed his true mate to keep him.

With parents like mine, I knew everyone looked at me and saw the worst. People whispered that I would turn out just like them. They assumed I carried that darkness within me. But deep down, I hoped with every fibre of my being that they were wrong, that I could be different.

My mother died of a broken heart, exiled from his sight, as if she alone held the power to give him a son. He cast her out, blaming her for things beyond anyone’s control, and when she finally passed, her spirit broken, my father’s anger and disappointment turned to me.

He never raised a hand to me, but he didn’t need to for his scorn to sting. He denied me love, denied me recognition, as if I were no more than a ghost in his house. He was the Alpha of the South, and yet he couldn’t bear to treat his only child, his daughter, with the respect I should have had. I was nothing to him. And everyone else knew it.

So as Beta David dragged me across the floor, half-naked, barefoot, with silver shackles cutting into my wrists, my confusion burned as much as my humiliation. What had I done to deserve this? Why was he so eager to throw me to the wolves, to strip me of what little dignity I had left? His hand yanked me harshly, and I cried out, my voice desperate, but lacking any power without my wolf.

“Let me go! Let me go!” My words echoed, hollow and helpless. But David only sneered, his laughter a cruel reminder of my vulnerability, of the fact that, without my wolf, I was powerless against him. He dragged me toward a waiting van, where another stranger stood, tall and imposing, with a beard braided with thick, coarse strands.

His presence was icy, his dark, empty eyes taking me in with a kind of indifference that sent chills down my spine. I couldn’t stop the wave of fear that washed over me, but I swallowed it, determined not to let him see me cower.

“Is she the one?” the stranger asked, his voice as harsh as sandpaper. He didn’t look at me as he spoke, as though I were nothing more than an object to be handed off. David nodded quickly, too eagerly, as if ridding himself of me was a prize all its own.

The stranger reached out, pulling me up with one swift, effortless motion, his grip unyielding. He looked me over, studying me with a detached sort of curiosity. “No wolf?” he questioned, turning to David.

“She’s eighteen,” David said, his tone dismissive, reminding them both that I was past the age to gain my wolf, and yet here I was—wolf-less, magic-less, little more than an ordinary werewolf in their eyes.

“She’s a Vladislav?” the man pressed.

David nodded again, almost smirking. “The last of them.”

And at that, the stranger’s mouth curled into a chilling smile.