Chapter 3: The Assignment

Ivy's POV

The massive gray wolf hit the damp forest floor with a heavy, bone-rattling thud, its golden eyes wild and wild-scented fur bristling as it slid to a halt mere feet from my boots.

I stumbled backward into the pine needle mud, my pulse screaming against my throat, my hands instinctively flying up to protect my face.

The beast snorted, a thick puff of steam rising from its snout into the crisp morning air, before its form shifted, bones popping and muscles snapping back into a human shape.

Gideon, the border patrol captain, stood before me, pulling his leather tunic down over his chest. He didn't look at me with cruelty, his expression was far worse, it was weighed down by heavy, suffocating pity.

"Alpha's orders, Ivy," Gideon said softly, his voice gravelly. "I am to escort you to the lower sector. You aren't permitted near the high gates again."

"Lower sector?" I whispered, my voice cracking as I pulled my battered duffel bag against my ribs. "Father said I was banished."

"Alpha Sabastian modified the command," Gideon replied, turning his back to me and gesturing down a muddy, steep incline leading into the valley behind the high manor. "You aren't permitted to leave the pack lands completely until your Omega reassignment papers are signed tonight. You belong to the lower quarters now."

A hollow, bitter laugh escaped my throat. Of course. They couldn't even give me the mercy of total exile yet. They needed to keep me close enough to strip away every last drop of my status, ensuring I was thoroughly broken before tossing me to the wilderness.

"Lead the way," I said quietly, the heat in my chest burning down to cold, quiet embers.

Inside my mind, a faint, desperate whimpering vibrated against my consciousness. “Ivy... please... it hurts,” my wolf whimpered.

“I know, Vanya,” I thought back, feeling the trembling presence of my wolf. Vanya had been weak ever since last night, ever since Cassian had crushed our fated bond under his boot. “Hold on, Vanya. Just hold on.”

We walked in silence down into the dark, damp belly of the valley where the Omega quarters sat. The high manor's white marble columns faded behind the thick wall of pine trees, replaced by rotting wood structures, muddy pathways, and the smell of rusted metal and damp earth.

Gideon stopped in front of a long, dilapidated wooden barracks. The roof sagged under the weight of wet moss, and the windows were covered in thin, cracked glass.

"Room 4. Bottom bunk," Gideon said, refusing to meet my eyes. "Report to the head housekeeper at six in the morning for your work assignment. Don't cause trouble, Ivy."

He turned and walked away, his heavy boots crunching on the gravel path.

I pushed open the door to the barracks. The air inside hit me like a physical wall—stale sweat, cheap soap, and the crowded scent of dozens of unwashed bodies. The room was tiny, packed with narrow iron bunk beds placed so close together that there was barely enough space to walk between them. There were no curtains, no dividers, no privacy whatsoever.

I kept my head down, dragging my duffel bag toward the empty lower bunk in the far corner.

"Is that really her?" another voice whispered loudly. "The Beta daughter who tried to climb into Alpha Cassian's bed?"

"Look at her, wearing rags," a third woman cackled, leaning off her top bunk to glare down at me. "She actually thought she could replace Lady Bianca. A dirty bastard trying to act like high royalty."

"Disgusting," someone else muttered. "She was shameless, sleeping with her own sister's fiance during her shift. She probably drugged his water."

"Lady Bianca is a pureblood," a male voice called out from near the doorway. "She's the only one worthy of being Alpha Cassian's Luna. Ivy is just a tramp who used her full moon fever to trap him."

I gripped the strap of my duffel bag so tightly my knuckles turned white. My ears burned, every word driving a fresh needle into my heart. I pulled the rough wool blanket over the thin mattress, ignoring the cruel whispers bouncing off the cramped walls. I sat down on the edge of the bed, clutching my bag against my stomach.

Inside that bag was the only thing in the world that mattered to me, a faded silver locket and a hand-carved wooden robin. They were the only pieces I had left of my real mother, a woman whose name was never spoken in the high manor, a servant who had died giving birth to me in the cold cellars while Sabastian Frey looked the other way.

I closed my eyes, trying to block out the hateful glares piercing through the dim room. Exhaustion dragged me down, and despite the uncomfortable mattress and the cruel laughter echoing around me, I finally drifted into a restless, pain-filled sleep.

—

A sharp yank at my shoulders jerked me awake.

I gasped, sitting up fast, the cold air hitting my face. The room was dark, the moonlight barely filtering through the dirty windows.

My duffel bag was gone.

"Hey!" I shouted, scrambling off the bed. "Where is my bag?!"

Across the cramped room, a burly, broad-shouldered male Omega named Marcus was unzipping my bag under the light of a single flickering bulb.

"Give that back!" I cried, lunging forward. "That's mine!"

"Not anymore, princess," Marcus laughed, shoving his hand inside. "Omegas don't own private property in these barracks. Everything belongs to the community."

"It has my mother's things in it!" I screamed, grabbing the handle of the bag and pulling with all my strength. "Give it to me!"

"Get your filthy hands off me, you whore!" Marcus growled.

He swung his thick arm back and slammed his elbow directly into my jaw.

Crack!

Pain exploded across my face. I flew backward, hitting the iron bedframe with a sickening thud before crashing to the floor. Metallic blood filled my mouth instantly.

"Give it back... please..." I sobbed from the floor, my vision swimming as I watched him pull out the silver locket and the small wooden bird.

"Trash," Marcus sneered, tossing the wooden bird onto the floor and stomping his heavy boot right onto it, crushing the wood into splintered dust. He pocketed the silver locket and tossed the empty bag onto my chest. "Know your place, bastard."

Nobody in the room moved. Nobody helped. They stood around the bunks, watching me bleed on the floor, their eyes filled with cold satisfaction.

I crawled on my knees toward the splintered wooden dust of the robin my mother had carved for me. My hands shook violently as I scooped up the broken pieces, pulling them to my chest while tears spilled over my swollen cheek.

—

By six in the morning, the pain in my jaw had turned into a dull, throbbing ache.

I lined up outside the main kitchen in the lower sector alongside fifty other Omegas, waiting for work assignments. The head housekeeper, Mrs. Gable, a cruel, sharp-faced woman who had served my stepmother for decades, stood at the front with a clipboard.

When she reached me, she stopped. Her eyes dragged down my bruised face and dirty clothes with pure disgust.

"Ivy Frey," Mrs. Gable spat, her voice ringing out clearly over the silent crowd. "Or should I say, the pack's newest disgrace?"

A few Omegas in the line snickered.

"I am ready for my assignment, Mrs. Gable," I said, keeping my voice as steady as possible, though my knees trembled.