CHAINS AT DAWN

Elara POV

I did not sleep.

Every time my eyes closed, the moment tore itself open again, the Moon blazing white, the stone circle holding its breath, Darius’s empty stare. The sound of his voice saying I do not, like he was refusing a drink instead of a life.

The snap inside my chest replayed endlessly.

Not loud.

Not clean.

Just sudden. Violent. Final.

The bond was gone, ripped out under the full moon, but the pain had stayed behind. It pulsed beneath my ribs like something broken and alive. Each breath scraped. Each heartbeat reminded me of what I had lost, and what I had never truly been allowed to have.

I lay on the narrow stone bed in the holding room, staring at the ceiling as darkness thinned into gray. Dawn crept in slowly, reluctant and pale, slipping through the high barred window like it didn’t want to see me either.

The room smelled of ash, old stone, and dried herbs meant to dull pain, not heal it. They burned my throat when I breathed too deeply.

This was not a place meant for rest.

It was a place meant for waiting.

Waiting to be claimed.

Waiting to be taken.

Footsteps passed outside the door. Voices murmured, then moved on. No one came in. No one checked on me.

I was no longer worth guarding.

When the door finally opened, it was not Elder Rowan.

Two pack women stepped inside instead. I did not know their names. They did not offer them. Their faces were blank, carefully empty, like this was a task they had already decided not to feel.

“Stand,” one of them said.

My body protested as I pushed myself upright. Weakness rushed through me, sharp and dizzy. My legs trembled beneath my weight. My wolf stirred faintly inside me, curled tight and wounded, like an animal hiding under collapsed earth.

The women grabbed my arms and hauled me to my feet. They worked quickly. Efficiently. Without ceremony.

The white dress from the Moon ceremony was stripped from my body and dropped to the floor. One of them picked it up, smoothed the fabric, and folded it neatly before setting it aside.

As if it still mattered.

Cold air brushed my bare skin. I wrapped my arms around myself without thinking.

A sharp slap cracked across my hands.

“Don’t,” the woman snapped. “You’ll bruise.”

I froze. Bruise.

Not dignity.

Not shame.

Not pain.

Just skin.

They washed me with cold water and rough cloths, scrubbing hard, like they were trying to erase the Moon itself from my body. My arms burned. My shoulders ached. The water ran red for a moment where my wrists were still raw from the bond breaking.

I clenched my teeth.

Crying would only slow them down.

When they were finished, they dried me quickly and shoved a thick gray dress over my head. The fabric was heavy and shapeless, built for travel, not comfort.

A transport dress.

Then came the chains.

Cold metal snapped shut around my wrists. Another band locked around my ankles. The weight of them dragged at my limbs, pulling my posture downward, forcing submission into my bones.

Property did not need softness.

When they stepped back, one of the women nodded once.

“You’re ready.”

Ready. The word echoed hollowly in my skull. They opened the door and motioned for me to walk.

The halls of the pack house were silent as we moved through them. Wolves lined the walls, pretending not to stare.

Some watched openly.

Some turned their faces away.

Some looked relieved it wasn’t them.

One guard muttered, “Don’t look at her.”

Another replied, low and uneasy, “She’s not ours anymore.”

The chains dragged against the stone floor with every step, loud and unforgiving.

Morning light spilled through the tall doors ahead, pale and sharp.

That was when I saw Vera. She stood near the entrance, barefoot, her hair loose and tangled, her clothes rumpled like she had run straight out of bed. Her eyes locked on the chains the instant she saw me.

“Elara!” she cried.

She ran. A guard stepped in front of her. Vera didn’t slow. She shoved him hard. “Get away from her!”

The slap echoed through the hall. Vera hit the floor.

“Vera!” I screamed. I lunged forward, but the chains snapped tight, yanking me back. Pain shot through my wrists and ankles. I stumbled, barely staying upright.

“Don’t touch her!” I cried. “Please!”

Vera pushed herself up, her cheek red, fury blazing in her eyes.

“You can’t do this!” she shouted. “She didn’t commit a crime! She didn’t betray the pack!”

A council member stepped forward, his voice sharp. “Watch your mouth.”

“She’s being sold like an animal!” Vera screamed. “Is this what Silverclaw has become?”

A guard grabbed her arm. I twisted against the chains. “Stop! I’ll go! Just don’t hurt her!”

That was when Elder Rowan entered the hall.

For one foolish heartbeat, hope flared in my chest.

He would stop this. He had to. But he didn’t.

He stopped a few steps away, his gaze fixed on the stone floor. Not at the chains. Not at my shaking hands. Not at me.

Something inside my chest tightened, not pain this time, but understanding. He could not meet my eyes because if he did, he would have to admit what he was doing.

“Elder Rowan!” Vera turned on him. “You raised her. You watched her grow up. How can you let this happen?”

Silence stretched.

Rowan’s jaw tightened.

“You were never meant to stay here,” he said quietly.

My heart dropped. He finally lifted his eyes, not to me, but past me.

“You were always meant to be taken.”

The words crushed the air from my lungs.

“Taken… where?” I whispered. He did not answer.

Vera shook her head, disbelief breaking her voice. “You’re lying to yourself.”

Rowan said nothing. The guards tightened their hold on Vera as she struggled.

“Please,” she begged. “Take me instead. Let her go.”

“No!” I cried. “Vera, don’t!”

Rowan finally looked at her. “This is decided,” he said flatly.

The doors at the far end of the hall creaked open. Cold air rushed in. And with it came something else.

Something heavy.

The ground trembled beneath my feet, slow, deliberate steps that did not hurry and did not fear resistance.

The guards stiffened.

One whispered, “They’re here.” I felt it then.

Not pain. Presence.

The air thickened, sharp with a wild scent I had never smelled before, iron, smoke, frost, something ancient and predatory. It pressed against my senses until my breath came shallow.

And beneath my ribs, deep where the bond had shattered, something ached. Not the old pain. Something hotter. Pulling. As if a scar had been touched from the inside.

Vera went still. “Elara… what is that?”

I couldn’t answer.

Dark figures entered the hall.

They were tall, taller than any wolf I had seen. Broad-shouldered. Clad in black armor traced with silver runes that glowed faintly under the torchlight.

Lycan guards.

They did not hurry. They moved as if the hall already belonged to them.

Elder Rowan stepped forward on instinct, then stopped.

The Lycan did not bow.

Rowan lowered his gaze instead.

One Lycan guard stopped in front of me. His eyes dropped to the chains. Then lifted to my face.

“You are the payment,” he said calmly.

The words settled like a verdict.

Vera surged forward again, but the guards held her back. “Elara!” she cried. “Don’t let them break you! Don’t let them win!”

I looked at her. My chest ached so badly I thought it might split open. I forced a smile.

“I’ll come back,” I lied.

The Lycan turned away. “Bring her.”

The chains pulled tight as they dragged me forward.

The doors opened fully, revealing the pale light of dawn beyond.

As my feet crossed the threshold, the ache beneath my ribs flared once, hot, unmistakable, then went still, as if something had opened one eye and decided to wait.

Vera’s voice faded behind me. Silverclaw disappeared into shadow.

Ahead lay the road to the Lycan Dominion.

Ahead waited a king who did not ask.

And as the gates closed behind me, one truth settled into my bones...

I was not being taken to my end.

I was being claimed.