Chapter 2

Kaelith’s POV

The man’s name was Weyrick. I learned it halfway through the journey, when one of the soldiers called him “Second Commander.” Second in command. Which meant he wasn’t just anyone. He was someone who walked beside the warlord himself.

I thought he would take me straight into the fortress, the infamous stronghold everyone whispered about. The one with walls so high even lycans couldn’t swoop in. If you asked anyone in my pack why they didn’t attack the rogues, that fortress was always the excuse. But instead, I was dragged to a war camp on the fringes of Lycan territory.

And crap, it wasn’t what I expected.

The sun was still glaring high overhead, and the whole place was booming. Chaotic, yes, but not mindless chaos. Organized, pulsing with bodies, like a body flexing before battle. Rows of tents stretched across the dirt, stamped with the snarling crest of Varg Territory. Soldiers milled about, sharpening weapons, sparring, laughing with the kind of reckless ease only men who had killed too often could laugh with.

But what struck me wasn’t the men. It was the women.

There were so many of them here. The rumors did say that, but I never prepared for this many. I wasn't sure if this was free, but none were in shackles, some even leaning into soldiers’ arms. My confusion only tightened my throat.

Weyrick didn’t spare me a glance as he pushed me into the only stone structure I could see among all the tents. The hallway was long, but at last, he stopped before a room with two narrow beds shoved into the corners, a stool, and mercifully a window. Not like the dungeon I was always rotting in back home.

“Don’t leave until I return,” he said before shutting the door.

For a moment I just stood there, pressing my hand against my chest where the Alpha’s brand still throbbed faintly. It hadn’t flared yet, and I definitely don't wish to know how much it could burn.

I forced myself toward the window. Anything was better than sitting here replaying Aiden’s face.

From the window, I spotted a tent across the clearing. Its flaps were open and instantly, I wished I hadn’t looked.

Holy shit!

My eyes remained on the girl crowded by two men. One had his hands fisted in her hair, pulling her head back to kiss her mouth while another dragged her onto his lap, spreading her thighs before a cock was thrust into her. She only gasped and wriggled against them like she couldn’t get enough.

Heat crawled up my throat and I jerked back from the window, pressing my fist against my mouth.

At least Evaya wasn’t here. The thought tightened my chest. She was far away, but that was almost worse, because every second I wasn’t with her, I could only imagine the Alpha’s claws closing in.

By evening, the camp had shifted. Shadows stretched long across the dirt, and the clamor grew harsher. I tried the door on impulse, but to my surprise, it wasn’t even locked.

Carefully, I slipped into the hall just to see.

“…the warlord won’t like it,” a deep voice rumbled. Weyrick’s. I froze and pressed against the wall as I neared a door.

Another man laughed softly. “Rune never likes anything.”

I leaned closer, my pulse racing.

“He doesn’t need to like it. He needs it done.”

My skin prickled. Who was Rune?

“You’re very bad at following orders,” Weyrick said suddenly. His voice wasn’t aimed at the other man anymore.

When I turned, he was standing there, his green eyes glinting like he had been waiting for me to slip.

“I was just—” I forced a shrug, trying to sound nonchalant even though my palms were sweating. “Looking for the bathroom.”

The other man stepped into view then with brown hair, beautiful hazel eyes, and a smile far too charming for the kind of soldier he clearly was. He studied me, and then asked Weyrick, “Is this her?”

Weyrick gave one curt nod.

The man’s smile shifted into something else and I tried not to ask why.

His eyes flicked over me once more, then he muttered, “Well, lucky for me, I know nothing of this.” He brushed past us, acting unconcerned.

I almost sagged with relief. Almost, because before he even reached the end of the hallways, a horn sounded outside the camp. Low, bone-deep, thrumming through the air like thunder.

The brown-haired man paused, glancing back over his shoulder. His smile curved again, this time edged with something sinister.

“It seems,” he said, “the warlord has returned.”

And my heart stopped.

By the time Weyrick ordered me washed up and shoved into a fresh dress, my nerves were strung tight as bowstrings. The fabric was barely helping and I might have been ashamed wearing it past the others if I wasn't shaking inside, might even die of heart failure before reaching the said warlord’s tent.

The sun was totally gone when Weyrick stopped in front of a massive tent I realized was deep purple only because of the flickering light. It was bigger than the others, even the material seemed different, the kind of structure you instinctively knew not to walk into unless you wanted your world rearranged.

The red-haired male’s grip tightened on my arm as if he already sensed I was considering bolting.

“Mind your manners,” he warned, his hand tightening on my arm. “Whatever you choose to say, know that your life depends on it, this isn't your pack.”

The tent flap opened, and my steps faltered, but Weyrick nudged me forward, and the heavy fabric fell shut behind me with a muted thunk.

What I saw was a girl on her knees, tucked between spread legs on a low throne-like chair, and the man I could only assume was the Warlord, her head bobbing, her hair spilling as her mouth worked on his cock.

I was sure my ears turned red instantly. Should I even be here? Weyrick must’ve gotten it wrong.

I tried to school my face, to stay still, I wasn’t about to gawk like some idiot. That was if his eyes hadn't found mine.

My pulse stuttered at those unnerving dark irises. I should’ve looked away, but the sight rooted me there, his scar cutting along the edge of his left brow, the ink coiled dark down one arm, muscles shifting as his hand slid into her hair, thick fingers curling until he had a fistful. He tugged, angling her head back for a deeper thrust.

Shamelessly, I watched as color slowly flushed his cheeks. Eyes leaving his face, I trailed my gaze down to the cords of muscles rippling just below the surface of his skin with admiration. The defined lines and hollows of his body bared for her– for me. There was something about him that suddenly made me bolder than I was, that I imagined taking her place.

With those thoughts darkening my heart, I found myself seeking his eyes.

He was close.

I took a step back, as he vigorously thrust one last time, reaching his peak. He looked divine, head thrown back, his lips parting in silent ecstasy. The woman on her knees swallowed him deeply, greedily accepting all that was offered.

Heat consumed me, and I found myself wet and wanting for the first time in my life.

‘Let’s see if you will bare your claws there too.’

Alpha Garren’s voice rang loud and clear and I clenched my teeth.

What was I even doing?

The girl between his legs didn’t notice me until he released her with a rough sound. She glanced back over her shoulder, lips glistening, hair the pale red of autumn leaves. I may not have had many females around me back in the pack, but I knew a dismissive look when I saw one.

“Leave us.” The Warlord’s voice was a blade.

She obeyed instantly, brushing past me, but not without throwing me a look that screamed you won’t last the night.

I swallowed hard, too aware of him still watching me.

“Erm, I’m Kaelith,” I blurted. It was what Weyrick had demanded of me.

One dark brow lifted. “So this is what my gold bought me.” His voice was deep and unhurried, and I was left to figure out if those words had been disapproval or not before he added, “Less than I expected.”

I just stood.

Rumors had whispered he was much older, battle-forged, they had lied, he didn't look past his early thirties. But the other rumors were very very true.

“Why did you buy me when you didn't even know how I looked?”

He didn't like that, and I immediately cursed in my head. I’d be lucky to have my head intact by the time I meet my sister again.

The fabric of his trousers shifted, and my eyes betrayed me, catching the hard line still pressing against them. My stomach clenched. Hadn’t he just—? What kind of man could—

“Strip.”

I went cold. “W-what?”

I hesitated, and when it was clear he was serious, I fumbled with the ties of my shift.

“Slower,” he murmured.

The thin fabric slid down my form, pooling at my feet, leaving me bared under the lantern light. His gaze devoured every inch, my hips, the curve of my breasts, lingering too long on the ragged claw mark carved across my shoulder blade.

“Turn around.”

I did, with my spine stiff and every nerve screaming.

I felt him circle me like a wolf deciding if the kill was worth the effort. His breath brushed my shoulder as he came close enough that the hair on my neck lifted and that sound he’d made came alive again in my mind.

“This is bad,” I told myself.

I only knew he wasn't leering over me anymore when his voice came from a distance back, “You may dress.” He groaned.

I even felt more exposed and ashamed knowing he was watching me as I slipped back the fabric.

“You’ll do well enough,” the Warlord drawled. “Weyrick will see you placed with the others.”

I wasn't sure I understood whatever he meant, not until the male who had brought me was called inside, “Let them have her.”

Ice shot through my veins. “No.” The word burst out before I could stop it, and I didn't even bother caring. “Please!”

The Warlord’s head tilted, and I forced my shaking legs to hold. “Don’t give me to them.” Anything but be passed around.

“And why not? That’s all you’re good for, isn’t it?”

My hands balled into fists at my sides. Because I’d rather die than let them touch me. At least if I serve him, I bit down on the tremor in my voice, locking my gaze on his. “I can fight,” I blurted. “I’ve trained my whole life. I can learn whatever you need me to. I’ll serve—” The words scraped my throat raw. “I’ll serve you. Let me prove I can be useful. Please.”

His gaze dragged over me again, heavier this time, lingering at the curve of my throat.

I swallowed.

“Take her.”

My chest hollowed. “No—”