Chapter 3

Kaelith’s POV

Weyrick shoved me back into the room without a word. The door closed, and just like that, I was alone, except I wasn’t.

There was someone on the other cot. A girl.

She was lying on her side, back to me, long dark braid snaking down the blanket. Her breathing was too even to be sleeping, though.

I hovered awkwardly, not sure if I should say anything. I was too busy worrying about what my fate would be now when the girl rolled over, and our eyes met in the dim lamplight.

“You’re new,” she said softly.

“Apparently,” I muttered, tugging the stupid fabric tighter around me.

Her lips curved, showcasing a dimple. “Don’t look so spooked. If you’re in here, it means you lasted your first hour.”

“Lasted?” She must be joking, right?

She sat up, swinging her legs off the bed. “Most girls don’t. Some cry so loud they get dragged out before nightfall. Some mouth off to the wrong soldier. You’d be surprised how fast a mistake can get you killed here.”

Something about the bluntness steadied me. At least she wasn’t dressing it in sweet words.

“Why would I cry?” I would’ve, if I needed that to survive.

“Good. Keep it that way. Crying makes them meaner.”

It was then that I recognized her to be the girl from the window earlier. She looked normal, a little too thin, though.

“Call me Sera.”

“Kaelith.”

Sera leaned back on her hands. “Well, Kaelith, let me give you the only piece of advice that matters: learn to enjoy it. Or at least fake it so well you almost believe yourself. Otherwise…” Her gaze flicked down my body, then back up. “…you’ll bleed until you don’t get back up.”

A shiver worked through me, but I forced myself to hold her stare. “That’s not exactly comforting.”

She laughed, a short, dry sound. “I’m not here to comfort you, pup. I’m here to tell you the truth. No one’s gentle here. Not the soldiers and definitely not the generals.”

She must’ve seen it in my face, because she said, “There are three generals.” She lay back, staring at the ceiling. “Each with their own… appetites.”

“How so?”

Staying away from trouble was the only way I survived my pack, that’s if you call that surviving.

“Pray you don’t end up with the one they call the butcher.” Sera’s lips quirked before she went on to explain the very reasons why. “Good thing only one is currently in the camp for a while now. Since the Warlord wants the Lycan territory for himself, this has been the basis of many. And every man here would slit his own throat if the Warlord told him to.”

I frowned. “Why?”

“Blood oath and honor.” Her eyes were dark pools in the lamplight. “They’re bound to him, I’m not sure how that goes, but it's what I heard. The warlord is said to be building an empire. And we’re just the tools to make sure his army keeps fighting.”

That was when the door creaked open.

An elderly woman shuffled in, it baffled me that one would be here.

“Up, you,” she snapped at me. “You’ll be serving the generals tonight.”

My stomach dropped and I managed to look at my roommate whose lips were now in a thin line. There was another girl following the old lady with fresh clothes that were immediately placed on my tiny bed.

“Good thing you’ve been cleaned up properly, now quick, there’s no time to waste.”

I could make a run for it. There was no high fence around the camp area and from what I’d noticed before, most of the men were at the center where there was a burnt fire, probably with a lot of buzz.

If I could get outside this room, I could…

“Don’t bother with that.”

My eyes snapped to Sera at her voice. “You won’t make it. And you’ll be tied up at the center of the camp for a whole day, and you wouldn't want to know what comes after that.”

I was sure she didn't have the ability to read minds, but she was right on the mark.

The old woman was glaring at me now and I had no other choice but to obey. I know running was off the option since I was made to spy, but can I really do this?

“Take the oil,” Sera advised after I changed into the new clothes. “Use it to prep yourself before you go, they won’t bother.”

They must be monsters.

The old woman snorted. “She’ll learn fast enough.”

I stared down at the vial in my hands, the amber liquid catching the lamplight. My reflection in the glass looked nothing like me.

Sara mercifully walked me to the tent that happened be be a few treks from the Warlord’s. I was beginning to doubt my own nerves.

“The first days are always terrifying, but you may end up not expressing the worst. Just hope General Azriel picks you.”

She’d told me their names and from her descriptions of them, Azriel happened to be the same male I had seen with Weyrick. If the good one was him, I couldn't begin to imagine the others.

“You’ve got this,” Sera said and gave me a tight smile that I didn't bother returning.

I took a step closer and inhaled, then walked in.

“They’re moving faster than they should,” the General with braided long brown hair was saying, slamming his fist against the table hard enough to rattle the cups. There were some white beads in a few places across the braids. “The Lycans knew where our reserves were kept. Someone is feeding them information.”

“Or they’re smarter than you give them credit for,” General Azriel countered, his voice calm and clipped, as though nothing could rattle him. He leaned back, fingers drumming lightly on his cup. “You underestimate enemies, they gut you. That’s war.”

I tried not to look at the Butcher as he said, “Gut us? They barely scratched us. Half their pack is bleeding out in the mud right now, forget it, their Alpha will crawl to us before winter.”

The tray trembled in my hands as I stepped forward. I tried to set it down quietly, to make myself invisible, but the wood still scraped against the table.

“Look at this,” the one with braids laughed. “They send us more girls now instead of decent wine. Hmm? This one is new.”

Heat prickled my neck and I tried not to fumble with the jug of wine.

Azriel hardly looked up from the slave girl already pressed against his side. Maybe it was my luck but it seemed he had already found his lair for the night.

“They’ve still got holdouts along the river.”

“And here I thought the Warlord wanted survivors. Doesn’t he enjoy the chase?”

The mention of the Warlord made my chest ache. Was he going to be here?

“You!”

I blinked at the voice.

“Pour.” Why does it have to be the one I was supposed to avoid?!

My feet stuck for half a second before I forced myself to step closer. I tipped the jug, careful not to spill. The moment the last drop hit his cup, he caught my wrist.

“You’re tougher than I thought they’d send,” he drawled, tugging me down so hard my knees hit the floor beside his chair. My breath punched out of me, but I bit my lip to keep the sound in.

“Relax,” Azriel muttered, not even looking at us. “We just got here. Wait for the Warlord.”

Azriel was ignored and before I knew it, the Butcher’s hand came down heavy on my shoulder, fingers pressing hard enough to leave bruises. “The Warlord doesn’t mind if we test the goods first.”

The room tilted. My stomach lurched, and I couldn’t breathe past the hand dragging down my arm.

Then he yanked me forward. My hip slammed into the edge of the chair as he bent me against it, his chest pressing hard against my back. My palms went flat on the table to steady myself, the wine jug slipping from my grip and spilling across the wood.

Tears pricked at my eyes before I even realized they were there. Damn it. I couldn’t even remember the last time I’d cried.

I felt the tug, the sound of fabric tearing, the flimsy excuse for a dress they’d shoved me into ripped apart like it was nothing. Air brushed across my skin.

“Looks like the dogs had a go on this one,” he said mockingly. “But at least she’s still got a pussy worth fucking.”

Something inside me snapped.

And before I could think, before I could stop myself, I twisted my small frame, my fist flying up on pure instinct. My knuckles cracked against his face, bone against bone, and the shock of impact lit fire up my arm.

Thick blood sprayed from his nose as he staggered back, and my chest hollowed out as a look of stunned disbelief twisted into a sick grin.

“Shit,” I gasped.