Chapter 4 – The Pack’s Scorn

The first morning in Stormfang Packhouse was colder than Bella expected.

Not the temperature—though the stone corridors carried drafts that slipped under her borrowed gown—but the air itself. It was the stares, the whispers, the invisible weight pressing down with every step she took.

Wolves filled the halls in their finery, warriors and attendants moving with effortless confidence. They carried themselves with the kind of grace that came from power thrumming beneath their skin, every gesture sharp, every step purposeful.

And then there was Bella.

Her human heartbeat felt too loud in her chest, too fragile against the echo of their strength. As she walked down the corridor, the sound of murmurs rose behind her like the hiss of snakes.

“Fragile.”

“Unworthy.”

“Human toy.”

Her cheeks burned, but she kept her chin high, her gray-green eyes fixed ahead. She would not let them see her falter. Not here. Not in his house.

The corridor opened into the main hall, a cavernous space with vaulted ceilings and long tables set for the pack’s meals. Wolves lounged along the benches, eating, laughing, their voices carrying easily across the stone. The moment Bella entered, silence swept like a chill wind. Dozens of eyes turned to her—glinting, golden, amber, green—all sharp, all assessing.

A ripple of laughter broke the silence.

“So that’s her?”

“The human Luna?”

“She looks like she’ll snap in half.”

Bella’s stomach twisted, but she forced herself to walk forward. Every step felt like wading through knives.

She remembered her father’s words before Lucian had come to claim her: Wolves don’t wait on men like me, Bella. We both knew this day would come. He had meant debt. But now, she understood he had meant more. Humans didn’t just live under wolves—they survived by enduring their scorn.

A servant passed with a tray, deliberately bumping her shoulder hard enough to jostle her balance. The silver goblet rattled, and Bella’s hands caught the edge of the tray before it could fall. The servant sneered, his wolfish eyes gleaming. “Careful, Luna. Wouldn’t want you to break something. Or yourself.”

Laughter followed him.

Bella’s throat ached, but she released the tray and stepped aside without a word. Her chest rose and fell too quickly, her nails digging into her palms as she forced her tears down.

Don’t cry here. Don’t let them see.

She spotted him then.

Kael Draven.

Lucian’s Beta stood at the far end of the hall, leaning against one of the carved pillars. He was tall, nearly as broad as Lucian, though where Lucian’s presence was storm and steel, Kael’s was quiet and controlled. His ash-brown hair was cropped close, his storm-gray eyes sharp and watchful. Scars ran across his forearms, pale against his tanned skin, a testament to years on the battlefield.

He didn’t laugh. He didn’t jeer. He only watched her, his gaze cool, measuring. Distrust etched every line of his expression, but beneath it, there was no mockery. Only suspicion.

Bella met his eyes for a heartbeat before looking away. That was worse somehow—being weighed and found wanting.

The whispers grew louder as she made her way past the tables. “Why her?” “He despises humans—why take one as Luna?” “A debt-payment bride. That’s all she is.”

Her chest tightened until it hurt to breathe. She felt every glance, every cruel word like a stone pressing her further down.

And then she saw him.

Lucian.

He sat at the high table, his black attire immaculate, silver insignia gleaming on his chest. His posture was relaxed, but his presence filled the hall, commanding silence whenever his gaze swept across the room.

Those silver eyes flicked to her now.

Bella froze, her breath caught. For one foolish, desperate moment, she hoped—hoped that he would say something to stop the laughter, to silence the cruelty, to defend the woman he had dragged here as his Luna.

But Lucian only looked at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he turned back to his plate, his jaw tightening once, almost imperceptibly.

The wolves erupted into laughter again.

Bella lowered her eyes and moved quickly to the far end of the hall, where a servant gestured her toward a seat. It was not at the Alpha’s side, nor even near him. It was halfway down the table, between two wolves who whispered over her as though she weren’t there at all.

Her food sat untouched before her. She could barely swallow past the knot in her throat.

The rest of the meal passed in a blur of voices and laughter, each sound driving another nail into the coffin of her pride. When it finally ended, she rose quietly and slipped from the hall, her steps light and quick, her chest aching with the effort not to break.

The corridor outside was empty, thank the goddess. She pressed her back against the stone wall, her hands trembling as she finally let herself draw in a ragged breath. Her gray-green eyes stung, but she blinked hard, refusing to let tears fall.

“Running already?”

The voice was deep, roughened like gravel.

Bella stiffened, her head snapping up. Kael Draven stood a few feet away, his arms crossed over his chest, his gaze fixed on her.

She swallowed, her pulse hammering. “I wasn’t—”

“You were,” he said simply, his expression unreadable. “Stormfang wolves smell weakness. Show it once, and they’ll never stop circling.”

Her jaw tightened, heat flooding her cheeks. “So what am I supposed to do? Pretend I don’t hear them? Pretend I don’t see the way they look at me?”

Kael’s eyes narrowed slightly, studying her. For a long moment, he said nothing, and she wondered if he would mock her like the rest. But when he spoke, his voice was steady, even.

“You’re human,” he said. “That’s all they’ll see. Until you prove otherwise.”

His words cut deep, but there was no malice in them—only truth.

Before she could reply, Kael pushed off the wall, his boots thudding softly against the stone floor. He walked past her without another glance, his presence as heavy as a shadow.

Bella stood alone again in the corridor, her chest tight, her hands trembling.

She wanted to scream. She wanted to sob. But she forced herself to stand straighter, to draw in a steady breath.

If Lucian’s Beta thought she would crumble, if the pack believed she was nothing but a fragile human toy, then she would endure. She would not give them the satisfaction of breaking.

Even if it meant bleeding silently behind locked doors.