2: Taken away from slavery

The guards gripped Lena firmly, holding her before the heavy oak door. The head slave emerged, her face a mask of indifference.

"The bath awaits," she stated flatly.

Without warning, one of the guards spun Lena about, handling her like a rag doll. The clink of metal rang through the corridor as they knelt to unlock the chains that had bound her for nearly a decade.

The weight vanished from her ankle. Lena stared, stunned.

They had never removed it, not once in all the years of her bondage.

The cuff had been more than just a restraint; it was a mark of ownership, a symbol of her enslavement. The iron was forged to slow her, to thwart any flight, until a beast could hunt her down.

Yet now, it lay forgotten on the ground.

The absence should have brought relief, but it didn't. 

Before she could fully comprehend the shift in her fate, rough hands shoved her forward into the chamber beyond.

The scent of lavender and warm oils hit Lena as she was ushered into the room. Steam rose from the bath, the water glimmering beneath the dim lantern light. Other slaves stood in silence, their eyes unreadable.

Without a word, they stripped her of her tattered clothes. The fabric tore as it fell, forgotten.

Hands shoved her into the water. Warmth enveloped her, washing away the blood, the sweat, the years of filth. She sucked in a breath as rough hands scrubbed her skin, each motion quick, efficient, deliberate.

Then, suddenly, one of the hands hesitated as it shifted her hair.

Fingers brushed her neck, then stopped. They lingered, tracing a faint mark there.

A voice, young and uncertain, broke the stillness. "You are not... fully human."

Lena turned her head slightly. Her voice was quiet and flat. "I am as human as you."

"But... this mark...."

"Ilara," the elder snapped, her voice sharp with warning. "Hold your tongue. Speak no more."

The younger girl flinched and looked away. The room returned to silence.

Lena’s thoughts churned behind her eyes. Why did they speak of her birthright as though it made her kin to wolves? That mark, etched into her skin since her earliest days, had always been dismissed by her mother as nothing more than a birthmark. A harmless blemish, meaningless.

Yet now, it stirred whispers and wary glances. It made them question what she was.

Lena did not question it. She had never needed to.

When she stepped from the bath, they dried her carefully, using linens softer than anything she had known in years. Her wounds were tended with silent efficiency. Cool balm eased the sting of the new lashes. Salve darkened her bruises, then vanished into her skin beneath steady hands.

Next came her face.

Fingers...cool, unhurried....glided along her jaw. A tincture of herbs and crushed pearl was smoothed into her skin. Her hair, once tangled and dull, was anointed with oil until it gleamed like burnished copper in the lantern light.

By the time they stepped back, she scarcely knew her own reflection.

She turned toward the silver mirror that had been set upon the wall, and stared.

Not a slave and definately not filthy.

The face that met her gaze was something other. Clean, composed, and unknowably distant.

They were not preparing her for death.

No, this was something else.

Something worse.

A wooden cup was shoved into Lena’s hands, sloshing dark liquid against the rim.

“Drink,” one of the guards ordered, voice gruff and impatient.

Lena glanced down. The smell was sharp—medicinal and wrong. Her stomach recoiled before her mind could form the question.

“No,” she said firmly, her fingers curling tighter around the cup but refusing to lift it. “I won’t.”

The guard’s brows rose. “It wasn’t a request.”

“I don’t care,” she snapped, lifting her chin. “I’m not swallowing anything you give me. Kill me if you want. Just be done with it.”

Another guard stepped forward with a sneer. “Stubborn little beast.”

Before she could move, they closed in. One seized her arms, pinning them behind her back, while the other grabbed her jaw, forcing it open.

She thrashed, twisting her body, but a third pair of hands clamped over her nose. Panic surged through her lungs as air fled.

“Swallow, or choke,” someone muttered.

The cup tilted. Liquid flooded her mouth.

She sputtered, gagging, but the vile brew slipped down her throat. Bitter. Thick. Tasting of iron and rot.

When they released her, she dropped to her knees, coughing, her chest heaving. The cup clattered beside her, empty.

“You bastards,” she rasped, wiping her mouth with the back of her hand.

But they said nothing. One merely stepped forward and hauled her to her feet.

Lena’s head spun...not from the potion, but from the words that echoed in her mind. After today, you shall not see her again.

A knot formed in her gut. 

What were their plans for her now? Why had she been summoned to see Ethan? Would he kill her himself?

Had the Beta finally uncovered the truth about their relationship?

All of these were confusing to her. 

The guards led her swiftly, their grips like iron. The path twisted through unfamiliar corridors, lined with ancient stonework and carvings she had never seen....wolves in battle, flames licking at the edges, a single moon looming overhead.

This was no path to the slave quarters.

Ahead, a towering oak door stood closed, its iron hinges etched with runes too old for her to name.

Her heart pounded as one of the guards reached for the handle.

The door creaked open.

Upon entering, she felt it....the weight of power pressing upon her chest like an invisible hand. 

Eyes turned, sharp and discerning.

The leaders of the Crimson Moon Pack.

Their gazes bore into her, assessing with a predator’s patience.

Lena swallowed, her throat parched.

“She is keen,” one of the elders remarked coolly as he began to circle her, like a huntsman inspecting his catch. “She shall suffice.”

The Beta’s lips curled into a thin smile of triumph. “I told you as much.”

Alpha Ethan remained silent. His eyes, dark as a moonless sky, remained fixed upon Lena....his expression unreadable.

“And how can we be certain she will not speak?” he asked at last. Though his tone was calm, but dangerous.

A chill ran the length of Lena’s spine. What dark schemes were they spinning?

The Beta....Lydia....stepped forth with a confidence that chilled the room. “I have seen to that,” she replied. “A witch has bound her tongue with spellcraft. She shall speak no truths, nor shall she flee. The matter is settled.”

A low murmur stirred among the gathered lords, but Alpha Ethan stood unmoved. 

“And do you believe Alpha Darius shall remain blind to this deceit?” he asked, his voice growing darker still. “What if the truth comes to light?” His eyes turned once more to Lena, piercing and unrelenting. “This is not Kara Voss.” His voice dropped, iron-hard. “I do not approve of this, Beta Lydia.”

A hush fell over the hall. 

Lena’s mind raced. Kara Voss.

Now it became clear. She was never meant to stand in this place. Kara was. She was merely a substitute. 

A body they could afford to lose.

Beta Lydia’s breath left her in a slow exhale. Her voice came sharp with quiet defiance. “I give you my word, Lords of the Pack....the witch shall manage all. Alpha Darius will ask no questions.”

Before another breath could be drawn, the doors burst open.

Two guards strode in, their steps hurried, their faces set with urgency. “Alpha Darius hath dispatched men from the Shadow Fang Pack!” one declared.

No sooner had the warning fallen than two figures, tall and grim, entered the chamber. Their presence cast long shadows upon the floor.

Lena’s heart thundered within her breast.

Without hesitation, Lydia swept off her cloak and cast it over Lena’s shoulders. The thick fabric fell heavily upon her, concealing her form, her face, her trembling eyes. 

“Is she ready?” one of the Shadow Fang emissaries asked, his voice low.

“She is,” Lydia answered, her tone without falter.

“Then the truce is sealed.”

Strong hands took hold of Lena. She was pulled back, her path no longer her own.

Yet she did not struggle.

Her thoughts moved swiftly. The moment she reached the Shadow Fang Pack, she would search for escape.

For freedom.

She must.