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. Her ankle felt bare—vulnerable. She had traded one shackle for another.

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.

One of them paused, fingers brushing a mark. "You're not human?"

Lena shot a glance over her shoulder. "I am."

"But—"

"Ilara!" The eldest snapped, voice sharp. "Mind your place."

Lena didn’t question it. No one had ever washed her like this, although there was no gentleness, no softness. Only purpose, ritual, as if this act meant more than mere cleanliness.

Her hair was combed through quickly, fingers pulling out knots. Oils were massaged into her skin, easing the sting of her wounds without tenderness or cruelty.

When she stepped out of the bath, her body felt lighter, but the unease in her chest deepened.

They dried her with soft linens, treating her wounds with precision. Ointments soothed the lash marks, and salve was pressed into the bruises.

Then, they turned to her face.

Cool fingers traced her jawline, smoothing something across her skin. Deep-conditioning oil was worked into her hair, restoring its lost shine.

By the time they finished, she barely recognized herself.

She glanced at her reflection in the silver mirror. Not a slave. Not something to be discarded.

They weren’t preparing her for death.

A wooden cup was thrust into her hands.

"Drink," a voice ordered.

Lena’s breath caught. The moment stretched thin. Was this it? The end?

But if they meant to kill her, why go through all this trouble?

The hesitation burned in her throat, yet she forced the cup to her lips, swallowing in one swift motion. Bitter. So bitter it stung.

She did not fall. Not yet.

The Beta’s words echoed in her mind: "After today, you shall not see her again."

Her stomach twisted. Was she to be sent to the Alpha's bed? No. The Beta would never permit such a thing. Would he?

Then what was their plan?

Terror coiled tighter as the guards returned, their hands gripping her arms once more. They marched her swiftly down unfamiliar halls, stopping before a great oak door.

Her heart pounded. This was not the way to the slave quarters.

The door creaked open.

Upon entering, she felt it—the weight of power pressing upon her. Eyes turned, sharp and appraising.

The leaders of the Crimson Moon Pack.

Their gazes fixed upon her, calculating her every move.

Lena swallowed, her throat dry.

"She’s sharp," one of the leaders remarked, his voice cold as he circled her, studying her like a beast to be tamed. "She will do."

The Beta's lips curled into a triumphant smile. "I told you."

Alpha Ethan remained silent, his gaze fixed on Lena, unreadable.

"How can you be certain she won’t speak?" His voice was calm, but there was an edge to it that made Lena’s skin prickle.

A cold shiver ran down her spine. What were they plotting?

The Beta smirked, stepping closer with unsettling confidence. "Oh, I’ve seen to that," she replied smoothly. "A witch will cast a spell. She won’t speak of this, nor will she flee."

Murmurs spread through the room, but Alpha Ethan remained unmoved. His face darkened.

"And you think Alpha Darius will not notice? What if the truth is revealed—?" His voice trailed off, his eyes narrowing as he turned to Lena. "This is not Kara Voss." His tone dropped, low and menacing. "I do not approve of this, Beta Lydia."

The room fell silent, heavy with tension.

Lena’s mind raced. Kara Voss.

It all fell into place. She wasn’t meant to be here. Kara was.

It made sense. If this involved Alpha Darius, they wouldn’t risk sending someone of true value. They needed a replacement. A disposable body.

Hers.

Beta Lydia exhaled sharply, impatience in her voice, but her resolve unbroken. "I assure you, Lords of the Pack, the witch will handle all concerns. Alpha Darius will not question it."

Before another word could be spoken, the doors flew open.

Two guards entered in haste, their movements swift and urgent. "Alpha Darius hath sent men from the Shadow Fang Pack!"

Barely had the words been uttered when two imposing figures crossed the threshold.

Lena’s heart raced.

Beta Lydia swiftly cast aside her cloak and draped it over Lena’s shoulders. The weight of the fabric settled like a heavy shield, obscuring her face and denying any chance to meet the newcomers' gaze.

"Is she prepared?" one of the Shadow Fang men inquired, his voice commanding and grave.

"Indeed, she is," Lydia answered, her tone unwavering.

"Then the truce is sealed."

Strong hands seized Lena, dragging her back with an unyielding grip.

She made no move to resist. Her mind, sharp and swift, already turned toward the only course of action—escape. Once she reached the Shadow Fang Pack, she would find a way to flee.

She had to.