3: His bride to be

"Lena, flee!" her mother cried, her voice desperate, strained by agony.

"No, Mother! I will save you! I will take you with me!" Lena wept, her hands trembling as she reached for her mother's grasp.

"You cannot save me!" her mother gasped, her breath shallow and ragged. "Promise me... promise me you will survive. Do you hear me? Live, no matter the cost!"

A burning log crashed down upon her mother’s back with a deafening thud.

The fire raged around them, devouring all in its wake. Her mother’s cries were swallowed by the inferno.

Young Lena’s wail pierced the night air.

"Seize her!" a commanding voice boomed from behind.

Terror seized Lena’s heart as she turned. Her tear-filled eyes locked upon a figure emerging from the flames. A golden mask obscured half his face, one eye gleaming with a cold blue, the other burning with a blood-red fire.

A wicked laugh echoed, sending a chill through Lena’s bones.

She awoke with a start, the dull ache in her head and the jarring of the carriage reminding her it had been but a dream.

"What think you will become of her when we reach the pack house?" sneered one of the men outside, his voice dripping with malice.

"They won’t show her mercy," the other grunted. "Kara will face torment."

The carriage came to a sudden halt, jolting Lena.

Footsteps echoed, drawing near.

She squeezed her eyes shut just as the carriage door swung open.

"Rise," a voice commanded sharply.

Rough hands seized her, pulling her from the carriage with little regard for her balance.

"Here she is—Lydia’s whelp!" one of the voices sneered.

A circle of women stood before her, their gazes hard with disdain.

"By the Gods, I loathe her already," one spat, her words laced with venom. "See how she stands, bold as a lion."

"Take her in," another ordered coldly, her voice like the chill of the night.

No warmth. No pity.

Lena staggered but steadied herself, her legs unsteady beneath her. The guards hauled her forward, dragging her through the grand hall. The echo of her steps on the cold stone floors was a constant reminder of her undesired presence.

The eyes upon her burned with scorn.

"She won’t last a full se'ennight," a whisper reached her ears.

A low chuckle rumbled. "Alpha Darius will break her."

The massive double doors swung open.

"Present her," the woman commanded, her voice sharp.

Before Lena could gather her bearings, the guards thrust her forward. She collapsed to her knees, the cold marble biting into her flesh.

A tense silence descended.

At the far end of the chamber, seated on a throne of black stone, was Alpha Darius.

His presence loomed, suffocating the air. Shadows clung to his form, his expression unreadable.

Then, his voice broke the stillness—deep, commanding.

"Raise your head."

Lena hesitated, but defiance had no place here. Slowly, she lifted her chin.

And the world around her crumbled.

Coldness seeped into her bones.

His gaze—one eye frozen blue, the other a fiery ember—pierced her. The mask... that mask... Her breath hitched. No. It couldn’t be...

A golden mask covered half his face.

The very man who had burned her village.

The monster who had killed her mother.

The one who had led her into slavery.

Darius stood and descended from his throne, his steps measured, predatory. He circled her like a wolf eyeing its prey.

"So, you're my bride?"

Lena’s breath caught in her throat. Her eyes snapped upward in shock. "Bride?"

A low, guttural laugh echoed from him.

"Do not tell me she was unaware," he sneered. "Poor, deluded thing."

With a swift motion, he reached forward, his fingers grasping the edge of her hood. He tore it away, exposing her face to the crowd.

A chorus of hatred erupted around her.

"Traitor’s spawn!"

"Unworthy harlot!"

"Vile wench!"

Darius paid them little mind. His gaze remained locked on her.

"Take her to my chambers," he commanded, his voice cold and final. "Prepare her for the wedding rites."

Lena barely had time to process his words before the guards grabbed her once more. Her mind screamed in revolt, but her body remained paralyzed, unyielding.

The hateful shouts and curses followed her as she was dragged from the throne room.

"She deserves worse!"

"Make her feel pain!"

The grand hallways blurred past as the guards marched her deeper into the castle. At last, they halted before a set of imposing, ornate doors, which they threw open before roughly shoving her inside.

The chamber was vast, its walls adorned with flickering sconces that cast long shadows upon the stone. At the room’s heart stood a large bed, draped in heavy, dark fabric. The pungent scent of cedar and leather filled the air.

Lena’s stomach twisted in a knot.

This was his chamber.

The doors slammed shut behind her, sealing her fate.

Two women stood silently near a basin of water, their faces unreadable. Servants.

One stepped forward, her tone unyielding. "Disrobe."

Lena’s heart thudded loudly in her chest. "What?"

Her hands balled into fists. "I cannot, please."

"You have no say in the matter." The woman who had spoken earlier now glared at her, fury burning in her eyes.

The women stood motionless, their gazes fixed upon her. With trembling hands, Lena unclasped her cloak, allowing it to fall to the stone floor. Then, her dress followed, pooling in a heap at her feet.

The women wasted no time. They led her to the basin and began to cleanse her once more, their movements swift and impersonal.

Once they were finished, they draped a silk gown over her shoulders. The rich crimson fabric flowed like blood, clinging to her form as if it were a second skin.

A wedding gown.

Her breath caught in her throat.

For years, she had dreamt of freedom—of breaking the shackles that bound her. Now, she was to be bound in a different manner entirely.

The doors groaned open once more.

A figure emerged.

Darius.

He stood there, his gaze unyielding, filling the room with an oppressive weight.

For a long moment, silence reigned. He said nothing, simply observing, his presence suffocating.

Then, his voice, low and commanding, sliced through the stillness.

"Kneel."

Without hesitation, Lena sank to her knees, the cold stone floor biting into her skin, as if the very earth rejected her.

"Kara Voss," Darius intoned, his voice like a sharpened blade as he approached her.

"I'm not..." The words faltered, caught in her throat. She tried once more. "I am not..."

Nothing.

It felt as though something invisible was tearing the truth from her lips, strangling it before it could be uttered. A cold panic gripped her chest, making it difficult to breathe.

Darius tilted his head, the motion deliberate. "You're not what?"

She forced herself to speak, to break through the suffocating grip of her fear and utter the words....

But as she attempted to speak, a searing pain ripped through her body. A sharp, excruciating agony seized her chest, and blood surged up her throat, spilling from her mouth in a gruesome torrent, splattering across his face.

The room fell into an eerie, oppressive silence.

Darius remained still, his jaw tightening as he processed the sight. Without a word, he wiped the blood from his cheek, his movements measured and deliberate. Then, he turned to the maids, his command chilling and absolute.

"Take her to the ritual grounds." His voice was as cold as stone, the finality of it echoing in the still air.

With that, he swept from the room, his dark robe trailing behind him like a shadow.