3: His bride to be

"Lena, flee!"

Her mother’s voice rang out, desperate and broken, the words laced with agony that seemed to hang in the air like a heavy fog.

"No, Mother! I will not leave you! I’ll take you with me!" Lena’s voice trembled, her hands shaking violently as she reached out for the woman who had given her life.

"You must!" her mother gasped, her breath shallow, her strength failing. "Promise me... promise me you'll survive. No matter what happens, you must live. Do you understand? Live, even if it means losing everything."

A deafening crash echoed through the smoke-choked air as a burning log struck her mother's back, the impact shuddering through the ground. The fire, ravenous and unrelenting, roared around them, swallowing all in its wake. Her mother's cry was smothered by the roar of the flames.

Lena’s heart shattered as she let out a gut-wrenching scream, her voice torn by the agony of watching the one person she loved consumed by the inferno.

"Seize her!" A voice cut through the smoke, sharp and cold, filled with command.

Lena spun, her breath caught in her chest as her eyes, blurred with tears, locked onto the figure stepping from the flames. A gold mask covered half his face, one eye cold and piercing, the other burning like a blood-red ember.

A wicked laugh escaped him, echoing in the night, sending a chill down Lena’s spine, and for a moment, the world seemed to freeze.

And then, she awoke with a violent start, the thud of the carriage wheels on uneven ground and the dull ache in her head dragging her from the nightmare.

"What do you think will become of her when we reach the pack house?" One of the men outside sneered, his voice thick with contempt.

"They won’t show her mercy," the other muttered, his tone grim. "Kara will be tormented."

The carriage jerked to an abrupt stop, throwing Lena off balance. Her heart skipped a beat.

Footsteps echoed, steady and deliberate, growing closer.

She squeezed her eyes shut, bracing herself, just as the carriage door swung open with a creak of finality.

"Out," a voice barked, sharp and unyielding.

Rough hands gripped her arms, hauling her from the carriage with no concern for her footing.

"Here she is, Lydia’s spawn!" one man sneered, a bitter laugh accompanying the words.

Before her stood a ring of women, their eyes hard, filled with contempt.

"By the Gods, I can already feel the hatred," one spat, "Look at her, standing there like a little bitch!"

"Take her inside," another ordered, her voice cold and distant, as if Lena were no more than an object to be discarded.

No kindness. No pity. Only disdain.

Lena stumbled but found her footing, her legs weak beneath her as the guards dragged her through the vast hall. The sound of her feet dragging across the cold stone floors echoed, reminding her of her unwanted presence, the eyes upon her burning with scorn.

"She won’t last the week," a whisper floated to her ears.

A low chuckle rumbled from somewhere behind her. "Alpha Darius will break her."

The massive double doors loomed ahead, their cold, imposing presence like a gateway to an uncertain fate.

"Present her," a woman’s voice commanded from within.

Before Lena could steady her breath or regain her senses, the guards thrust her forward. Her knees hit the cold marble with a harsh crack, pain shooting through her legs as the unforgiving stone bit into her skin.

The room fell into a heavy silence, thick with expectation.

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

His presence overshadowed everything. Darkness seemed to cling to him, his eyes unreadable, his form barely visible in the shadows.

The tension was suffocating.

And then, his voice shattered the stillness, low, commanding, and as cold as the stone beneath her.

"Lift 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 what was holding her 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, as it went splattering across his face.

This was it. A wave of dread filled her. Beta Lydia's voice echoed in her mind: "A witch hath cast a spell on her. She will not talk."

What had happened? Her mind raced, scrambling through the fog of her memories.

And then, it came to her.

The drink.

That bitter, pungent liquid forced into her mouth.

Beta Lydia, you will not die well.

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.

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