4: His bride to be

"Lena, flee."

Her mother's voice was desperate and broken. Lena heard the pain in it through the smoke.

"No, Mother," Lena said, and her voice trembled. "I will not leave you. I will take you with me." Her hands shook as she reached for the woman who had given her life.

"You must," her mother gasped. Her breath was shallow, and her strength was failing. "Promise me you will survive. No matter what happens, you must live. Do you understand. Live, even if it means losing everything."

A loud crash echoed through the smoke, and a burning log struck her mother's back. The impact shook the ground. The fire roared around them, and her mother's cry was lost in the flames.

Lena's heart broke, and she let out a scream while she watched the one person she loved being consumed by the fire.

"Seize her," a voice said, and that voice cut through the smoke with authority.

Lena spun around, and her breath caught in her chest as she saw the figure stepping from the flames. A gold mask covered half of his face. One eye was cold, and the other eye was red.

He laughed, and that laugh echoed in the night. Lena felt a chill go through her. For a moment, the world seemed to freeze.

And then, she woke up with a violent start. The sound of the carriage wheels on the uneven ground and the dull ache in her head pulled her from the nightmare.

"What do you think will become of her when we reach the pack house," one of the men outside said, and his voice was full of contempt.

"They will not show her mercy," the other said, and his tone was grim. "Kara will be tormented."

The carriage jerked to an abrupt stop, and the motion threw Lena off balance while her heart skipped a beat.

Footsteps came toward her, and those footsteps were steady as they grew closer.

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

"Out," a voice said, and that voice was sharp.

Rough hands gripped her arms and pulled her from the carriage without care for her footing.

"Here she is, Lydia's spawn," one man said, and a bitter laugh came with his words.

Before her stood a circle of women, and their eyes were hard and full of contempt.

"By the Gods, I can already feel the hatred," one of the women said. "Look at her, standing there like a little bitch."

"Take her inside," another ordered, and her voice was cold as if Lena were nothing more than an object to be thrown away.

There was no kindness and no pity. There was only disdain.

Lena stumbled but found her footing, and her legs were weak as the guards dragged her through the great hall. The sound of her feet dragging across the cold stone floors echoed around her. The eyes upon her showed scorn.

"She will not last the week," a whisper came to her ears.

A low laugh came from somewhere behind her. "Alpha Darius will break her," the voice said.

The large double doors stood before her, and they were cold and imposing.

"Present her," a woman's voice commanded from inside the room.

Before Lena could steady her breath, the guards pushed her forward, and her knees hit the cold marble with a hard crack. Pain shot through her legs as the stone pressed into her skin.

The room fell into a heavy silence.

At the far end of the room, a man was seated on a throne of black stone, and that man was Alpha Darius.

He filled the room with his presence, and his form was barely visible in the shadows.

The tension was suffocating.

Then his voice broke the silence, and that voice was low and commanding and cold.

"Lift your head," he said.

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

And then the world around her changed.

Cold went into her bones.

His gaze was on her, and one eye was frozen blue while the other eye was a fiery red. She saw the mask, and her breath caught in her throat. She could not believe what she was seeing.

A gold mask covered half of his face.

He was the man who had burned her village, and he was the man who had killed her mother, and he was the one who had made her a slave.

Darius stood up and came down from his throne, and his steps were measured as he walked around her.

"So," he said, "you are my bride."

Lena's breath caught in her throat, and her eyes went up to him in shock. "Bride," she said.

A low laugh came from him.

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

With a swift motion, he reached forward and took the edge of her hood with his fingers. He tore it away, and her face was exposed to the crowd.

A chorus of hatred rose around her.

"Traitor's spawn," someone shouted.

"Unworthy harlot," another voice cried out.

"Vile wench," a third voice added.

Darius paid little attention to them, and his gaze stayed on her.

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

Lena barely had time to understand his words before the guards grabbed her once more. Her mind screamed in protest, but her body remained frozen.

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

"She deserves worse," someone yelled.

"Make her feel pain," another voice shouted.

The grand hallways went past her as the guards marched her deeper into the castle. At last, they stopped before a set of large, decorated doors, and they threw the doors open before they shoved her inside.

The chamber was large, and its walls had sconces that cast shadows upon the stone. At the center of the room stood a large bed that was draped in heavy, dark fabric, and the strong scent of cedar and leather filled the air.

Lena's stomach turned.

This was his chamber.

The doors slammed shut behind her.

Two women stood silently near a basin of water, and their faces showed nothing. They were servants.

One of them stepped forward, and her tone was unyielding. "Take off your clothes," she said.

Lena's heart beat hard in her chest. "What," she said.

Her hands became fists. "I cannot," she said. "Please."

"You have no say in the matter," the woman said, and her eyes showed anger.

The women stood still as their gazes fixed upon her. With shaking hands, Lena unclasped her cloak, and it fell to the stone floor. Then her dress followed, and it fell in a heap at her feet.

The women moved quickly as they led her to the basin and began to wash her again, and their movements were swift and without care.

Once they were finished, they put a silk gown over her shoulders, and the deep red fabric clung to her body.

It was a wedding gown.

Her breath caught in her throat.

For years, she had dreamed of freedom and of breaking the chains that held her, but now she was to be tied in a different way.

The doors opened once more, and a figure came out from the shadows.

That figure was Darius.

He stood there with his gaze on her, and he filled the room with his presence.

For a long time, there was silence between them. He said nothing, and he simply watched her.

Then his voice came through the silence, and that voice was low and commanding.

"Kneel," he said.

Lena sank to her knees, and the cold stone floor pressed into her skin.

"Kara Voss," Darius said as he approached her.

"I am not," Lena said, but the words stopped in her throat. She tried once more. "I am not."

Nothing came out.

It felt as though something was pulling the truth from her lips and stopping it before it could be spoken. A cold panic gripped her chest, and it made it hard for her to breathe.

Darius tilted his head. "You are not what," he said.

She forced herself to speak, and she tried to break through whatever was holding her so that she could say the words.

But as she tried to speak, a sharp pain went through her body, and a terrible agony seized her chest. Blood came up her throat, and it spilled from her mouth and splattered across his face.

This was it, she thought, and dread filled her. Beta Lydia's voice came back to her as she remembered that a witch had put a spell on her and that she would not talk.

What had happened, she wondered as her mind raced through the fog of her memories.

And then the memory came to her.

The drink had caused this, and that drink was the bitter liquid that had been forced into her mouth.

She thought of Beta Lydia, and she told herself that Lydia would not die well.

The room fell into a heavy silence.

Darius remained still, and his jaw tightened as he saw what had happened. Without a word, he wiped the blood from his cheek, and his movements were slow and deliberate. Then he turned to the maids, and his voice was cold.

"Take her to the ritual grounds," he said.

With that, he left the room, and his dark robe moved behind him.