5: The wedding ritual

Lena's legs buckled as the guards dragged her forward. The rough stone beneath her feet scraped her skin raw, and the soldiers' grips were cruel as their hands bruised her arms while they hauled her through the threshold of the great hall and into the bitter night.

The air outside was sharp, and it cut against her torn skin while it carried the acrid scent of burning herbs and something far fouler than herbs. That scent was blood.

Before her, the ritual ground stretched wide and empty. Tall black pillars stood in a circle around the clearing, and those pillars were carved with ancient symbols that glowed faintly beneath the red light of the blood moon. Fires burned in iron braziers, and their flames rose into the air.

A hush fell over the gathered pack.

Faces surrounded her, and those faces were hostile and eager. Some of them showed cruel amusement while others were solemn as though they stood witness to a sacred rite. They had not come to watch, but they had come to enjoy her pain.

At the center of the clearing stood the altar. It was made of black stone, and it was ancient and cold while its surface was stained with blood from generations past. Beside the altar waited her captor.

He was Alpha Darius.

He stood with his chest bare, and the firelight moved across the red marks that were painted upon his skin. His dark hair hung past his shoulders, and a gold mask covered half of his face. One of his eyes was red, and the other eye was a cold blue.

His gaze met hers, and Lena's breath caught in her throat.

The guards forced her to her knees before him, and the stone cut into her skin. Still, she made no sound.

"Begin," Darius said.

His voice was cold and firm.

Lena lifted her chin even though her limbs trembled.

From the shadows, a figure came forward, and that figure was not an old woman but a woman of striking beauty who wore a red robe that shone in the firelight. Her eyes were violet and full of power. Her voice was soft and sweet when she spoke, but beneath that sweetness there was something older and colder.

She was the witch.

The witch drew a dagger that was shaped like a crescent moon. The dagger was black, and it pulsed with ancient power.

A guard seized Lena's wrist and pulled it forward.

Lena resisted against him.

He tightened his grip on her arm.

The dagger touched her skin, and it was cold. Then pain went through her as the blade cut through her flesh.

Lena gasped as her blood spilled into a bowl, and steam rose from the bowl as her blood met the night air. The pain was sharp, but worse than the pain was the fire that followed. That fire was dark and twisting, and it moved through her veins.

The witch marked her with her own blood, and she marked her brow and her collarbone and her lips.

"Sanguine ligatur consummatum est. In carne ligatum, in fato aeterno devinctum," the witch said, and her voice echoed through the clearing.

Lena did not understand the words, but she understood that the bond was sealed in blood and that she was bound in flesh and bound by fate.

Lena's body shook under the force of the magic. The blood was more than blood because it was power, and that power was old and binding.

Darius approached her and took her chin in his hand. He lifted her face until her eyes met his.

"You are mine now," he said, and his voice was full of authority.

The crowd erupted with cheers and shouts.

The witch raised the bowl and poured the rest of the blood over Lena's head, and the blood soaked her hair while it ran down her face and stained her red gown an even deeper red.

Then the witch turned to Darius and gave him the dagger.

He took the dagger without looking away from Lena.

He dragged the blade across his palm, and blood came from the wound while that blood was dark and hot.

"Drink," he said as he pressed the wound to her lips.

Lena turned her head away from him.

"Drink," he said again, and his voice was softer now but still threatening.

Magic moved around her, and her lips parted against her will as they touched his skin. Blood filled her mouth, and that blood was thick and metallic.

She swallowed the blood.

A scream came from her throat as pain went through her, and that pain was savage and wild. The pain burned through her blood, and her body convulsed on the stone.

The pack cheered around her.

Darius smiled at her. "Good girl," he said as he wiped blood down her cheek. "You learn quickly."

But Lena was not learning. She was breaking instead.

The witch stepped forward again, and she was holding a cup of dark liquid in her hands.

"The final seal," the witch said.

Darius took the cup from the witch, and he brought it to Lena's lips.

"Drink," he said. "And you are mine in body and mind and soul."

Lena's eyes widened, and her heart pounded in her chest as she tried to turn her face away from the cup.

She could not turn away.

The drink touched her tongue, and then fire consumed her.

The fire tore her apart from within, and her back arched in agony. Her scream was lost in the roar of magic, and then she collapsed on the ground while her body twitched.

The pack howled with approval.

Darius knelt at her side, and he took her chin before he forced her eyes open.

"Welcome home, wife," he whispered.

Then darkness took her.

---

Later, a scream broke the silence, and that scream was raw and full of pain.

Lena twisted on the ground, and her body convulsed under the effects of the blood oath. The ancient magic that had tied her soul now burned through her, and that magic was cruel and relentless. Her cries went through the stone halls, and they echoed through the passages.

No one came to help her, and no one dared to come.

High above in his private chamber, Darius heard her screams.

He stopped his movements.

His hands gripped Scarlet's hips, and his fingers pressed into her pale skin as he took her without tenderness while his breath was sharp against the cold air. Her moans filled the room, and those moans were soft and eager, but his mind went elsewhere.

Another scream came through the air, and that scream was Lena's while it was worse than the last.

Darius paused for a moment, and then he spoke with a voice that was low and commanding. "Turn your back to me," he said.

Scarlet obeyed him because she was always eager to please him. She moved on the bed, and she presented herself to him while her body was ready beneath his hands. Darius pushed into her once more, and his movements were hard as he was driven not by desire for the woman beneath him but by the pain that came through the stone.

Scarlet gasped, and her voice was breathy. "Yes, my Alpha," she said. "Harder. Mark me. Let them know I am yours."

But it was not her voice that moved him.

It was Lena's voice that moved him, and it was her pain and her defiance that drove him.

Each cry from Lena was a part of his revenge, and each convulsion was a victory. His eyes showed cruel satisfaction as he moved, and he moved not for pleasure but for the pain that he was causing her.

He would break her, and he would break her again and again until she was nothing under his will.

He would break her until her spirit was gone under his anger, and he would break her until pain was all that remained.