CHAPTER 1: SOLD

LYRA'S POV

The floor is cold.

That is the first thing I notice every morning. The second thing is the ache in my knees. I have been scrubbing these hallways since I was old enough to hold a brush.

Before the sun even thinks about rising, I am on my hands and knees. My brush scratches against the stone floor. My bucket of soapy water smells like lye and failure. The packhouse hallway stretches in front of me like a never-ending river of dirt. Behind me, the kitchen staff shouts and bangs their pots. Above me, in warm beds, my family sleeps.

I am the Beta's daughter. But no one treats me like one.

"Faster, Lyra!" Marta's voice cuts through the morning like a whip. She is the head maid, and she hates me. I do not know why. Maybe because I remind her that her job could have been mine. "The Alpha's guests arrive this afternoon. Every speck of dust must be gone."

"Yes, Marta," I say quietly.

I dip my brush into the bucket and keep scrubbing. The soap burns my cracked knuckles. My back screams from yesterday's work. My hands have calluses that no seventeen-year-old girl should have.

But I do not complain. Complaining only makes things worse. I learned that lesson a long time ago.

---

By mid-morning, the packhouse is loud with noise. Young wolves run past me, laughing. Their faces shine with excitement. They are getting ready for the Moon Festival—three days of dancing, food, and mate ceremonies. Some of them will find their true mates under the full moon. Some of them will dance until dawn.

I watch them from the floor, my brush frozen in my hands.

I dream about the festival every year. I imagine wearing a clean dress. I imagine someone looking at me like I matter. I imagine the Moon Goddess finally giving me someone who will take me away from this place.

But dreams are for girls with soft hands and warm beds. Girls like my half-sister, Mira.

Mira walks past me an hour later. She is two years younger than me, with our father's dark hair and our mother's bright eyes. She wears a blue dress that costs more than I will ever own. Three friends follow her, giggling about boys and dances.

"Look at her," Mira says, loud enough for everyone to hear. She does not look at me. She never looks at me. "Still scrubbing like the servant she is."

Her friends laugh.

I keep scrubbing.

When I was little, I used to cry when Mira said things like that. Now my eyes stay dry. You cannot cry forever. At some point, your body just gives up.

---

The debt collectors arrive after lunch.

I am in the kitchen, scrubbing the stone floor near the back door, when I hear the front doors slam open. Heavy boots march into the packhouse. Men's voices—low, angry, dangerous.

I freeze.

"Where is Beta Rowan?" a voice growls. It is deep and rough, like rocks grinding together.

I crawl closer to the kitchen door. I know I should mind my own business. That is the first rule of surviving in this house: keep your head down and your mouth shut.

But something pulls me forward. Fear, maybe. Or the terrible feeling that my life is about to change.

I peek through the crack in the door.

Three men stand in the main hall. They wear dark coats and hard faces. The leader has a scar running from his ear to his chin. In his hand, he holds a folded paper. My father's name is written on the front.

My father, Beta Rowan, hurries down the stairs. His face is pale. His hands shake. I have never seen my father afraid of anything. He is a Beta. He is supposed to be strong.

But right now, he looks like a mouse trapped in a corner.

"Gentlemen," he says, his voice too high. "I just need more time—"

"You've had six months of time," the scarred man says. He slaps the paper against my father's chest. "The Alpha of Shadowfang Pack wants his money. You borrowed fifty thousand silver marks for gambling. You promised to pay it back by the full moon."

Fifty thousand. My stomach drops.

My father has a gambling problem. Everyone knows it. But I did not know it was this bad.

"I can pay," my father says quickly. "I just need—"

"You have nothing left," the scarred man interrupts. "Your pack's Alpha already refused to cover your debt. Your wife's jewelry is gone. Your land is gone." He leans closer. "Our Alpha is losing patience, Rowan. Pay by sundown tomorrow, or we take something you cannot replace."

They leave without another word.

My father stands alone in the hall for a long time. His shoulders shake. I think he might be crying.

I crawl back to my bucket and scrub until my hands bleed.

---

That night, a guard finds me in the servant's quarters.

"Beta Rowan wants you in the pack hall," he says. His face is strange. Pity, maybe. Or disgust. "Now."

I follow him through the dark hallways. My stomach twists into knots. My father has never summoned me before. He does not even look at me most days. Not since my mother died.

He blames me for her death, you see.

She died giving birth to me. I killed her by simply being born. My father has reminded me of that every single birthday. Every single holiday. Every single time he looks at my face and sees her eyes.

The pack hall is bright with lanterns. A long table sits in the middle. My father stands at the head of it. Beside him sit three strangers, the debt collectors. They have returned. And they are smiling.

My blood turns to ice.

"Ah," the scarred man says when he sees me. "The daughter. She is pretty enough. The Alpha will be satisfied."

"What?" My voice comes out as a whisper. "Father, what is happening?"

My father will not look at me. He stares at the table instead. His hands grip the edge until his knuckles turn white.

"Lyra," he says slowly, "you are no longer my responsibility. I have sold your contract to the Shadowfang Pack. Their Alpha has agreed to accept you as payment for my debt."

The room spins.

I think I might be sick.

"You sold me?" My voice cracks. "I am your daughter. Your blood."

"You are the reason my mate is dead," he says flatly. No emotion. No regret. Just a fact. "You owe me this. Now you will pay."

The scarred man stands up. He signals to two guards I did not notice before. They move toward me.

"No." I step backward. "No, you cannot do this. The Moon Goddess—the laws—"

"The Moon Goddess does not care about servants," my father says. He finally looks at me. His eyes are cold as winter stones. "And the laws do not apply to debts. You belong to Shadowfang now. What their Alpha does with you is none of my concern."

The guards grab my arms. I struggle. I kick. I scream. But they are stronger than me. They drag me toward the door.

I look back at my father one last time. I want to see regret. I want to see love. I want to see anything that proves I am more than a transaction to him.

His face is empty.

Then, as the guards pull me through the doorway, he speaks. His voice is quiet. Almost kind. That makes it worse.

"Pray the cursed Alpha kills you quickly."

---

The night air hits my face like a slap.

The guards throw me into a metal carriage. The door locks behind me. Through the small window, I see the packhouse getting smaller and smaller.

My home. My prison. My father's house.

I press my forehead against the cold glass and let the tears come. They burn hot down my cheeks. I do not wipe them away.

I have been sold like cattle. My father is gone. My life is over.

And somewhere ahead of me, in the darkness, the cursed Alpha of Shadowfang Pack is waiting.

Who is he?

And what will he do to me when I arrive?

The carriage rolls forward into the night.

I have never prayed before. But I pray now.

Moon Goddess, please let him be merciful.

The only answer is the howl of wolves in the distance.