CHAPTER 2

The floorboards creak above me as the Alpha’s footsteps fade, leaving only silence in the room.

My body doesn’t move. My face stays pressed against the desk, the wood cold beneath my skin. I can still smell him—his scent clings like smoke in my hair, in my lungs, in the cracks of my soul.

I don’t cry. I learned long ago that tears only make it worse. But inside, I’m already breaking into pieces too small to ever gather back again.

When I finally push myself up, my legs tremble so hard they can barely hold me. My hands shake as I pull my dress back down, fingers fumbling with fabric that feels like it doesn’t belong to me anymore.

The door is still closed, but I know I’m free to leave. Free to go crawl back to the little corner that pretends to be mine. Free to wait until the Beta comes again.

That’s what freedom means for me.

I walk out into the hall, my steps slow, careful, like the air itself might collapse if I make a sound. The torches flicker along the stone walls, shadows stretching long and cruel. My shadow follows me—thin, bent, smaller than I really am.

When I reach the washroom, I slip inside and close the door, leaning against it until my breath comes back. There’s no lock. There never is. But tonight, no one follows.

The basin of water waits in the corner. I kneel and dip my hands into it, scrubbing, scrubbing, scrubbing until my skin burns. The water clouds, dark, swirling, carrying pieces of me I’ll never get back. I splash my face, again and again, until the sting in my eyes is from the water and not from tears.

But it never feels clean. No matter how hard I scrub, I can’t wash him away. I can’t wash me away.

I whisper to the Moon Goddess, but my voice cracks like glass.

“Why me? Why do you let this happen to me?”

The walls don’t answer. The water doesn’t answer. The Goddess doesn’t answer.

I curl against the stone wall, knees to my chest, damp hair clinging to my cheeks. I make myself small, smaller, the way prey makes itself when the predator is near.

In the silence, a truth presses into me like a blade I can’t pull out:

I am not a mate.

I am not a wolf.

I am nothing.

And nothing is all I will ever be.

~~~

Morning comes like it always does—without mercy.

I don’t remember when I finally slept. Maybe I never did. My eyes burn as if they’ve been scraped raw, and my body aches in too many places to name. But none of that matters. The pack never waits.

I’m shaken awake by the omega’s voice, sharp as claws through the linen closet door.

“Hey you, up. Extra cleaning today. We’re expecting guests.”

Guests. Important ones, judging by the panic in her tone.

By the time I reach the hall, the pack house is already alive with frantic movement. Rugs are being beaten, floors scrubbed, silver polished until it gleams like ice. I’m handed a rag and a bucket, and the orders are clear: not a single speck of dust.

I work until my hands sting and my knees burn from kneeling across stone. I wipe down every railing, every chair, every corner. My reflection stares back at me from the polished floor, faint and hollow. It’s strange—how they demand perfection from someone they see as less than dirt.

The warriors whisper to one another as they pass, their voices low but sharp enough to cut. I don’t dare ask who’s coming. I don’t dare lift my head. My job is the dirt. My job is to erase myself from the room until only their pride remains.

By midday, the air shifts. The energy changes. A shiver ripples through the house. They’ve arrived.

I press myself into the far corner of the entryway, rag clutched in my hand, pretending to polish the same stretch of stone. From here, I can see the door when it opens but stay hidden in shadow.

Two figures step inside.

The first is a man who carries power like a weapon. His shoulders are broad, his stride sharp, each step a reminder that he does not bend for anyone. His hair is dark, cropped close, and his jaw looks carved from stone. Even from where I stand, I feel the weight of his presence pressing against my chest, stealing my breath. His eyes—icy and merciless—scan the room, and for a moment, I fear they’ll find me. But I drop my gaze before they can. Looking at an Alpha directly is dangerous. Looking at this Alpha feels impossible.

Beside him walks an older man. His hair is silver, his beard trimmed, his posture proud but not harsh. Where the first carries fury, this one carries weight—the weight of years, of command, of respect earned. His gaze is slower, heavier, like he sees more than he lets on.

The air thickens as my Alpha steps forward. His voice, usually sharp and cruel, softens with careful respect.

“Welcome, Alpha Mace. Welcome, Alpha Jacob. The Blood Moon Pack is honored by your presence.”

The names sink like stones into me. Alpha Mace. Alpha Jacob. I’ve never heard them spoken here before. Whoever they are, they matter enough to make our Alpha bow his head, his tone stripped of pride.

I keep my eyes on the floor, polishing, polishing, as if the stone beneath my rag might save me. My heart hammers, though I don’t know why. Important Alphas don’t see shadows like me. They see only what they came for.

Still, something in my bones whispers that everything is about to change.

Our Alpha gestures with his arm, his voice smooth.

“Please, come inside.”

And just like that, the two men disappear into the pack house, the door shutting behind them with a final, heavy sound.

The hall is heavy with silence as the three Alphas take their seats at the long table. Plates of food and jugs of wine are arranged before them, the best this pack has to offer. I hover by the door, rag still in my hand, hoping someone else will be sent to serve.

But the omega’s eyes cut into me like knives. “You. Go.”

My stomach sinks. I want to disappear into the walls, but there’s no place to hide. I pick up the pitcher and move forward, each step loud in my ears, though the floor makes no sound.

I keep my gaze low. Always low. But as I approach, something pulls at me—something I can’t fight. My eyes lift, just for a moment.

And I meet his.

Alpha Mace.

The world stills. His gaze is sharp, piercing, colder than winter, but it pins me in place. For a breath, I forget to move. Then panic seizes me, and I drop my eyes so fast my neck aches.

Don’t look. Don’t ever look.

I reach his side, and my hands start to tremble. The pitcher tilts in my grip, water sloshing dangerously close to the rim. My fingers tighten, but the shaking won’t stop. If I spill—if I ruin even a drop—it will mean punishment. I force myself to breathe slowly, to pour carefully, praying my hands will obey.

The water settles into his glass without a spill. Relief makes me dizzy, but I don’t let it show. I turn quickly, step back, and place myself at the edge of the room where I can be called easily.

I stand there, hands clasped in front of me, but my heart hasn’t slowed. Against every rule I’ve taught myself, I glance back at him.

Alpha Mace.

Every time my eyes find him, something stirs inside me—something strange, foreign, and frightening. Not desire. Not attraction. Those things were beaten and stolen from me long ago. No, this is something deeper. A pull in my chest, a thrum in my blood, like a part of me I didn’t know existed is trying to claw awake.

And every time I steal another glance, I find his eyes waiting for me. Watching. Piercing. As if he’s looking for something I don’t understand.

My heart pounds hard, loud, like a drum in a war march.

Then the sound shatters.

“Have you gone deaf?” my Alpha barks, his voice like a whip cracking across the hall. I flinch so hard the pitcher nearly slips from my hand. “You were told to leave, and you’re still standing there? Are you tired of living?”

Heat rushes to my face. Shame burns in my chest. I nod quickly, setting the pitcher down, and turn to go. My steps are unsteady, my mind reeling.

But as I walk away, confusion grips me—whose command was I obeying just now?

My Alpha’s voice?

Or the silent weight of Alpha Mace’s eyes?

I was still shaking when I slipped out of the hall, the sound of my Alpha’s bark echoing in my ears. My steps carried me toward the kitchen, pitcher pressed against my chest, when a sharp yank tore me backward.

Fingers twisted in my hair, pulling so tight my scalp burned, but I dared not scream. Wolves don’t cry out. Not me. Not ever.

I was dragged through the corridor, heels scraping stone, until I was spun and shoved hard enough to stumble. The omega stood before me, her eyes burning with fury.

The first slap came fast. The crack of it echoed against the walls, my head whipping to the side, pain stinging hot across my cheek. The second followed before I could breathe, harder, sharper, making me stagger until my knees hit the rocky ground. Stone cut through my skin; warmth spilled down my arm.

I bit down on the pain, hard enough my teeth ached, and forced myself up. My legs shook but I stood. I always stood.

The omega’s lip curled in disgust. She slapped me again, and the world tilted—stars bursting behind my eyes, my ears ringing.

“What did you just do back there?” she snarled, stepping close. Her breath was sharp, sour. “Did you just stand there like a fool when our guest ordered you to leave? What were you trying to show him? That you don’t fear us? That you’re worth looking at?”

My lips parted. I wanted to tell her—I hadn’t heard, that I was confused—but the words stuck.

Her hand twisted into my hair again, yanking my head back, forcing me to meet her eyes. Her other hand clamped my cheeks, nails digging deep into my skin until sharp points pierced flesh. The pain was sharp enough to draw blood.

“I should carve that look out of your face,” she hissed.

Her nails pressed harder, then suddenly—she released me. I staggered, swaying on my feet, but somehow managed to steady myself.

“East wing,” she ordered coldly. “You’ll clean the rooms for our guests. If anything like that happens again, I’ll rip the skin off your bones while you’re still alive. Understood?”

My throat tightened, but I nodded. “Understood.”

Her gaze swept over me in disgust. “Clean that blood. Change those filthy rags. Don’t you dare leave your stinking scent in their rooms.”

I nodded again, quieter this time. “Yes.”

I turned and walked quickly, forcing my steps to remain steady, even as my knees begged to collapse. Back in my little space, I tore a strip from the hem of my dress, wrapping it around the gash in my arm. The fabric stained quickly, but it would hold. It always had to.

I pulled on a clean shift, thin and worn, but free of blood. My hands trembled as I straightened it. No mirror. No reflection. Just me.

And then, with my head bowed and my arm throbbing, I set off for the east wing. My task awaited.

---

The east wing was silent, empty, but heavy with the weight of importance. I moved from room to room, scrubbing every surface until my arms ached and the scent of soap clung to my skin. The first room gleamed by the time I was done, polished enough that no one could accuse me of leaving a trace.

By the time I reached the second—the last—I could barely feel my fingers. Still, I worked carefully, my breaths slow, my rag moving in steady circles across the desk, the windowsill, the floor. When I finished, I leaned back against the wall for a moment, trying to catch my breath.

That’s when I heard it.

Footsteps. Slow. Heavy. Certain.

The sound moved down the hall, closer, closer, until my heart slammed so hard against my ribs it hurt. I froze, every part of me screaming to vanish, to disappear.

Then his scent hit me.

Alpha Mace.

It filled the room before he even stepped inside—sharp, commanding, overwhelming. My head spun, my knees buckled. Panic surged through me like fire. He couldn’t see me. Not here. Not alone.

I darted to the far side of the room, crouching low behind the tall carved wardrobe, clutching the rags against my chest like a shield. My breath caught in my throat as the door creaked open.

He entered.

For a moment, silence. Then his footsteps paused.

I knew. He’d seen me.

“Come out.”

The command was quiet, but it left no room for disobedience. My body moved before my mind could resist. I stepped out, head lowered, clutching the rags so tightly my knuckles turned white.

“I’m sorry,” I whispered, words tumbling from my lips. “I was just finishing—I’ll leave, I promise—”

“Stop.”

The word snapped through the room like a whip. My feet froze. My chest rose and fell too fast, too loud.

“Turn.”

I turned, my head still bowed, staring at the floorboards. My breath shook.

“Look at me.”

I hesitated. Fear knotted in my throat. No. If I looked, something terrible would happen—I didn’t know what, only that it would break me in ways I couldn’t survive.

Then his fingers brushed my chin, tilting it upward. The touch was firm, not cruel, but unyielding. My head lifted despite my trembling.

And our eyes met.

The world tilted. My heart thundered, my blood roared, and deep within me—something stirred. Something ancient, something silent until now.

A sound broke from my chest, low and wild.

My wolf. It was my wolf’s growl. For the first time in my life, my wolf growled.