THE CAPTIVE'S LOVE CHAPTER 1

The wind reeked of victory and defiance. The once-great Crescent Silver Moon Fang Pack was nothing more than ashes and memories of the past. The Red Crescent Moon Pack's banners waved over the conquered territory, their soldiers standing victorious over the broken bodies of the defeated. The moon, high and unconcerned, watched as the carnage unfolded.

In the heart of the battlefield, the whole of the Crescent Silver Moon Pack—those who survived—knelt before their new masters. Some silently wept, others shook, their bodies battered and grimed with dirt. But among them, one did not cower.

Emereah Blade, daughter of the fallen Alpha King, refused to bend her head.

Her silver eyes, once a sign of nobility, now blazed with defiance. Her breathing was harsh, her clothes ripped, her body screaming in agony at the new slave mark burned into her neck. But she stood strong, her hands curled into fists at her sides.

She could still hear the echoes of her father's final roar, the keen steel of enemy blades cutting through flesh, and the merciless laughter of the Red Crescent warriors as they slaughtered her people. The memory seared as vividly as the mark on her skin.

At the grand dais, Vladimir Crown—the son of the Red Crescent Moon Pack—sat on the Alpha's throne, his posture relaxed but his golden-amber eyes piercing, calculating, assessing. He radiated power, dominance, and cold detachment, as if he hadn't just masterminded the extermination of an entire bloodline.

To her left, shrouded in regal haughtiness, sat Alexandria Reeve, his Luna-to-be. Her lips curled into a sneering smile, sapphire-blue eyes glinting with mirth as she looked upon the broken nobles who had nothing, who were nothing but cattle.

The jeering crowd laughed as, one by one, the prisoners bowed. But when Emereah stood her ground, the atmosphere shifted.

The laughter died.

A cold silence fell.

Alexandria's heels clicked on stone as she stepped forward, standing mere inches from Emereah. She leaned forward, mocking curiosity on her face.

"This one is different," she said, her voice dripping with poisonous sweetness. She leaned forward, tracing a single manicured finger under Emereah's chin, forcing her to look up. "Perhaps she still clings to her past."

Emereah's jaw clenched. Every instinct of her being screamed to snap those delicate fingers in two, but she did not move. She would not be the first to break.

Alexandria leaned in closer, her voice a whisper, but loud enough for all to hear. "Let me tell you something, princess," she sneered, her nails digging slightly into Emereah's skin. "You are nothing. No family. No home. No crown. Just a pretty little toy waiting to be played with."

The crowd laughed cruelly, wallowing in her humiliation.

Still, Emereah did not look away.

Her silence, her refusal to submit, was enough to feed Alexandria's anger.

Alexandria's grip on Emereah's chin tightened as she hissed, "Bow, slave."

A flicker of uncertainty.

And then—

"No."

A collective gasp ran through the audience.

Vladimir, who had been watching with detached amusement, suddenly leaned forward, golden eyes narrowing. The audacity. The sheer defiance.

For a moment, something unreadable flickered through his gaze. But it was gone in the blink of an eye, replaced by icy indifference.

"You don't understand your place." His voice was smooth, deep—though brutally cold. "You don't get to make the choice, Emereah Blade. You are no longer a princess."

His words were keener than any blade.

"You are mine now."

The declaration hung suspended in mid-air. The hum of the crowd altered to aghast whispers, a sadistic thrill glinting in their eyes.

Alexandria's smirk faltered. Her hand on Emereah's chin clamped tighter before she jerked back, her eyes blazing at Vladimir.

"You're keeping her?" she spat, venom creeping into the incredulity. "She should be dead, not standing here like some untouchable goddess."

Vladimir rose, his towering form casting a long, dark shadow over Emereah. His eyes flickered over her with calculated interest—not desire, not lust, but something colder, something deadlier.

"She entertains me."

Alexandria's body stiffened. The crowd murmured again, sensing the tension between the future Luna and her Alpha.

"You're preferring a slave over your mate?" Alexandria's voice cracked, her nails digging into her palms.

Vladimir's lips curled into a slow, cruel smile. "I do not recall ever saying I preferred you, Alexandria."

The crowd stilled, as if the weight of his words had sucked the very air from the battlefield.

Alexandria paled before her fury boiled into something volatile. "She's a slave! You can't prefer her—"

Vladimir turned his eyes on her, his voice a sharp blade cutting through the air.

"I prefer no one. I own everything. Including her."

Emereah felt the cold sting of his words, but she refused to look away. She would not break—not before them, not before him.

Vladimir moved closer, stopping so close his heat was a contrast to the ice in his eyes. He reached out, his fingers tracing the burning slave mark on her neck.

"You will serve me." His voice was low, menacing. "You will kneel when I command you to. And you will break when I choose you to."

Emereah stood firm, her silver eyes a tempest against his golden blaze. "You will regret this."

"You will regret this."

The words hung there, a tempest meeting fire.

Vladimir's golden-amber eyes locked with hers, unreadable and piercing, as if daring her to deny him. The flickering flames of the victory pyres cast jagged shadows on his face, and he seemed all the more inhuman—cruel, unapproachable.

Then, slowly, his lips curled into something almost, but not quite, a smirk. Almost.

"Regret?" His voice was low, lethal. "A slave defies me?"

The whole Red Crescent Moon Pack was silent. Anticipation. Tension. No one had ever defied Vladimir Crown and lived.

He moved in closer. Too close. Close enough that Emereah could feel the heat radiating off him, but his eyes were nothing but ice.

"Tell me, little princess," he whispered, leaning in, taunting her title as if it were a dead joke. "What exactly do you think I will regret?"

Emereah gritted her teeth together. She could not show weakness. Not here. Not now.

"Keeping me alive," she snarled, her voice rebellious despite the shackles on her wrists. "Not killing me when I had the chance."

For a moment, something flickered in Vladimir's eyes, something she couldn't quite read. But then it was gone, replaced by that same cold amusement.

"You think that I had no reason to spare your life."

The way he said it so offhand, so unflappable, made something inside of her boil with even more fury.

"You will regret it." Her voice was steel, unbreakable. "Mark my words, Vladimir Crown."

His face was still impassive, but the slight incline of his head told her that she had his full attention.

Then—

Slap!

The jarring shock of impact echoed through the air as Alexandria's palm slapped into Emereah's cheek. The impact of it jerked her head to the side, the metallic rush of blood in her mouth.

The crowd gasped, a mixture of shock and excitement at Alexandria's sudden outburst.

"Enough."

Alexandria's voice was cutting, venomous, trembling with sheer fury.

"I've had enough of her impertinence, Vladimir!" she snarled, turning to face him. "She's a captive! A slave! And you stand here, playing to her like she's worth something!"

The insult cut hard, but Emereah didn't waver.

Instead, she smirked, tilting her head back up, silver eyes glinting with something dark, something dangerous. It wasn't submission. It was challenge.

Alexandria saw it. And it snapped her.

With a snarl of rage, she seized Emereah by the hair and yanked her forward, pushing her to her knees.

"Bow, slave," she spat. "You have no right to regard your Alpha as an equal."

Vladimir said nothing. Watching. Evaluating.

Emereah's scalp seared, but she did not give. She would not give Alexandria the satisfaction.

Alexandria leaned in, her breath hot and angry against Emereah's ear. "I will make your life hell. Every moment you draw breath in this pack will be agony, I swear it."

Emereah breathed out, slow and deliberate, before raising her gaze once more, meeting Vladimir's eyes.

"If I am to be a slave," she said, voice full of quiet defiance, "then why is she so afraid of me?"

Alexandria tensed.

For a split second, a crack appeared in her perfect mask of control. The crowd murmured, sensing the break.

Vladimir's smirk returned amused, intrigued, dangerous.

"Interesting."

The single word sent a shiver of tension through the air.

Alexandria turned back to him, eyes wild with disbelief.

"Vladimir, she—"

He raised a hand. The command was silent, but absolute. Alexandria bit her lip, furious but unable to disobey.

Vladimir moved forward again, looming over Emereah.

"You amuse me, Emereah Blade," he said finally, his voice carrying across the entire pack. "Let's see how long that lasts."

Then without breaking eye contact he raised a single boot and pressed it against her shoulder, pushing her fully onto the ground.

The crowd erupted.

Emereah landed on the dirt, her cheek scraping against the cold earth, but still she did not break.

Not today.

Not ever.