THE LYCAN'S SACRIFICE, Fated To The Beast.

Elvanya's POV

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"I'm scared." Lily's voice barely rises above a whisper as she presses closer to me.

I want to tell her it'll be okay. I want to lie and say we'll get through this. But the words stick in my throat because I'm terrified too, and we both know nothing about this is okay.

The Selection Hall reeks of fear. Fifty girls packed together like cattle, waiting to find out which nightmare we've been sold into. Some cry quietly. Others stand frozen, eyes glazed over like they've already left their bodies behind. I don't blame them.

My parents didn't even flinch when they told me.

"We're sorry, honey, but it's the only solution." My mother's voice had been soft, apologetic, useless. As always.

My father didn't bother with apologies. "We need the money. Your younger siblings need to eat. You should be grateful the Moonstalkers even noticed you."

Grateful.

The word still burns in my chest.

I raised myself. I took care of my siblings while they pretended parenthood was just about bringing children into the world and nothing more. And this—being sold to them—this is my reward.

"Everyone, attention!"

Mrs. Vera's voice cuts through the murmurs like a blade. She stands at the front of the hall, hands clasped, face carefully blank. But I see it—the slight tremor in her fingers, the way her eyes dart toward the door. She's just as afraid as we are.

"It is a rare honor," she begins, her voice steady despite the fear, "to be graced by the presence of the King's Gamma. His Highness Gamma Jaxian has come personally to oversee today's selection."

A collective intake of breath ripples through the room.

The King's Gamma. Third-in-command of the entire beast hierarchy. They don't come to places like this—not for girls like us. Selections are usually handled by lower-ranking wolves, the ones who purchase humans for labor or... other purposes.

This is different.

This is dangerous.

"You will conduct yourselves with absolute decorum," Mrs. Vera continues, her gaze sweeping over us like a warning. "Any mistake, any disrespect, will not be tolerated. Am I understood?"

We nod. What else can we do?

I think of the last selection two weeks ago—the girl who spilled wine on a Beta's sleeve. I can still see the way his hand moved, so fast it barely registered. One moment she was stammering an apology. The next, her throat was gone, blood spraying across the white tablecloth.

He didn't even stop eating.

The door slams open.

The sound is so sudden, so violent, that several girls jump. Mrs. Vera spins around, her reprimand already forming—but it dies the instant she sees who's entered.

"Your Highness, Gamma Jaxian." She drops into a low bow, and we follow, curtsying in unison.

I keep my eyes on the floor, but I can feel him.

The air in the room changes and thickens. It's like standing too close to a fire its ppressive and suffocating. My instincts scream at me to run, but I force myself to stay still.

He doesn't speak.

I hear his footsteps—slow, deliberate. I hear the sound of him breathing, deep and controlled, like he's scenting the air. My stomach twists.

The footsteps grow closer.

Closer.

I don't dare look up, but I can see his boots now—black leather, scuffed at the toes. He's stopped right in front of our section.

No.

Not our section.

Right in front of me.

My heart slams against my ribs. I feel Lily trembling behind me, her fingers clutching the back of my dress.

"Your Highness," Mrs. Vera's voice is strained, "is something the matter?"

A low, guttural sound rumbles from his chest. Not quite a growl. Not quite a snarl.

And then he moves.

His hand shoots past me, and Lily screams as he rips her from behind me. I stumble forward, barely catching myself, and when I spin around, my blood turns to ice.

He's holding her against his chest, one massive arm wrapped around her waist, his face buried in the curve of her neck. She's crying, struggling weakly, her hands pushing uselessly against his shoulders.

"No—please, please—"

He inhales deeply, a sound that's more animal than man, and when he pulls back, his eyes are no longer human.

They're glowing.

Bright—Molten—Feral.

"Mine."

The word is a command and absolute claim

I don't understand. None of us understood. We're just humans—we're nothing to them. We're purchased. Used and Then Discarded.

We're not mates.

But then his fangs sink into Lily's neck, and her scream shatters the silence.

I clap my hands over my mouth, choking back my own cry. Around me, girls are sobbing, some turning away, others frozen in horror.

Blood runs down Lily's collarbone in thin red streams. Her body goes limp, sagging against him, and for a terrible moment I think he's killed her.

But then I see her chest rising and falling. Shallow breaths. She's alive.

He pulls his fangs free, dragging his tongue over the wound in one slow, possessive stroke. The bite mark remains—two deep punctures surrounded by bruising that's already turning dark.

A mating mark.

"Send five girls to the palace."

His voice is rough, distorted, like he's barely holding onto control. He didn't look at Mrs. Vera. He didn't look at any of us. His eyes are locked on Lily's face, his hand cradling the back of her head like she's something precious.

"The best you have," he continues, his tone dropping into something dangerous. "Or I'll come back for the rest of you."

Mrs. Vera's face is white. "Y-yes, Your Highness. Of course."

He turns and strides toward the door, Lily cradled in his arms like a child. She's unconscious now, her head lolling against his shoulder, and the last thing I see before he disappears is the way his hand tightens on her, protective and possessive all at once.

The door slams shut.

For a moment, no one moves. No one breathes.

And then the room erupts.

Girls are crying, talking over each other, some collapsing to the floor. Mrs. Vera is shouting for order, but no one's listening.

I just stand there, staring at the door.

Lily is gone.

My best friend—the girl who shared her bread with me when I had nothing, who whispered jokes during inspections to keep me from breaking—is gone.

Claimed by a beast.

Marked.

Mated.

I don't know if I'll ever see her again.

"Quiet! *Quiet!*" Mrs. Vera's voice finally cuts through the chaos. Her face is flushed, her hands shaking. "I need five volunteers. Now."

No one moves.

"Now, or I'll choose for you!"

Silence.

And then, slowly, a girl near the front raises her hand. Then another. Then two more.

Mrs. Vera's eyes sweep over the room and land on me.

"You."

My stomach drops.

"Me?"

"Yes. You." Her tone leaves no room for argument. "You're going to the palace."

I open my mouth to protest, but the look in her eyes stops me cold.

Don't fight this. You'll only make it worse.

So I close my mouth.

And I nod.

Because what choice do I have?