ONE

WREN’S POV

EVERY TOUCH from Silas Deveraux used to steal my breath away, making me forget I had no wolf, forget the gap between our lineages—him being Alpha, me a Beta—forget about the scorn and mockery of the pack members every time we walked the hallways side by side, his arm slithering gently around my waist as a claim that I belonged to him.

But tonight, his hands are almost bruising, full of anger after losing the yearly hockey tournament. He doesn’t kiss my face the way he does when we have sex. He doesn’t look into my eyes like he’s trying to tell me how good my mouth feels when the length of his cock pushes into my throat.

There’s no gentleness in him tonight.

Instead, he has me flipped me over and fucked with the energy of a monster.

"Silas, please..." I moan against the sweat-drenched pillow, voice muffled, my fingers gripping the sheets of the bed.

Face down, ass up.

I can’t breathe with the way he pounds me from behind, hard enough that the only sound that fills the room is every smack of my ass against the front of his thighs, and the violent creak of the bed.

The pleasure tips me towards the edge, every thrust leaving me shuddering, blocking out the worry that should fill my head.

He grunts as he takes it slow, the sudden change of pace making my wetness give a squelch around his cock. His hips barely move now, allowing his dangling balls to torment my swollen nub with every wet smack.

"Say my name, little thing," he pants raggedly, fingers digging into my waistline, holding me against himself so I don't lose the arch. “Beg for it.”

I bite into the pillow. "Silas… please.”

“Is that all you've got?”

“Please!”

Spreading my butt cheeks with both hands, he slams into me again, pushing my hips into the bed and pulling a yelp from my throat.

"Look at you, begging for it," he grunts as he roughly tugs me back into the arch. "The little wolfless whore. You can't shift, but you can spread your legs for the Alpha. That's your only talent, isn't it, Wren?"

Sexual degradation—and then a sweet reassuring aftercare—has always been his thing, but tonight, this is beyond role play. There’s hate lacing his words, cold enough that even in the heat of the moment, I feel it.

"I'm sorry," I splutter, trying to find purchase on the sheets, my body bucking helplessly under his weight. "I'm so sorry, Silas—"

He feigns confusion. "Sorry for what? For costing me the Cup? For being weak? What are you apologizing for, Wren?"

I’m torn between the desperate need to climax, and the urge to calm his anger. "The game! I'm sorry for the game!”

Every stroke is hard enough to bruise, deep in my gut, splitting my walls. Yet, every groan of pleasure from his throat drives me to the edge. I always enjoyed being punished like this; I always enjoyed the degradation from a man so strong he could split me in half. But the painful thud in my chest smothers me more than my face being stuffed into the pillow, telling me this is more than just sexual punishment.

This is real.

"Fucking bitch," he snarls, his anger bubbling. "You're worthless!"

Voice quivering, I pant the response, my eyes clenched shut, fighting the wave of pleasure that shouldn't be here. “Yeah—ah fuck—I’m a bitch.”

"Weak little nothing!"

"Y-yes, Alpha.”

“Say you failed me."

"I–I—”

“Say it!”

“I failed you.”

“Say you failed the pack as a fake Luna!"

Tears burn at the corner of my eyes, and I can barely find my voice. “I-I failed my pack.”

"Good girl.”

Without another word, Alpha Silas pulls away, leaving me throbbing and sore. From the waist down, I collapse into the mattress, the sudden denial of release rendering me useless. I want to beg for my orgasm, but I bite back the whimpers shamefully.

Seconds crawl by. The only sound is the rough snick of his belt buckle.

He is standing there, adjusting his pants while I remain laying on his bed, panting, shaking, refusing to get up to look at him.

"Get dressed," he orders, voice hoarse. "There’s a pack meeting in ten minutes. I expect you to be there. We need to discuss the loss."

Before I could give a response, he’s out the door.

The sound of it clicking shut seals my fate. I knew what discussing the loss meant for me.

Pack Trial.

Alpha Silas and I had been together for three years since he publicly declared me his mate, but he had never put his mark on me.

I always thought he just enjoyed the perks of having me be in the position of Luna without the actual label—no ring, no child, no marriage—until he was ready. But now, watching him throw me to the wolves, I was starting to think he had been secretly ashamed of my lack of a wolf all through those years, because he is so quick to use this mistake to shame me in public. After one stupid error on the ice, he was putting me on trial in front of the entire pack. The shame of that single error felt enormous, but I knew why. I lived in Crystal Falls, where werewolf packs dwelled on one thing above all else: Hockey.

It was the town's seasonal warfare and whichever team won, gained an annual ownership to the Trophy Reserve Lands—a vast hunting ground area.

But tonight, my pack, the Ragriz Wolves, had lost the Championship to our rival Paxon Scythes, and also access to the land.

The final score came in the last thirty seconds. A Paxon player broke through the defense, and I—playing defense because of my Beta father's position—couldn't cover him fast enough. Every other player shifted to gain the speed needed to block the shot.

I couldn't. My human speed was too slow. It was a last-minute mistake caused by my inability to shift during the werewolf hockey game.

Shamefully, tears blind me as I scramble off the bed to gather my discarded clothes at the edge. Shorts and an oversized T-shirt of Silas.

By the time I walk down the brightly lit pack hallways leading to the Assembly Hall, I'm a quivering mess, my fingers digging into my palms.

I don’t know what my punishment will be or if I will be getting any as someone who had been doing the work of a Luna long enough to be seen as one.

But the moment the massive oak doors open, hundreds of eyes zero in on me and the whispers immediately tell me I’m getting stripped of whatever respect I’d built these past few years.

“Wolfless whore,” someone snarls.

“Look at her. Pathetic!” Another says.

“Still has the guts to wear his shirt. Is she really still claiming Luna?”

“Goosebumps of shame.”

The whispers assault me from every side, left and right, but I refuse to look at them. My eyes are fixed solely on Silas, who stands at the very front of the hall, and his are fixed on me, cold as winter.

But that's not what alarms me. It's the outsider standing right beside him that does.

Rhys Jaeger, Alpha of the Paxon pack.

My heart slams against my ribcage the moment our eyes connect.

His dead, gray eyes stare out from beneath knitted brows, and the intensity of his gaze makes me feel like I’m already kneeling

Unlike the other Alphas who visit, clad in suits and surrounded by guards, he stands alone in dark blue jeans and a red cotton shirt, revealing the sinewy muscles of his olive-toned arms folded across his chest. He is the Alpha of the pack who won the cup from us tonight.

But the real question isn't why he's here, it’s why I feel like prey.

Has he come to mock us or rub it in our faces that his team won and we are shit beneath his shoes?

I don't look more than twice before I see the terrifying line-up of Omegas before him and Alpha Silas, stripped down to their underwear, paraded like they are up for sale.

My heart starts pounding before I even find my voice. “Alpha Vale—”

“Shut up!” His roar echoes through the room.

I flinch. The sound shatters whatever calm I had left.

The lineup tells me everything I need to know. Omegas from our pack are being traded to the rival pack. And the way Silas is looking at me—with those eyes I’ve loved for years cold and filled with hate—tells me I’m a part of the deal.

My knees almost buckle as I take a step forward, falling in line with the omegas.

Five female omegas, ranging from fifteen to eighteen, tremble and whimper beside me, drenched in sweat. They look at me—their working Luna, as ironic as it is—and I join them for my own trial or punishment, whichever Alpha Silas decides to bestow.

“For five consecutive years,” Alpha Silas begins, his voice loud and clear, “the Ragriz Pack has taken home the Cup. Five years of victory under my leadership.”

His green eyes don’t leave mine.

“Five years of blood, sweat, and discipline. We built this pack into what it is today. And all it took was one wolfless mistake to ruin it.”

He takes a step closer, and I can’t stop shaking.

“Because of your father’s Beta blood,” he continues, so much hate in his voice, “and because you served as my working Luna—” he spits the title like it disgusts him. “—I decided to put my woman to the test.”

I immediately slump to my knees, trembling, “Silas, please. I’ll fix it. Just give me another chance. Please, Alpha.”

He doesn’t even look at me with pity. His jaw flexes as he rolls his eyes and looks back at Alpha Rhys. “I made a bet before this year’s game,” he says. “For every year we’d won, I’d give one Omega as a slave if we ever lost. And for the year that we finally did…”

He pauses. His eyes meet mine again.

“…he chose to have you.”