Chains of the Moon

Layla’s Pov

The metal chains slammed against the wall, echoing with the sound of punches.

My wrists were bound together, suspended from the ceiling by cold metal that burned into my skin with every movement.

The blows rained down frantically, delivering the same punishment I knew all too well.

After a few minutes, the torture finally ceased. My tormentor looked at me with hatred, an expression of pure malevolence twisting his lips.

“Learn your lesson. You must never challenge me! I’ll let you off the hook for now. Tomorrow, the punishment will be more... tantalizing.”

He licked his lips with desire and left the room, satisfied, as my blood continued to flow from my new wounds.

The air reeked of hemoglobin, urine, and sweat,a familiar stench of suffering.

Yet today, I was somewhat lucky. I only received blows to the face and stomach.

Sometimes, I endured knife cuts, or one of my tormentors decided to continue their sexual torture.

My eyes closed with exhaustion.

I no longer felt anything,no pain, no emotion, nothing.

My broken body sought only eternal peace.

I no longer had the strength to fight... and I finally sank into a merciful unconsciousness.

—--------------------

My memories pull me backward, into the fog of the past.

I hover above the moments like a lost ghost, watching scenes unfold without truly understanding them.

Years had passed, and I had long accepted that no one was coming for me.

This house , this room , would be my final home.

If one could even call a cellar a bedroom.

Had I ever been happy? Could happiness even exist?

I didn’t know anymore.

My last clear memory of another life was the day I arrived here.

I was five or six.

My uncle was the Alpha of the pack , a man who ruled through fear.

After her mate died, my mother gave me to his care, knowing she wouldn’t survive her grief.

She was right. A week after I left her, she died of sorrow.

I remember her faintly: tall, slender, with a smile that could light the whole room.

Her eyes were gentle, full of warmth.

My father used to call me his little princess.

Sometimes, I still dream of his arms around me , the safety of that embrace.

My parents had been bound by a sacred bond , soulmates.

A bond I once believed in.

My mother used to tell me bedtime stories about it:

how two souls were tied by an invisible thread, drawn to each other from birth.

That one day, I would meet the other half of my soul.

As a child, I believed her.

I thought my soulmate would find me , rescue me , free me from these chains.

But fairy tales are for children.

When I turned eighteen, I was supposed to meet my fated one.

Instead, the Beta’s son , one of my worst tormentors , declared that I was his.

He took what he wanted by force, in front of part of the pack.

No spark. No bond. No salvation.

Just pain.

That day, I learned the truth , soulmates do not exist.

Men were beasts. Monsters hiding behind human faces.

I would never be drawn to one again. Never.

—--------------------

During my childhood, I lived in this cellar , my “room.”

There was nothing but a filthy mattress, a few pencils, and worn notebooks.

Three old books about werewolves and their transformations were my only friends.

I always knew what I was , a creature that shouldn’t exist.

A wolf. A cursed legend.

My first transformation happened here , alone , the day after my assault.

My wolf was weak, distant, hiding deep inside me to survive.

They said I was a submissive wolf , one without strength or will.

“The weakest of the pack,” they called me.

My father once told me, while I played in our garden:

“You will be strong, my little wolf. No one will ever defeat you.”

He was wrong.

I was nothing.

The weakest , and always would be.

Before adulthood, I was allowed small duties , cleaning, cooking, laundry.

I became an excellent cook over the years.

At first, my uncle, the Alpha, ignored me but left me alone.

Then, as I grew older, the beatings began.

I was only allowed out for a few hours a day.

Everyone in the pack knew about my imprisonment , and no one dared to help.

Defying the Alpha meant death.

—--------------------

A young servant once decided to help me. We were both sixteen.

She tended to my wounds and gave me strength to endure.

For a few months, I had a reason to breathe again.

Then, she vanished.

They said she had been sent to another pack.

I knew better.

She was dead , because she had cared.

Her name was Freya.

My only friend.

My tears were endless.

After adulthood, my existence decayed further.

I no longer left the room. I slept on the cold mattress,

relieved myself in a corner hole,

and survived in the dark.

The days bled into each other ,

beatings, violation, silence.

Sometimes they fed me, to keep me alive.

I tried to end my life many times,

but even death was denied to me.

Why keep me alive? What did they gain?

I was broken, useless.

I lost count of how many hurt me.

It felt endless , a parade of cruelty.

But the worst were always three:

my uncle, the Alpha;

his son, Ryder, the next Alpha;

and Benjamin, the Beta’s son.

They forbade me from saying their names.

They wanted titles. Power.

Master.

The memories claw at me still,

but I lock them away , in a box within my mind,

where even my wolf dares not go.

—--------------------

Until last week, my body always healed clean.

But now they use iron chains and wolf-forged blades ,

weapons meant to scar forever.

My wrists burn with their touch,

as if the iron wants to eat into my soul.

The knives hang outside my door,

gleaming,

reminding me what waits if I falter.

—--------------------

Slowly, I return to the present.

My wrists ache, my stomach is bruised,

blood trickling from my brow.

A man approaches , tall, slender, with golden-brown eyes full of something like pity.

He unfastens the chains.

I fall heavily to the ground.

The pain feels distant now , almost unreal.

Instinctively, I curl into a fetal position,

trying to cover my nakedness.

They never let me wear clothes ,

a psychological torment as much as a physical one.

I can’t tell how long I was unconscious.

Minutes? Hours? Days?

Time doesn’t exist in this place.

He crouches beside me,

wipes the blood from my cheek,

and speaks in a deep, controlled voice:

“You have until tomorrow to recover. In the afternoon, a powerful Alpha will visit.

We need this house spotless and a dinner worthy of his rank.

Be grateful, Layla , I convinced the Alpha not to punish you for now.

Sleep. Regain your strength.”

It was the First Lieutenant , his voice calm, authoritative.

He never touched me.

Because of that, I learned to trust him,

just a little.

So I obeyed.

I closed my eyes,

drifting into the dark again.

Who knows what the new Alpha will want tomorrow?

Another chain?

Another scar?

Or… an ending.