CHAPTER FOUR

Dawn breaks on my last day of freedom, and I haven't slept. My room is too quiet, too empty – most of my belongings already packed away or donated. Slaves travel light. Slaves own nothing.

I've repeated that word so many times it's lost all meaning. Slave. Property. Possession.

A soft knock interrupts my thoughts. "Alora?" Mom's voice carries through the door. "The market delegates are here. They... they have more information about Silver Creek."

My heart skips. I've spent all night imagining what awaits me, each scenario worse than the last. "Come in."

She enters carrying a tray of breakfast I won't eat, dark circles under her eyes matching mine. Behind her, Sarah – my childhood friend whose cousin serves in Silver Creek – hovers nervously.

"Tell her," Mom urges softly, setting down the tray.

Sarah wrings her hands, avoiding my eyes. "My cousin Mira wrote to me about... about him."

The way she says 'him' makes my skin prickle. "Alpha Stone?"

She nods. "She says... Alora, are you sure you want to hear this?"

"I need to know what I'm walking into." My voice comes out stronger than I feel. "Please."

Sarah perches on the edge of my stripped bed. "They call him the Beast for a reason. Not just because of his size or strength, but..." She swallows hard. "He can scent emotions. Fear, desire, lies – especially lies. They say he punishes deception more harshly than any other offense."

My stomach churns. Perfect. Just perfect.

"What else?" I prompt when she hesitates.

"The slave quarters... they're not what you'd expect. He keeps his personal slaves in the main house, close to his chambers. Mira says it's so he can monitor them, sense any disobedience before it manifests."

"Personal slaves?" Mom interrupts sharply. "Alora's supposed to be assigned to the kitchens."

Sarah shakes her head. "That's not how he works. He inspects every new slave personally. Tests them. The strong ones, the ones with... potential... he keeps for himself."

"Potential for what?" But I already know.

"Training." Sarah's voice drops to a whisper. "They say he can break any wolf's will. That he derives pleasure from it. From forcing submission."

A shiver runs down my spine that has nothing to do with fear. My wolf, traitor that she is, stirs with interest.

"The last slave who tried to run..." Sarah continues, "they say he hunted her himself. Tracked her for three days before catching her. When he brought her back..." She shudders.

"What did he do to her?" I need to know. Need to understand what I'm risking.

"He made her crawl. For a month, she wasn't allowed to stand in his presence. Had to crawl everywhere, wear his bite mark where everyone could see it. A reminder that he owns every part of them – their bodies, their wolves, their pride."

Mom makes a distressed sound, but I barely hear it. That treacherous heat is building again, making me shift uncomfortably on my window seat.

"But," Sarah adds quickly, "he protects what's his. Fiercely. Last moon, when a visiting Alpha tried to... to touch one of his personal slaves..." She shivers. "They say he nearly tore the man's throat out. That he made it clear any mark on his property would be repaid tenfold."

"Property," I repeat softly. "Is that all they are to him?"

Sarah hesitates. "Mira says... she says there's something else. Something no one talks about. The slaves he keeps closest? They're all unmated females. Young. Strong. Like he's... searching for something."

Or someone. The thought comes unbidden, making my wolf pace restlessly.

"That's enough." Mom's voice cracks like a whip. "Alora needs to prepare. Sarah, thank you for—"

"Wait." I catch Sarah's hand as she stands. "One last thing. What does he look like?"

A blush stains her cheeks. "They say he's huge – nearly seven feet in shifted form. Black fur with silver tips, like moonlight on shadow. Eyes that glow like mercury when he's angry. But it's not just his appearance..." She bites her lip. "His presence... Mira says being near him is like standing too close to a storm. The power rolling off him makes it hard to breathe, hard to think. Most wolves can't even meet his eyes without submitting."

"Thank you," I whisper, releasing her hand. "For telling me the truth."

After they leave, I stay by the window, watching the pack lands I'll never see again. My wolf is unusually quiet, processing everything we've learned.

A knock on my door frame makes me turn. Dad stands there, looking older than I've ever seen him.

"Ready for your last run?" he asks softly.

I blink back tears. Our territory borders are watched now, but we have one last tradition to honor. One last moment of freedom before everything changes.

"Race you to the north ridge?" I manage a weak smile.

Dad's eyes shine with unshed tears. "One last time, baby girl."

We shift there in the hallway – me carefully maintaining my brown-furred illusion – and race through the house, out into the morning sun. For a few precious moments, I let myself forget what's coming. Forget the Beast who will own me tomorrow. Forget the lies I'll have to tell and the submission I'll have to fake.

I run with my father under the rising sun, memorizing every scent, every sensation, every moment of freedom.

Tomorrow, I become property.

But today – just for today – I am still Alora Mitchell.

I am still free.

Even if my wolf whispers that freedom isn't what she wants anymore.