Chapter 5

I glared at Lucas while he pulled me out of the room by the hair, my eyes burning with hate, my fists clenched so tight my nails cut into my palms. His gray eyes glinted back, sharp and mocking, like he was enjoying my anger.

The air outside the house was thick with blood and distant cry, the ground slick with mud.

My barefoot stuck in it, the cold seeping through.

“Keep turning me on with that glare, and I’ll drag you to my pack now and fuck you till you’re sour,” he said, voice low, a smirk curling his lips.

I scoffed, my voice rough, scraping my throat. “Touch me, and I’ll cut your hands off,” I spat, but his pine and sandalwood scent hit me again, twisting with the mate bond, making my skin crawl and my wolf whimper in longing.

I hated the feeling. I hated him, hated my inner wolf for wanting him.

Fuck the moon goddess for this nonsense bond.

“You can’t do anything, bitch!” He snickered.

“You really don’t know me, Alpha King. I’m not the scared, weak girl called a curse and broken by my people!”

Back with my parents, I would have cowered at his strength, fearing death and begging for mercy. Not now. Not after the blood I had spilled, the life I had survived out in the slums.

He laughed, a dark, rolling sound that made my stomach churn. “We’ll see how strong you are,” he said, yanking my hair harder, dragging me towards the gate.

As we stepped out, the night air hit like a slap, cold and sharp, carrying the stench of death, blood, sweat, and burned flesh.

I gasped, a sharp sound that tore from my throat, as my eyes caught the horror. Bodies everywhere. The rogues, my people, men, women, even pups, torn apart, limbs scattered like broken toys.

The ground was a graveyard, blood soaking the dirt, glinting black under the moonlight. I turned my head, but there was no escape as every angle showed more death, more of my failure.

Lucas’s men stood in rows, their armor clanking, their scents heavy with wolf and steel. They bowed as he stepped forward, their heads low, like he was a god.

“Orders complete, King Lucas,” a man at the front said, his voice steady, his scent marking him as Beta. “The slums are cleared.”

“Bring out the survivors,” Lucas barked, his grip on my arm bruising. I tried to pull free, but he smacked the back of my head, hard, the pain flaring hot.

“Don’t,” he hissed, his breath hot against my ear. “Move again, and I’ll gut you in front of them.”

I bit my lip, rage boiling, my head throbbing. My eyes burned as I glared at him, hating how his touch sent a shiver I couldn’t shake.

“Go to hell,” I whispered back, voice shaking but sharp, my wolf whining in my head, torn between longing and hate.

“Careful,” he said, leaning close, his voice a low growl, his eyes glinting with something dangerous; anger, maybe, or that damn mate bond pulling at him too. “Show respect in front of my men, or I’ll tear you apart. Save your fire for when we’re alone.”

“Fuck your respect,” I hissed, my chest heaving, hatred exploding like a fire in my veins. My wolf growled, “He’s our mate, Mia! Don’t push him!” but I ignored her, my heart pounding with the death screams still ringing outside.

The crowd parted, and my breath caught as twenty rogues were dragged out, chains clinking, their wrists and ankles bloody from tight shackles.

They groaned, faces swollen, bruised, some barely standing. I knew everyone. My gang, my family, the ones I’d fought for, bled for. And there, at the end, was Clara with her black hair matted with blood, her sharp eyes dull but alive.

My heart stuttered. I’d thought she escaped.

Lucas’s smirk widened, catching my look. “Know them, Rogue Queen?” he said, voice dripping with mockery. “Looks like you care.”

I swallowed, my throat tight, the weight of their eyes on me like a stone on my chest.

Clara’s gaze met mine, her face bruised but fierce, and I remembered her giving me that apple, her laugh by the fire. She had saved me, and I had failed her.

“They’re my people,” I said, voice low, shaking with guilt.

“Sweet,” he said, clapping his hands, the sound sharp in the cold air. “Let’s play a game, Mia. How many die? Your call.” He stepped toward them, slow, his boots squelching in the bloody mud.

“I don’t play games,” I snapped, fists clenched, my voice raw. “You’ve killed enough. Let them go since you have got me. Isn't that enough?”

He laughed, pulling a gun from his belt, the metal glinting. “Bossy, even now,” he said, voice low, amused. “You should be using ‘please,’ tearfully, Rogue Queen. Beg for them.”

I glared, my blood hot, tears burning my eyes but not falling. “Please,” I forced out, the word bitter, like ash. “Let them live.”

He grinned, wicked, and pressed the gun to the head of a male rogue whose eyes widened with fear. “Too late,” he said to me, and fired.

The shot cracked, loud and final, and the boy dropped, blood spraying the dirt. My knees buckled, but I caught myself, a cold chill running through me. The others flinched, some crying, some shaking, and Clara’s eyes met mine, full of pain but no blame.

Lucas pointed the gun at another, a woman who I could remember was among those who taught me to sharpen knives. “How many, Mia?” he said, voice sharp, taunting. “I don’t want twenty rogues stinking up my pack.”

“Stop, please.” I said, voice breaking, my legs trembling. Tears fell now, hot on my cheeks, not for me but for them. “You’re a monster.”

“Monster?” He laughed, the sound cold, cutting. “Your people made me one.” Another shot, another body down, the thud heavy in the silence. My heart raced, guilt and rage choking me. I tried to lead them, keep them safe, but I failed.

“Enough for now,” he said, turning to his Beta, whispering something low. The Beta nodded then handed guns to the rogues, their hands shaking as they took them.

Lucas’s voice boomed, “Point them at Mia.”

They hesitated, chains clinking, but whips cracked, and they complied, guns trembling in their hands, aimed at me. Clara’s eyes were wet, her gun steady but her face breaking.

“Don’t make them do this,” I said, voice raw, my chest tight. “Kill me yourself, you coward.”

Lucas grinned, stepping close, his scent overwhelming. “Here’s the deal,” he said, voice loud enough for everyone to hear. “They shoot you, they go free. They don’t, they die. Simple.”

“If my life saves them, they can do it!” I shouted, my voice cracking, tears streaming.

I looked at Clara, her face bruised, her eyes full of sadness. “Clara, shoot. Please.” I begged her, knowing she would be the last to do such.

She had been my first friend. I’d die for her, for them.

She shook her head, tears falling, her gun lowering. “No,” she whispered, voice hoarse.

Lucas counted, slow and deliberate. “One.”

My heart pounded, the air heavy with blood and fear. “Two.”

I shut my eyes, tears burning, my life flashing. Mom’s whip, Dad’s blood, Clara’s apple, the slums’ fires. I didn’t want to die, not after fighting so hard, but I’d give it up for them.

Lucas was a liar, a killer, worse than anyone I’d known. The mate bond was a cruel stupid joke, twisting my insides, but I’d never bend to him. Never.

“Three,” he said, and I braced for death, my blood running cold as I heard the cocking of guns.