Elara 3

“She’s suffering from extreme exhaustion and severe starvation.”

That was the final assessment from Maeve Rothwell, Gareth’s trusted female healer, after thoroughly examining Elara in the underground cell.

“When will she wake up?” Gareth asked, his sharp gaze never leaving the girl lying before him.

Her face was much cleaner now. Without the layers of mud and dried blood, Gareth could see just how fragile and pale she was. Dark circles shadowed the skin beneath her eyes, while her lips were cracked and drained of color.

“I can’t say for certain, Alpha,” Maeve answered honestly. “She has quite a few cuts and abrasions. Her ankle is also badly swollen from what appears to be a sprain that was left untreated and then forced to bear weight.”

The healer’s diagnosis only strengthened Gareth’s suspicion that the girl was indeed a victim.

“Do everything you can to treat her injuries. When she wakes up, strap her to the interrogation post and notify me,” Gareth ordered coldly before turning to leave the dungeon.

Cole remained behind, watching the healer with a curious expression.

“Can’t you determine where she might have come from?” he asked.

“There are no distinctive marks or identifying signs. If you found her near the border, she could be an exiled werewolf. Or perhaps she was running from someone,” Maeve replied matter-of-factly.

Neither of them needed to say it aloud.

There was one conclusion they both understood.

Their Alpha was showing an unusual amount of interest in this particular prisoner.

Meanwhile, deep within her restless sleep, Elara was dragged back into the past—a time when her world had still felt warm and full of promise.

She saw a teenage Jonathan grinning mischievously beneath the shade of a towering oak tree.

He loved teasing her, laughing whenever her cheeks flushed. Whenever Elara mixed the wrong ingredients and ended up with a potion that looked disgusting—or exploded and left her face covered in soot—Jonathan would laugh until his sides hurt.

Sometimes, he would deliberately snatch the book from her hands, all just to steal a little of her attention.

“Ela, when I grow up and become Alpha, I’ll make you my Luna. You’ll be the only woman in my life,” Jonathan had promised one cool afternoon, lying with his head resting in Elara’s lap. “We’ll have a big house, beautiful children who are as pretty, handsome, and clever as you, and as strong as me. I’ll even build you your own medical clinic, equipped with the latest technology and a full supply of medicine.”

The memory shifted.

Jonathan had just returned from the battlefield. He often sneaked into Elara’s grandfather’s little cottage, his body covered in wounds—some from battles against rebel clans, others from clashes with rogues in the unclaimed territories.

Elara’s grandfather was a respected healer in Redlake, and Elara, who frequently helped him, had learned a great deal about treating wounds and preparing medicines.

But that warmth began to fade when political alliances entered the picture.

“I have to accompany my father to Windscar Territory. I need to start learning how to lead our pack and eventually take his place,” Jonathan had told her the night before he left.

Yet only a few days later, rumors spread that his journey had turned into a matchmaking trip. Jonathan was said to have proposed to the daughter of Windscar’s Alpha.

Elara had tried to dismiss the rumors.

She believed Jonathan would keep the promise they had made as children.

But that faith shattered into tears when the night of the full moon arrived.

Before the entire gathered clan, Jonathan appeared with a strange woman from Windscar and publicly claimed her as his mate.

From that moment on, Elara’s life became a living hell.

“So you’re Elara Moon? The woman who was supposedly going to become Jonathan’s future wife?”

That morning—after the night Jonathan had come to her and offered her the position of his mistress—Jonathan’s new wife, Hera Windscar, summoned her.

Hera wasn’t alone in the room.

Several servants were there as well. Women who had once been Elara’s friends had seemingly transformed into Hera’s sycophants overnight.

“Do you even realize who you are? An orphaned, wolf-less Omega who works as a castle servant? Don’t you think your dreams were a little too ambitious if you thought you could ever stand beside Jonathan?”

Elara didn’t respond to the taunts.

She knew exactly where she stood and understood her place. Even if she had spoken the truth back then, no one would have believed her or stood up for her.

Hera had already marked Elara as an enemy who needed to be eliminated.

“Don’t think Jonathan’s affection for you will keep you safe. Become his mistress, and we’ll see how long you can survive.”

After that, the storm of suffering never stopped.

Trap after trap. Insults. Harassment. False accusations. Physical abuse.

It all came relentlessly, one torment after another.

Exhausted by the endless misery, Elara finally decided to leave without permission. She knew it was against clan law, but at that point, she only wanted to survive.

At first, Elara was optimistic that she could build a quiet life far from Jonathan’s shadow. She lived in a modest hut in the Neutral Zone, supporting herself by foraging for food in the forest and working as a servant.

But then the wanted notice spread, and her fragile little world was shattered all over again.

Elara was forced back into hiding—pushing deeper into the dense forest, sleeping in damp, freezing caves with barely enough supplies to survive. She often went hungry, sometimes surviving on nothing more than droplets of dew.

Her body was beginning to reach its limit.

Until, finally, the rogues found her.

The chase through the forest… the threat of being violated… the agony of hitting the ground when she fell…

SPLASH!

Elara jolted awake, her breath coming in sharp, frantic gasps as cold water splashed across her face.

The icy shock stung her pale skin.

She tried to wipe the water from her blurred eyes, but her wrists wouldn’t move.

Something hard and cold was binding both of her hands tightly above her head.

Did those rogues catch me?

Fear coiled around her chest.

As her vision gradually cleared and adjusted to the dim light, Elara realized she was tied to a thick wooden post in the middle of a large, damp stone chamber.

The atmosphere was grim and oppressive, illuminated only by the flickering glow of torches mounted along the walls.

“Wh-who are you?” Elara whispered shakily, staring at the two broad-shouldered men standing before her.