˙❥ The half moon hung lowly above, casting a soft glow in the eerie darkness. The tree leaves danced lightly to the cool breeze and maybe, to the sound of the crickets. We were far from the pack — very far, and any more steps, we would leave the pack territory and into the forbidden area. I was just ten, but I knew, yet I couldn't help but ask again. “Papa, we would be breaching the Pack's law if we went further, right?" My small voice drooled out, mingling with the darkness. “You know too much, Val, and it's bad...” My father complained, tightening his grip on my wrist. “Anymore questions from—” He hadn't finished speaking when two big black wolves rushed from the shadows. One with grey patches and eyes, the other, black with eyes the same colour as its fur — dark, empty, and devoid of warmth. Their claws were tainted with fresh blood, stares deadly, intense, as they trudged fast toward us. The grey-patched wolf suddenly yanked my dad from my grip, flinging him to the
˙❥ VALKYRIE ~~~ I didn't know when we reached another building. A different design from the ‘holding’ and the auction hall and there, seated and dressed in that same intimidating coat with a daunting look, was Him. My heartbeat spiked. I darted my eyes almost immediately, and I wished I hadn't because it landed on the hot coal with a steel inside. Nobody needed to tell me what it was. I turned toward Doom, who had a playful smirk etched on his face, and back to the one man I now wish to kill; he wasn't smiling like Doom. No, his face was stoic, reserved, and I wish I could get into his head to see what he was thinking because no way an enthralling being could be this cruel. As if to prove my thoughts wrong, his lips broke in a sudden, subtle arc. “No, no, no!" I shook my head, unable to contain the long-held tears as reality finally dawned on me. A sob tore through my throat — raw and broken, making my whole body quiver in fear. Doom pushed me forward, and my head hi
★ RYKER ~~~ My fingers weaved carefully around the red piece of the coat's button, tightening the woven mold thread into the small hole. “Your father awaits you in the carriage.” Blaise, my beta walked into the room, his eyes void yet cloaked with something I couldn't decipher. “What?” I scoffed. “Nothing.” “Don't give me that attitude.” He turned around, taking in the grey decor of my room as if he hadn't been here countless times. “You're joining your father in the annual slave purchase?” It wasn't a question. It was a statement, but I answered anyway. “Hmm.” I drew in a quiet, slow breath. “I know you don't like the idea but believe me, I'm nothing like my father.” Blaise didn't speak; instead, he brought out my body scent from the drawer and sprayed it over me, the fragrance embracing my skin like a veil. "Look and smell good for a family practice." "Blaise?" “Okay, okay, sorry," he uttered, holding his hands up in resignation. . . As we arrive
˙❥ “Sold?” I heard the shock in her voice. Earlier today, in this cold room, I found myself. Wrapped within a brown, filthy rag gown. I had opened my eyes and what came into view were three young girls, from the opposite holding, all watching with cold sneers. “You look like that witch who died years ago in Hallow Wood pack," one taunted loudly. It was my pack, the Hallow Wood pack, the pack I was thrown out of, that had laid false accusations on me. That had left me here to die. A low, painful groan rumbled in my chest. The silver was wearing but not without leaving my inside burning with pain and my whole body weak. I stared at them again, blowing off the strands of hair that had lain beside my lips. “If I were a witch, I would make sure I leave here on time, then burn this whole place.” I laughed menacingly. “You can't leave here even tomorrow, witch, you're just brought in. We have been here for years and you think you will be exempted?” Behind me, with my han
"The first rule of revenge is survival, the second rule is silence, the third is precision, and the fourth? Don't look back." ˙❥ VALKYRIE ~~~ How does one feel when they're different? White eyes. White hair. An Omega. Worst, they're wolf-less. Caught in a circle of strong werewolves, their eyes wide and fierce, burning with intensity. I could hear the tiny, hushed whispers of their voices. Mothers held their pups firmly while the male werewolves stood protectively, as if I were an omen. “She's a witch.” "Murderer." A loud snarl drew out from one of them, and the circle separated to reveal a man in a shiny gold robe, his black hair damped with gel and perfectly styled. Alpha Jayden. I stared up at him, drool mixed with blood pooling at the corner of my mouth as a low whimper escaped my lips. He wasn't alone. Amara, a pack friend turned sister, clung behind, a mischievous glint settled within her eyes, and a small smile grazed her cheeks. Jayden crouche