Chapter 4

Celine

The silence was the first thing that struck me.

Not just any kind of silence—the kind that crawled over your skin and made the hairs on your arms stand. The kind that told you this wasn’t a home, it was a system. Clinical, soulless. Even the floors were too clean. No scent of wolves, no hint of warmth. Just marble, walls that looked like they hadn’t known laughter in years, and the distant echo of boots when guards moved.

The girl who’d been taken with me was still crying. Actually, crying harder now than before. Her sobs came in short, sharp breaths, like she couldn’t get enough air. It was the kind of crying that came from the gut. Raw. Broken. I glanced at her once, just once, but I didn’t speak.

What was I supposed to say? That it’d be fine? That Alaric might have picked me, but she'd still get out of this somehow?

Bullshit.

I was the one who should’ve been crying. But I wasn’t.

Couldn’t.

My throat felt dry, my eyes empty. There was nothing left to release. I felt like my soul had gone mute.

A guard barked a command, and two others yanked her in the opposite direction. She resisted, cried louder, begging them not to take her. I didn’t even get to see where she went. The sound of her voice faded with distance, like a radio losing signal. Another pair flanked me, guiding me through a long corridor. They didn’t touch me, but they didn’t need to.

Their presence was enough.

I was taken into a room.

And to my surprise… it was beautiful.

Warm lighting, soft bedding, gold accents on the drapes, an arched ceiling painted with wolves and moons. There were candles burning low in glass bowls, flickering like little lies trying to soothe something that wasn’t supposed to be soothed.

So… not a prison then. Not physically, at least.

I sat down on the edge of the bed, my fingers brushing the silk sheets. Expensive. Everything here reeked of power. Of wealth. Of someone trying too hard to make up for something much darker underneath.

I didn’t feel comforted. I felt dressed for display.

The door opened again.

Two women came in—older omegas, probably servants. They didn’t smile, didn’t speak much. One of them simply pointed to a small stool.

“Sit.”

“I can clean myself,” I snapped, voice sharper than I intended.

They didn’t respond. They began undressing me, ignoring my swats and sharp words. Their hands were practiced. Efficient. Like they’d done this a hundred times before. I tried to step back, but when I stood up in resistance, one of them pressed a hand to my shoulder. Not hard, but firm.

“Don’t make it worse,” she muttered. Her voice was low. Not kind. Just tired.

So I let them strip me.

The water was warm. A luxury, I guess. They scrubbed me hard, like I was something that needed purification. Like filth needed to be rinsed out of me before I could be offered up.

I didn’t speak. I didn’t flinch. I just stood there, arms at my sides, while they rubbed oils into my skin and combed through my hair.

Then they dried me and dressed me in something so sheer it might as well have been transparent. Ceremonial silk, they said.

Fucking ceremonial.

I didn’t ask what the ceremony was.

Didn’t need to.

My stomach churned as they brushed my hair and rubbed more oils into my skin. Everything smelled like lavender and lies. I looked at myself in the mirror—barely recognized the girl in front of me.

I looked like a fucking offering.

Then they led me down another hallway.

This one wasn’t cold or lifeless—it was heavy. Heavy with power, with history, with judgment. I could feel it in the air, in the stares of the warriors standing guard, in the long wooden doors that opened to reveal a room full of seated figures.

The Elders.

Dozens of them. Most male. All watching.

At the center sat Alaric, back straight, legs spread, arm resting on the carved wood of his chair like a king in a fucking throne.

His beta stood beside him, quiet, unreadable.

My feet hit the marble floor, every step echoing. I hated the sound of my own existence in that hall. It was like each step was announcing me—Here comes the breeder. The chosen one. The girl who has no say.

The moment I stepped in, they looked at me like I was meat.

Like a thing.

One of the elders stood, holding a parchment. “Bring her to the center,” he said.

I didn’t move.

One of the guards shoved me forward.

My bare feet touched the engraved symbol in the center of the hall floor. I felt eyes on me. All over me.

They made comments as if I wasn’t even there.

“She’s leaner than expected.”

“The eyes are… unusual.”

“She looks healthy. No visible scars.”

“She’s not pureblood, that’s clear. But the energy…”

They kept circling. Assessing. Testing. At one point, someone pricked my finger and watched the blood bead out. Another pressed a rune to my collarbone and waited for a glow. They muttered about old prophecies, about bloodlines, about the curse that could only be broken by the right one.

The breeder.

Breeder.

I wanted to scream.

Instead, I glared at Alaric.

He hadn’t spoken. Hadn’t looked away. His lips were curled in that smug little smirk like he was watching his favorite show.

“Alpha Alaric,” one of the elders finally said, “are you sure of your choice?”

My heart thudded. Just once. Loud.

This was it.

He could say no.

He could say he made a mistake. Pick someone else. I wished he could say no.

I stared at him, begging him with my eyes, silently, hatefully—say no, asshole. Prove you're not as much of a monster as I think you are.

He held my gaze. His eyes didn’t waver. Then his smirk deepened.

“Yes,” he said.

Jerk! I could see the way he looked at me before giving that answer, letting me know his words are the only damn thing deciding my fate. He said it like he was proud of it. Like he owned it.

And just like that… It was done. I bit down the inside of my cheek.

They nodded like it was some damn blessing. Some miracle. A few of them even smiled.

The guard beside me gripped my arm.

I was led out.

Back through the hall. Back past the guards. Back into the pretty room with the soft bed and the golden curtains.

The moment they closed the door behind me, I sank to the floor.

Not because I was tired.

Because I knew—there was no escaping this.

But who said I was going to accept this pathetic fate? I'm never going to allow that happen.