Chapter 5

LYRA'S POV

Oh! Moon goddess! It hurts.

Lyra whimpers as she adjusts her eyes to the dimly lit shack she finds herself in. She tried to move, but the restraints on her were firmly knotted, with her hands firmly locked behind her and her head unceremoniously dumped on a sack that felt like it contained potatoes.

Her ribs were on fire as though someone had knocked the wind out of her, and her feet burned even though they were on the cold ground.

She tried to push her upper body up but winced; the movement had caused a jolt of pain along her ribs.

Where was she?

Her mind raced. She remembered she was running from the beasts. He was after her.

Her mother.

She had warned her to run.

She needed no soothsayer to let her know there had been an attack; she had been taken. Heaven knows what could have happened to her parents or what time it was.

She had been knocked unconscious.

How long had she been blacked out?

She looked back at her few moments with her parents that morning. If only

She wept bitterly.

There was nothing she could do now.

All of a sudden, she heard the door lock latch open, and light poured in, but before she could make sense of anything, she felt hands on her shoulders roughly grab her into a sitting position and lift her.

She yelped in pain, but her visitor had no time for niceties. She was shoved to her feet and nudged to the door. The movement caused her to stumble, making the man who had dragged her up irritated.

He snarled and grabbed her bound arm and practically dragged her out of the shed. The bright light was harsh on Lyra’s eyes. She whimpered as she tried to adjust her eyes to her surroundings.

Ezren growled at her irritably and wasted no effort in releasing her as soon as he entered the great hall, causing her to fall to the ground face-first due to the impact.

The hearty chatter in the hall came to a halt as they watched. Due to the sharp pain she felt in her ribs, she couldn’t lift herself to stand.

Ryker frowned.

He looked down from his throne with hatred. Her silly antics would not work here. Everyone knew werewolves could heal themselves, plus she wasn’t particularly manhandled yet.

“Get up, weakling!” he bellowed.

She flinched and attempted to lift herself, but failed, causing everyone to burst into hearty laughter.

“We have a jester for sport.” Someone chimed in. The laughter continued.

Irritated at her antics, Ryker signaled to one of the maidservants at the end of the table to go help her up.

The lady squatted in front of Lyra and spoke softly, barely above a whisper. “You have to get up.”

“I can’t,” Lyra responded. Her voice was barely above a whisper.

The maidservant nodded and assists her up.

Lyra stands shakily, looking ahead, her heart pounding as she stares at the man on the throne. He not only looked big in size; he also had an intimidating glare.

She attempts to look away but is equally terrified at the open glares she receives from the men in the room. The women don’t particularly give her any comfort as they openly size her up, giving her daggers as though she were a threat.

She took a deep breath to calm her already shattered nerves, squared her shoulders, and looked ahead.

She had made her decision.

She wouldn’t cower. She might be weak, helpless, and without a wolf, but she would not let her captor break her.

“What would you do with her, my Lord?” a lady asks. She can be seen touching the shoulders of Alpha Ryker as she smiles at him seductively while eyeing Lyra.

Ryker muses and smiles, sending shivers down Lyra’s spine.

“Put her among the whores for tonight. Let the men have a field day with her.”

Not long later, Lyra is dragged, still bound, to the far right of the hall. A stripper pole stage comes into view, where she is met with other women, all naked.

She gasps as she recognizes most of them. These were her people. The women were all on their knees to the right and left of the platform.

Some of them looked lifeless, and some were visibly shaking. The harsh reality of their fate is too hard to bear.

The men begin to gather beneath the platform. Some with their female partners and others without to watch the new sport.

Lyra is petrified. She flinches as she feels someone’s hand on her. They were untying her.

Then her clothes were ripped open, causing cheers to erupt among the men.

She tries to save her dignity by covering her breasts and vagina with her right and left hands, respectively, but her hands were suddenly yanked down by two she-wolves who are dressed as strippers in red thongs and 6-inch heels, hissing close to her ears.

“Who would like to have the first go with the daughter of the enemy?” Ryker calls out, raising his cup of ale.