Chapter 5: Whispers of a Deathly Welcome

Evelyn’s scream, unfiltered, enraged, extinguished like a flame, drives me down the staircase, my boots pounding the aged floor.

My inflamed hand aches, Idle at my side, yet Father’s dagger jangles against my hip, a pulse of steel driving me forward. 

The hall stretches wide and vacant as I come to a halt, the torchlight dancing across the stone, the air dense with pine and something more intense, perhaps fear, or anger. 

A broken glass sparkles in Evelyn's regular place by the hearth, sharp fragments reflecting the light, with water gathering like blood. My breath catches, fear surging intensely in my chest. She was present, yelling, then vanished. 

Gabriel steps out of the darkness, his grin a mark of victory, silver-flecked hair tousled as if he’s been grappling with something untamed. 

"She’s slowly knowing her place," he tells, tone hushed and pleased, eyes sparkling as they meet my gaze. My stomach churns, what did he do? Injure her? Worse? I move ahead, my good hand clenched, but he pushes by, his shoulder slamming into mine with a stinging force. 

“Weddings at midnight,” he throws back casually, as if he hadn’t just muted her scream. My knees shake, yet I don’t comply, whatever he has done serves as a warning, and I’m the next target. 

The pack square is vibrant with torches and cries, wolves close together, their breath misting in the cold. I remain at the boundary, unnoticed, my heart constricted as Evelyn advances in white silk, excessively pure, excessively flawed. 

Her face shows no emotion, a blank canvas, her blonde hair packed tightly as usual. 

Gabriel stands next to her, victorious, his large form engulfing hers as he firmly holds her hand tightly, causing pain, knuckles turning pale, damaging her skin as he lifts it up. "She belongs to me now," he proclaims, voice rising above the applause. 

The pack roars, fists beating, yet I remain planted at the periphery, my voiceless cry held captive behind clenched jaws. Her gaze doesn’t search for me, doesn’t waver, merely stares forward, vacant like a puppet’s. 

Three days until the trade, and he’s binding her tonight, to himself, to this deception. I chew on my lip, savoring metal, my strong hand shaking at my side, powerless as the crowd overwhelms me. 

Next comes the ritual, a savage seal that hardens my stomach like stone. Gabriel drags Evelyn to a fire pit, its flames dancing around a heated iron bearing his emblem, a sharp crescent, sinister as the smirk cleaving his face. 

The throng calms, a unified breath paused, their gazes shining with desire. He applies the iron to her wrist, slow, intentional, and the sizzle pierces me, skin burning in a damp, nauseating hiss. 

The pong lingers, sharp and thick, a blend of charred flesh and metal that assaults my nostrils, twisting my stomach until acid burns my throat. 

She remains unflinching, without tears, her expression, that unsettling composure I’ve grown to fear, yet her gaze meets mine once more, hollow, indeed, but something shifts, a spark too fleeting to identify. 

Remorse? Resistance? A request? It disappears before I can hold onto it, consumed by her calmness. My chest constricts, ribs groaning beneath a grip of fury and powerlessness. 

He possesses her now, marks her like livestock, and I’m next, three days until the trade, to Jason’s grasp, his fury. 

My strong hand clutching, nails digging into my palm until blood rises, warm and slippery, the agony a connection as the pack’s bottoms up grow, a wave of sound submerging my quiet rage, thudding in my head like a battle drum. 

The celebration stretches late into the night, wolves reeling from wine and devotion, their laughter a sharp melody that cuts through the darkness. 

I quietly slip away, my boots scraping the dirt, my breath forming mist in the chill as I navigate through the turmoil. 

Gabriel locates me close to the entrance of the hall, his large frame a barrier of threat preventing my getaway. 

His breath stinks of bitter wine, warm and foul against my face, his eyes shining under the torchlight, too near, too piercing, penetrating me as if he’s stripping away my skin. 

“Jason is eager for your presence,” he whispers, leaning closer, that mischievous grin expanding broader than the darkness around. 

Jason, Alpha of the Sun Pack, Father’s declared enemy, the beast whose name was a blight in each story Father shared, who vowed to slaughter us all after Father’s demise turned to murmurs of venom. 

My heart races, a wild rhythm against my chest, cold sweat forming on my neck where Gabriel’s blade touched me days prior, the wound still stinging anew. 

"What does he want from me?" I rasp, my voice fraying at the seams, just managing to hold on. Gabriel chortles, deep and shadowy, prodding my chest with a sturdy finger, the force like a bruise about to emerge. 

"Your father's blood," he states. “He will pour it out gradually.” A chill runs through my skin, fear freezing like ice in my veins, sinking deep, he's condemning me to death, relishing each moment of my demise. 

I push through, my shoulder colliding with his arm, his laughter trailing behind me like a hound, but Jason’s name burns into my mind, a death knell ringing louder with each labored breath. 

I hurry up, dagger held high, my heart racing like a wild animal escaping death in my throat, my strong hand drenched in sweat and blood. 

He strides in, a massive figure in leather, his face a war zone, a jagged scar cutting across his cheek from jaw to temple, one eye a cloudy white, the other deep and relentless, trapping me like a rabbit in a trap. 

That tattoo, a sun divided by a claw, identifies him distinctly: Sun Pack. 

His voice rumbles deep, harsh like cracked rock, slicing through the air like a knife. “Go ahead and run, girl, and I’ll bring you to Jason myself.”