nightfang

The world around me was a blur of aching muscles and muffled voices.

"Wake up, bitch. Wake the hell up."

For a moment, I wanted to let go. To sink back into the darkness where nothing hurt and no memories clawed at my skin.

"Goddamn it, I know we've been through hell, but don't you dare effing die on me. Do you even know where we are?"

My eyelids, heavy as iron, fluttered open. The first thing I registered wasn’t fear or confusion.

It was softness.

A bed. Silken sheets beneath my torn skin. A pillow cradling my aching head. For a second, the absurdity of it made me want to laugh. I sank deeper into the mattress, muttering, "Goddamn, this bed is… heavenly."

Then the details sharpened. High ceilings. Velvet curtains pooling on polished floors. Chandeliers that glittered like captured starlight.

Rich people shit.

"Good. You're awake."

The voice, calm and commanding, drew my eyes. Standing near the door was the woman who had saved me. And she was—God help me—beautiful. Golden curls framed a face dotted with freckles, her green eyes bright and unforgiving.

If I swung that way, she'd be my first and last crush.

"Stop ogling and thank her," Cherry hissed in my head.

"Yeah, yeah," I grumbled under my breath. "Thanks… for saving me."

The woman smiled faintly. "The maids will bring you clothes and food. Afterward, come to my office."

"Why did you save me?" I asked, voice hoarse.

"Because no woman should ever be left to die like that."

Simple. Final. She didn’t wait for another word. She turned and left, boots echoing against marble.

I dragged myself upright, muscles protesting. My body felt like it’d been torn apart and stitched back together by amateurs.

Still breathing. Still alive.

Five minutes later, the door opened, and a maid entered. She was older, with expressionless eyes, moving with mechanical efficiency. She set down a silver tray of food and a bundle of folded clothes, then stood back like a sentinel.

"You can sit," I offered, voice cracking.

No reaction.

"Just shut up and eat," Cherry grunted. For once, I agreed.

The smell of buttered toast and fresh fruit hit me like a freight train. Real food. Not scraps or stolen fruit or half-rotten berries scavenged off the forest floor.

I didn’t have the energy for manners. I devoured the meal, barely noticing the maid’s watchful gaze. Let her judge. I'd starved long enough to earn this feast ten times over.

Each bite grounded me, pulling me away from the fear still coiled in my chest. But suspicion flickered with every swallow. Who the hell treats a stranger like this, especially in a place with walls higher than most prisons?

When I finished, I muttered, "Thanks."

No response. She simply pointed at the clothes — a simple white sundress — then disappeared.

Was she mute? Or was silence just the law here?

I grabbed the sundress, my fingers trembling. Across the room, a door stood ajar, revealing a bathroom that could’ve housed my entire childhood home.

Holy shit.

The mirror caught my reflection as I passed: bloodstained skin, hollow eyes, a ghost wrapped in pink tatters.

I stripped, tossed the ruined gown into a corner, and stepped under the blistering spray of the shower. The water burned — but it burned the right way. It scoured away the stink of terror, of blood and dirt and him.

Still, it couldn’t touch the deeper stains.

I scrubbed until my skin felt raw. Brushed my teeth. Finger-combed my hair into five rough braids, cursing the lack of conditioner.

When I slipped on the sundress, something unfamiliar crept through me.

Hope.

Foolish, fragile hope.

I stood in front of the mirror again, staring at the stranger in the glass.

"You're fine. You're okay," I whispered.

"Bitch, stop lying," Cherry muttered.

I snorted, almost grateful for her snark.

Gathering my nerve, I stepped back into the hallway—and froze.

The place was colossal. The ceilings seemed to scrape the heavens. Every corner was adorned with elegance, from the sweeping staircases to the marble floors so polished I could see my reflection.

And then I saw it.

The banner hanging above the entryway.

Nightfang.

My stomach twisted violently.

Nightfang. The enemy. The rival pack that hated Shadowmoor more than death itself.

"God, please," I breathed. "Don’t let them recognize me. Don’t let them throw me out."

I couldn’t go back. Not after what I’d endured. I’d scrub floors. I’d beg. Anything but that.

I was still frozen when a firm tap landed on my shoulder.

I spun around, heart thundering, and found myself staring at a man built like a fortress. Military-grade handsome. Sharp blue eyes, a jaw cut from stone.

Without a word, he gestured for me to follow.

I obeyed, too scared and too stubborn to refuse.

We passed workers who stopped to stare but said nothing. Their silence scraped at my nerves. Up the grand staircase we went, down a long hallway lined with dark wood and velvet.

He led me to a pair of massive double doors and pushed one open.

The library beyond was breathtaking.

Endless shelves stretched up into a domed ceiling painted with constellations. Plush chairs and roaring fireplaces whispered of wealth and secrets.

She was there, waiting for me.

The woman leaned casually against a heavy oak table, arms crossed, her gaze pinning me like a butterfly to a board.

"You look better," she said with a faint smirk. "At least you're out of that atrocious bubblegum dress."

Heat rushed to my cheeks.

"Told you so," Cherry snickered.

Shut it, I snapped internally.

The woman straightened, voice cooling.

"How’s your wound?"

I touched my side absentmindedly. Someone had healed me. A clean, neat scar remained, barely a whisper of the night before.

"Fine. Thank you."

She nodded, then stepped closer.

"You’re probably wondering why you're still breathing," she said. "Let’s make this simple."

Her eyes sharpened, green and merciless.

"What do you want? And how did you get here?"

No games. No mercy.

I swallowed, spine stiffening.

"I’m from Shadowmoor," I admitted, shame thick in my throat. "The logo on my dress probably gave it away."

She raised an eyebrow.

"So why shouldn't I shoot you right now?"

I didn't flinch.

"Because I hate them," I said. "More than you ever could. I'd rather die than go back. I'd rather be torn apart, limb by limb, than serve them another day."

My voice cracked. I didn't care.

"I'm not here to spy or sabotage. I’m here to beg. Give me a job. I'll clean floors, scrub toilets. I’ll be invisible. Just… please. Don’t send me back."

For a heartbeat, silence.

Then—a slow smile.

"I like you," she said.

Something inside me unclenched.

"Fine. You get a job. But if you lied to me?"

She leaned in, breath brushing my cheek.

"I'll tear you apart and feed you to my dogs."

"Yes, ma’am," I whispered.

"Alpha Alex runs this pack," she continued. "You’ll clean his floor. Only you. Stay out of his way."

Her smile vanished.

"And whatever you do, do not open the last door at the end of the hall."

Her voice was deadly serious.

"Don’t touch it. Don’t even look at it."

A shiver raced down my spine.

"Understand?"

"Yes, ma’am."

"God, we're a cleaner now," Cherry groaned.

"Shut up and be grateful," I snapped back.

Because survival?

Survival was still survival. And I'd claw my way through hell itself if it meant I never had to crawl back to Shadowmoor.