Semua Bab I Stole His Mark: Bab 1 - Bab 10

I pressed the cloth to the altar stone until it came away crimson. The sting in my hands was a constant ache by now. Not from wounds of my own making, but from scouring away the evidence of others. The trials weren’t sacred to me, and they weren’t holy. They were brutal and beautiful in that sharp, ugly way only wolves can understand. The holy altar was the heart of the Hollow, a slab of ancient granite hewn by hands long lost to time. It bore the marks of countless trials, countless victories, countless defeats. My knees sank into moss and dried blood as I worked. The air was damp tonight. The mist rolled down from the dark spine of the mountains and settled low, brushing the edge of the courtyard like a beast pacing its cage. Somewhere beyond the perimeter, I could hear the faint crack of a branch — one more reminder that nothing in this place was truly safe. I ignored it. I ignored most things. That was how you survived in the Hollow. You kept your head down. You worked until y

A thin silver dawn slid across the keep’s ramparts, yet sleep still would not touch me. Every time I pulled the blanket over my shoulders, a hushed voice threaded through the shutters—soft, lilting, insistent. It carried my name the way a brook carries light.Ilia… Ilia…At first I told myself it was only the wind. But the sound returned, circling like a hand at the back of my neck until it became a command. I wrapped my threadbare cloak tight, slipped from the servants’ quarters, and followed the call through corridors gone quiet after the night’s combat drills.Beyond the gatehouse, the forest waited—towering pines, their trunks dark with dew. No guard challenged me; dawn patrols were still trading yawns for spears. I crossed the outer ditch, boots sinking into damp loam, and let the hush of branches swallow the keep behind me.The voice deepened the farther I walked. It seemed to rise from the soil itself, humming beneath each footfall. Soon I reached a clearing I had never seen—cro

The dungeon was cold.Cold in the air. Cold in the stone. Cold in the sting of the chains that pulled at my wrists until only the tips of my toes brushed the damp floor. The sound of dripping water rose like the beat of a slow, dark drum. Somewhere in the corridors, a beast growled and a wolf’s howl cut through the silence.I pressed my spine to the slick stone, swallowing down fear until it felt like broken glass lodged in my throat.The Seer had promised my voice held a power, one that could call forth threads of the world itself. Yet now, surrounded by iron and silence, that voice felt like a noose. What had I become? What was happening to me?Footsteps came first. Then a voice, low and sharp.“She’ll be condemned before nightfall,” said Derrin, the Alpha’s Beta, from somewhere beyond the door.A deeper voice answered, brushing the edge of a growl. “Not if I claim her first.”The sound pulled the breath from my chest. Caelan.The silence between their words felt like a blade drawn a

Days had passed, and the trials had drawn to an end. The courtyard was quieter now, weighed down by tension and anticipation. The victor was announced to every ear that would listen — Helena. The proud she-wolf, soon to be named the Luna of the pack, held herself like a queen already. Yet for me, Ilia, a servant now assigned to the Alpha, this victory meant little more than a shift in dynamics, another storm to weather.I knelt by the hearth of Caelan's quarters, brushing soot and ashes from the stone floor. The room was quiet save for the sound of the bristles brushing the hearth. Suddenly, the door slammed open, making me jolt, nearly dropping the broom from my hand.Helena strode in like a predator, every inch of her exuding dominance and disdain. "What are you doing here?" she hissed, crimson-clad and adorned in victory. "Have you no shame?" she said with a snarl.I rose slowly, brushing the ashes from my skirt. "I am sorry my lady, I am cleaning, as instructed." I said meekly.Hel

I stood by the open window, brushing a hand down the tense lines of my chest. The Hollow was alive tonight, a palpable hum of anticipation thrumming through the air. The ceremony was soon, and every breath felt like a countdown to a moment I refused to acknowledge. Yet deep within, the thought that refused to release its grip was Ilia. The tilt of her shy smile. The delicate rise and fall of her breath. The sound of her soft voice whispering my name in a moment I refused to claim.A faint sound pulled me from that thought — the soft creak of the door. I turned just as Helena stepped inside. The silk of her robe shimmered in the low light, molded to every rise and curve of her body. The thin material left little to the imagination: heavy, rounded breasts pressed tight against the silk, the hardened peaks of her nipples rising like a challenge, long legs and the soft slope of her waist teasing the edges of the fabric. The air changed as she came closer, rich with the intoxicating mix of