The icy water bit into my hands as I scrubbed the stone floor of the pack house kitchen. My knees ached, protesting against the hard surface, but I didn't dare stop. I couldn't give them another reason to punish me. The scars on my back, still fresh from yesterday's whipping, burned with every movement, a constant reminder of the price of defiance.
"Hurry up, slave!" Beta Kieran's voice boomed from the doorway. "The pack doesn't have all day to wait for your worthless hide to finish a simple task."
I bit my lip, forcing back the words that threatened to spill out. Instead, I ducked my head lower, my long dark hair falling forward to shield my face. "Yes, Beta Kieran. I'm almost done."
His snort of derision cut through me like a knife. "See that you are. And don't forget, you're on serving duty for the pack dinner tonight. Try not to mess that up too, or you'll be meeting my whip again."
As his heavy footsteps faded away, I allowed myself a moment of respite, sitting back on my heels and flexing my cramped fingers. The soap-scented water had left my skin red and raw, but it was a familiar discomfort. Just like the constant gnawing hunger in my belly, the bone-deep weariness that never seemed to leave me, and the hollow ache in my chest where my wolf should be.
Five days. In just five days, I would turn eighteen, and I could finally leave this place. Leave behind the sneers and the abuse, the backbreaking labor and the constant reminders of my parents' alleged betrayal. I clung to that thought like a lifeline as I resumed my scrubbing, attacking the floor with renewed vigor.
By the time I finished, the sun had begun its descent, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink that I could barely glimpse through the small kitchen window. I hurried to put away the cleaning supplies, knowing I had precious little time to prepare for the evening meal.
As I made my way to the servants' quarters – a cramped, windowless room I shared with three other low-ranking pack members – whispers and giggles reached my ears. I tensed, recognizing the voices of Cora and Eliza, two she-wolves who never missed an opportunity to torment me.
"Well, well," Cora's sickly-sweet voice rang out as I rounded the corner. "If it isn't the pack traitor. Done licking the floors clean, Lyra?"
I kept my eyes fixed on the ground, trying to sidestep them, but Eliza moved to block my path. "Aw, come on, Cora. Don't be so hard on her. After all, it must be exhausting, carrying the weight of her parents' betrayal every day."
Their laughter echoed in the narrow hallway, each sound like a physical blow. I clenched my fists at my sides, willing myself to stay calm. "Please," I said quietly, hating the tremor in my voice. "I need to get ready for serving duty."
"Oh, we wouldn't want to keep you from your important duties," Cora sneered. She reached out, grabbing a fistful of my hair and yanking hard. I gasped in pain as she forced me to look at her. "But first, I think you need a reminder of your place, slave."
Without warning, Cora's other hand came up, clutching a thin, flexible switch. My eyes widened in fear as I realized what was about to happen. "No, please-"
The first strike caught me across the cheek, the sting sharp and immediate. I stumbled back, but Eliza was there, holding me in place as Cora continued her assault. Each lash of the switch left a line of fire across my skin, reopening barely healed wounds.
"This is what happens to traitors," Cora hissed, her eyes gleaming with cruel satisfaction. "This is what you deserve."
I bit my lip hard enough to draw blood, determined not to give them the satisfaction of hearing me cry out. Tears streamed down my face, mingling with the droplets of blood from the welts Cora was raising.
"That's enough!"
The deep, commanding voice cut through the air like thunder, stopping Cora mid-strike. We all turned, frozen in shock at the sight before us.
A man stood at the end of the hallway, his presence seeming to fill the space. He was tall, with broad shoulders and a lean, muscular build that spoke of barely contained power. But it was his face that caught my attention – chiseled features, a strong jaw dusted with stubble, and eyes that burned with an intensity I'd never seen before. An aura of raw, untamed power radiated from him, making the air feel thick and electric.
Cora's grip on my hair loosened as she took in the newcomer, her eyes widening with a mix of fear and... something else. Recognition, perhaps? Or desire? "I... we were just-"
"Just what?" the man growled, taking a step forward. The motion was fluid, predatory, and I felt Eliza flinch behind me. "Explain to me how assaulting a packmate qualifies as acceptable behavior."
Cora's face flushed, her earlier bravado evaporating under the man's fierce gaze. "She's not a packmate," she stammered. "She's just a slave. A traitor's daughter."
The man's eyes narrowed dangerously, and I swore I saw a flash of gold in their depths. "Is that so?" He turned those burning eyes on me, and I felt my breath caught in my throat. "What's your name?"
"L-Lyra," I managed to whisper, mesmerized by his gaze.
Something flickered across his face – recognition? surprise? – before it settled back into a mask of controlled anger. "Well, Lyra," he said, his voice softer now but no less intense, "it seems we have a lot to discuss." He turned back to Cora and Eliza, who were now practically cowering. "As for you two, I suggest you leave. Now."
They didn't need to be told twice. Cora and Eliza scrambled away, nearly tripping over each other in their haste to escape. As they disappeared around the corner, I heard Cora hiss to Eliza, "Did you see how he looked at her? What could he possibly want with that slave?"
I stood there, trembling, acutely aware of the welts on my face and the reopened wounds on my back. The man took a step towards me, and I instinctively flinched. He stopped, his expression softening slightly.
"I won't hurt you, Lyra," he said, his voice a low rumble that seemed to resonate in my chest. "My name is Lucian. I'm-"
"Lucian!" Elder Anya's panicked voice rang out, interrupting him. She appeared at the end of the hallway, her face pale with shock. "What are you doing here?"
Lucian. The name hit me like a physical blow. Lucian, the exiled son of the former Alpha. The wolf who had been banished from the pack years ago, accused of betraying his own father. What was he doing here?
Lucian turned to face Elder Anya, his lips curving into a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes. "Hello, Anya. It's been a long time."
Elder Anya's eyes darted nervously down the hallway. "You shouldn't be here, Lucian. If Asher finds out-"
"Oh, I'm counting on it," Lucian interrupted, his voice deceptively light. "In fact, why don't you go fetch my dear brother? I think it's time we had a little family reunion."
The tension in the air was palpable. Elder Anya stood frozen, conflict clear on her face.
And me? I remained rooted to the spot, unable to move, unable to think. This was it – the moment when everything would change. I could feel it in my bones, in the sudden, inexplicable stirring of my dormant wolf.
Lucian's gaze found mine again, and this time, I couldn't look away. There was something in his eyes – a recognition, a knowing that sent a shiver down my spine. His lips quirked into a small, almost imperceptible smile.
"Well, Lyra," he said softly, reaching out to gently touch my injured cheek. His fingers were warm, almost burning against my skin, and I felt a jolt of... something... pass between us. "It seems we have a lot to talk about."
Before I could respond, the sound of running footsteps echoed through the hallway. Alpha Asher burst onto the scene, his face a mask of fury as he took in the sight of his exiled brother.
"Lucian," he snarled, his body tensing as if preparing for a fight. "How dare you show your face here?"
Lucian's smile widened, but there was no warmth in it. His hand dropped from my face, but he stepped slightly in front of me, as if shielding me from his brother's wrath. "Hello, brother. Miss me?"