"Ha…"
The sound was low, bitter, cutting through the tense silence like the first crack of thunder before a storm. All eyes snapped to Vaelen.
Tyrnhael's expression fell immediately—his stern features flickering with something that looked dangerously close to concern.
"You've got to be kidding me," Vaelen muttered, voice shaking—not from fear, but fury. His eyes burned, jaw clenched so tight the veins in his neck stood out. He looked like a dam seconds from breaking.
"Vaelen… son…" Tyrnhael tried gently, stepping forward to place a firm hand on his shoulder. But Vaelen twisted away from the touch like it scalded him.
He turned his back to them all, shaking his head in disbelief.
"You're telling me… that the fate of this pack—our entire legacy—depends on that woman's womb?" His voice was rising now, wild with indignation. "Not strength, not honor, not who's most capable. Just… who gets her pregnant?"
The five males, who moments ago had looked at Luna with possessive hunger, suddenly looked shaken. Their expressions shifted—greed flickering into doubt, into a collective sting of insult.
'At least we all seem to agree on something,' Luna thought, watching closely from her seat, still bound. 'I half-expected them to pounce like animals, like those old books said men always do.'
But they hadn't.
Apparently, the taste of power held more weight than lust.
'Pride.' She narrowed her eyes faintly. 'It's always pride.'
"You must understand, young Vaelen," Oryn interjected, stepping forward with a hand raised as if to calm the brewing fire. "You five are equally strong. Equal in stature. Equal in dominance. The only way to truly decide who deserves to succeed Tyrnhael… is to see who becomes the sire of the next generation—through her."
Luna frowned.
Something about his tone felt off. Cold. Calculated. Incomplete.
"Is a female werewolf's child really that different from one born to a human woman?" Rhaevos asked suddenly, arms crossed, voice hard and skeptical.
The three elders exchanged glances. Long ones. Uncomfortable ones. Even Tyrnhael hesitated before answering.
Luna watched closely, and her skin prickled. Something wasn't being said.
"…No," Tyrnhael finally answered, forcing the words out. "It's not. But our goal isn't just a child—it's more female werewolves. They're different. They're… faster, more agile. You all saw what Luna did—she nearly outran you in her human form alone."
Luna stared at the ground.
'They keep saying that,' she thought bitterly, 'but I didn't feel faster. If I was, I wouldn't still be tied up like this.'
The tension around them was choking now. The five alphas still didn't look convinced. Not by the elders. Not by each other. And certainly not by the twisted idea of "earning" leadership through forced parenthood.
With a grunt, Vaelen ran a hand through his hair, letting out a low, frustrated growl. Then, without a word, he turned on his heel and stalked off.
"Vaelen—where are you going? The elders are still talking!" Tyrnhael called, voice strained with authority.
"I have things to do, Father," came the sharp reply, fading as he moved farther away.
Tyrnhael moved to follow, his steps quick and frustrated.
Not long after, Nohlan stepped back and bowed slightly. "My apologies, elders. But I, too, have responsibilities to attend to."
He left in calm, silent strides.
Bastiel scoffed. "Ah, fuck this," he spat before striding away with a wave of his hand, completely uninterested in remaining.
And then—Rhyxen and Rhaevos both exchanged glances, muttered half-hearted excuses, and left as well.
Everyone was gone swiftly, tension hanging like smoke in their wake. And when it cleared, only Luna remained—silent—alongside the three elders and the loyal thrall at her side.
Ysrald sighed, dragging a hand over his tired face. "That did not go as I expected."
"Well," Maedric said quietly, voice even and unsurprised, "they're young. Barely past twenty, all of them. I warned you they wouldn't accept this easily. They've had years to fight for dominance, to prove themselves. That pride won't dissolve in a day."
'Wait… they're that young?' Luna blinked. 'But they all look older than me… and I'm twenty-one.'
"That's true," Oryn nodded. "And don't forget—they didn't grow up chasing women. They weren't raised that way. Luna's the first true female of their kind they've ever encountered. She's… foreign to them. Strange. They don't know what to make of her yet."
He paused, then added, "And they've all been competing for the title of Chief since they were thirteen."
Luna's stomach turned.
'They're talking about me like I'm some object… not even pretending I'm here.'
Then as if hearing her thoughts, Oryn looked at her directly, his voice low and direct.
"You must do your part, Luna. Do your best to ensure they find you… appealing."
She recoiled.
'What?' Her jaw clenched. 'Is he joking? I don't even want to be here.'
Luna turned her face away sharply, her expression tight with silent fury.
"She still looks afraid," Maedric observed, calmly, as if discussing livestock.
"She'll adjust," Oryn said with a laugh, deep and cruel. "She was treated worse by that uncle of hers anyway. Sold her to us in exchange for his daughters' immunity."
Luna flinched.
Because he was right.
"And with how she looks?" Oryn continued, undeterred. "No town would ever take her. She'd stir chaos with just her presence."
"Your uncle knew that, Luna," Ysrald added, eyes cold but certain. "Why do you think you were never allowed to leave?"
Right.
Luna closed her eyes.
She had realized that. The moment she found out what she was, the truth fell into place like a trap snapping shut.
And now… here she was.
Caged again.
"If I give birth…" Luna's voice came out barely above a whisper, like the rustle of leaves in the wind. "Can I be free?"
The question hung in the air like fog, thick and heavy. It silenced even the subtle sounds around them for a moment—the idle chatter of nearby werewolves and humans, the occasional rustle of fur, the distant cries of birds perched somewhere high in the trees.
But the three elders said nothing.
The silence stretched long enough to make her chest ache.
Finally, Maedric sighed, his expression unreadable beneath the shadow cast by the canopy above them. "Free? Child, you are only bound by rope to ensure you do not run—not because you are a prisoner."
'Ha. Could've fooled me.' Luna thought bitterly, her eyes flicking down to the coarse bindings around her wrists, tight and unforgiving. 'You tie me up like livestock and say I'm not a prisoner? Spare me.'
"You are one of us now," Maedric continued, his tone patronizingly soft, as if he were explaining something to a child who simply didn't understand. "We… are like your family."
Ysrald and Oryn both nodded, their faces solemn, almost proud.
"That's right," Ysrald added, smiling faintly. "And once you give birth to one, you'll keep giving birth—as many times as your body allows. After all, the future of this pack rests on your shoulders now."
His smile widened, too rehearsed to be comforting. "You will become the wife of the future chief. Our Luna. The mother of a new era. That is the most freeing position any werewolf could ever dream of."
Luna stared at them, unblinking. She felt the sharp sting of disbelief press against her lungs, rising like bile in her throat.
She wanted to laugh. Gods, she wanted to laugh—right in their faces.
Because it was all so absurd.
So painfully, outrageously wrong.
'A future chief's wife? Bullshit.' Her nails dug into her palms behind the ropes. 'I'm just their baby maker. Their broodmare, as that chief called me.'
She kept her head down, eyes shadowed beneath the fall of her hair—not because she was ashamed, but because her anger was burning too bright.
If they saw her face, they'd see it: the fury in her jaw, the hate flickering in her eyes. She was angry, so angry it made her stomach twist. But she was afraid, too—not of them hurting her, but of herself hurting them.
Because if she snapped now, there was no telling what she'd do.
Luckily for them, it seemed the elders were tired, too—drained from the failed meeting, the bickering, the disobedience of their precious candidates.
Oryn finally broke the moment, brushing the wrinkles from his robe. "Since you'll be living here now, and the five have left, it's time you were given a proper tour."
He turned his sharp gaze to the thrall beside Luna—silent, still, and submissive, her head bowed low.
"You," Oryn barked. "Take her to Ravhiel. Tell him to show her around."
The thrall flinched at the sound of his voice. Her shoulders tensed beneath the fabric of her plain dress, and though she couldn't speak—the cloth still gagging her mouth—she nodded quickly in obedience.
Luna's heart sank.
'Are all women just gagged here? Will she be gagged the whole time?'
"We shall take our leave now, Luna," Ysrald said with that same damnable smile, the kind that never reached the eyes. "But you will be seeing us again… very soon."
Luna didn't answer.
She didn't nod. Didn't speak. She didn't even look at them.
She didn't want to give them the satisfaction.
All she wanted was to crawl back to that dark, wooden room—the only place she could call her own in this foreign prison of bark and bones. She wanted to be alone. To rest. To weep without sound. To scream into the walls until her throat went raw.
But no.
Now she had to meet another one of them.
'I wonder what kind of jerk I'm about to meet again.' she thought bitterly, watching the elders disappear down the narrow woodland path, their cloaks whispering behind them like ghosts.
The thrall stepped forward and tugged gently on Luna's rope, her eyes low, her body trembling slightly.
Luna followed.
'I hate this.'