The first thing I registered was pain. A sharp, searing fire on my left wrist that pulsed with every beat of my heart. The second was the sterile, comforting scent of herbs and old wood. I wasn't on the cold ceremonial ground anymore. I was on a cot, a roughspun blanket tucked around me.
My eyes fluttered open to see Lyra, the pack's old healer, her face a web of worried wrinkles, dabbing a cool cloth on my forehead.
"Elara, child," she breathed, relief washing over her features. "You're awake."
The memories crashed back in on me—the golden thread, the icy rejection, the sizzle of my own skin under the brand. A sob caught in my throat, and I instinctively tried to sit up, my gaze flying to my wrist. It was swathed in thick bandages, but I could still feel the phantom heat of the rune beneath. The Mark of the Rejected. My permanent badge of shame.
"Easy now," Lyra said, gently pushing me back down. "The physical wound will heal, though the scar will remain. It is the wound to your spirit I worry about."
Tears streamed freely down my cheeks. "He hated me," I whispered, the words ragged. "He looked at me like I was filth."
Lyra's lips thinned into a grim line. "What Damien did tonight was a cruelty this pack hasn't seen in generations. He chose power over fate. The Goddess will not be pleased." She paused, her gaze growing more intense, more worried. "But child, your collapse… it wasn't just from the shock. I ran a diagnostic when you were unconscious. There is… something else."
I looked at her, my mind a fog of pain. What could possibly be worse than this?
She took my uninjured hand, her old fingers surprisingly strong. "Elara," she said, her voice dropping to a near-whisper. "You carry a life within you. You are pregnant."
The word hung in the air, a fragile, impossible truth. Pregnant. My mind reeled. A baby. His baby. A child conceived from a bond he had just brutally severed. My hand flew to my stomach, a new wave of terror and a fierce, unfamiliar surge of protectiveness warring within me. This secret, this tiny, flickering heartbeat, was both a death sentence and the only reason I had to live.
"He can't know," I gasped, panic seizing me. "Selena… if she knew…"
"She would not let this child be born," Lyra finished grimly. "Which is why what just happened is so terrifying."
Before I could ask what she meant, a sharp, authoritative knock sounded at the door of Lyra's small hut. Lyra's entire body went rigid. She shot me a look of pure alarm before schooling her features into a neutral mask.
"Enter," she called out.
The door opened to reveal one of Damien's personal guards, a hulking Beta wolf who looked at me with cold disdain. He didn't speak to me, addressing only the healer.
"Elder Lyra," the guard said, his voice flat and official. "An order from the Alpha."
My heart stopped. An order? What now? Had he come to finish the job? To banish me?
The guard unrolled a small scroll. "Due to the… instability of a severed mating bond," he read, the words dripping with false concern, "the Omega known as Elara is deemed a potential risk to herself and the pack. Her mental state is fragile. Therefore, by order of Alpha Damien, she is to be relocated immediately to the Alpha's manor for observation."
The blood drained from my face. The Alpha's manor?
The guard continued, his voice unwavering. "She will be housed in the servant's quarters adjacent to the master suite. The new Luna, Selena, will personally oversee her duties and her… recovery."
I think I stopped breathing. The servant's quarters. Next to his bedroom. To be supervised by her. This wasn't an order for observation; it was a summons for torture. It was a new, creative, and exquisitely cruel way to continue my humiliation. He would have me scrub his floors, serve his meals, and listen through the wall as he shared a bed with the woman he chose over me.
It was monstrous. It was the work of a devil.
"The Alpha's order is absolute," Lyra said, her voice tight with a fury she dared not show. "She will comply."
The guard gave a curt nod, his eyes flicking to me one last time, a look of grim satisfaction on his face, before he turned and left.
As soon as the door closed, I broke down into desperate, shuddering sobs. "No, no, I can't," I pleaded, grabbing Lyra's arm. "He's doing this to break me completely. I can't go there, Lyra, not with… not with the baby."
Lyra's face was pale, her eyes filled with a dreadful understanding. "I know, child, I know. This is a trap. But we cannot defy a direct Alpha command. To do so is to be declared a traitor, and they would have the right to execute you on the spot." She gripped my shoulders, forcing me to look at her. "Listen to me, Elara. You must be strong. You must be clever. Go there. Be the perfect, broken servant he wants you to be. Do not fight. Do not show defiance. Become invisible. We will find a way to get you out of there, but first, you must survive."
Survive. The word felt like a mountain I could not possibly climb. Survive being a slave in my own mate's house? Survive the daily torment of his new Luna? Survive while carrying a secret that, if discovered, would mean the death of everything I had left in this world?
A guard returned to escort me. I was given no time to collect my things, no time to say goodbye to my parents. I was simply a prisoner being transferred to a new cell.
As I walked across the moonlit grounds towards the imposing Alpha manor—a place I had once dreamed of entering as its Luna—I clutched my stomach. The tiny, secret heartbeat within felt like the ticking of a bomb.
He has a new Luna, I thought, a fresh wave of hatred giving me a strange, cold strength. But he still wants to torment me. What kind of monster is he?
The great oak doors of the manor swung open, and I stepped across the threshold, not as a mate, but as a slave, entering the very heart of hell.