Chapter 3 - Breeding Whore

🦋ALTHEA

The crack echoed in my head as I winced from the agony that spread through my skin. Every breath was like razors through my chest, my lungs burning with air deprivation from holding my breath for too long.

My legs shook as I moved forward, inch by fucking inch, the night replaying in my mind on a vicious loop. I could still hear the baby crying—a thin, desperate wail that wouldn't leave me alone. My head pounded like it would split open.

I watched my path through my one good eye. The other was swollen shut, the lid hot and tender.

The cold morning air kissed my scrapes and cuts, making them sting. Dew soaked through my torn dress, clinging to my legs.

I bit back a howl as pain rippled through every part of my battered body. I spat out blood, the inside of my cheek shredded from the blows he had rained down on me. The metallic taste coated my tongue.

I shoved the memories back as I stumbled toward home—whatever that was. I was too close to the border—to the Red Mist and the Nightmares that waited for fresh prey. The forest felt too quiet. Too still.

The last time the border wards failed, the Red Mist seeped in like fog creeping through the trees. The Red Fever followed—a plague that turned skin grey and lungs to liquid. It nearly wiped us out.

We were never safe. We never had been.

That was until "Draven" had cured the pack and the mantle of Alpha went to him—bypassing his older brother entirely. No one questioned it. No one dared.

I looked ahead of me, dreading the journey through the dense foliage. I couldn't scream for help. My ribs threatened to pierce my lungs with every breath. Even swallowing hurt.

My ears perked up as I heard footfall in the distance—someone was coming.

Multiple someones.

I could hear bare feet on the forest floor. Which meant they were Vargans. But the rattling of their chains was already a dead giveaway. The sound sent ice through my veins.

I strained to hear their words as they got closer, their voices carrying through the morning air.

"…rejected her, but he wants her found?" one said. It was Yun, one of Draven's personal Vargans. I'd know his voice anywhere.

"It's because of the Silvermoth. He took more of us last night and killed three gammas. He's still scared for her. It happened around the border and he's worried she might have been close to the scene."

I willed the pounding in my head to stop as I looked at myself, the events of last night replaying in my head. Blood on my hands. Screams. The guards' bodies hitting the ground. Draven was right to worry because I had been at the scene—but somehow I had survived.

Barely.

"The pack has lost ten Vargans this year, including a newborn. The Alpha is pissed. He slapped Thal this morning." The second Vargan's voice dropped, somber. "And now with that witch as his Luna… it will be worse."

My chest caved in when I heard about Thal. Sweet, gentle Thal who'd helped me learn to read when I was seven.

"Much worse," Yun agreed, his voice bitter. "The Silver—"

His words trailed off as he emerged from the verdure and saw me.

Our eyes met.

"Found her," he called to the others, his face going pale. "Gods, found her."

The others came into view. Their mouths fell open when they saw me—really saw me. They stopped dead, frozen in horror.

I stumbled toward them, my vision swimming. My legs gave out.

"Althy…" was the only thing I heard before the darkness that had been dancing at the edge of my vision took over, and the abyss claimed me.

Strong arms caught me before I hit the ground.

My eyes snapped open.

I sprang up to find myself in a bed. Soft sheets. Clean air.

Then the scent hit like a punch to the gut.

Draven.

Cedarwood and smoke. The smell I used to bury my face in. The smell that now made my stomach turn.

My ears caught the sound of shuffling and I twisted to see Draven pacing by the window like a caged animal, his features pulled taut in a look of agitation, softened with something that almost looked like worry. His sandy hair stood at odd angles, ruffled. He'd been running his hands through it.

He had not noticed that I had woken up.

"Draven?"

He halted mid-stride, spinning to face me. His eyes filled with relief—real, genuine relief—and in three strides he was with me, his calloused hands cradling my face like I was something precious. His blue eyes searched mine, frantic. "How are you feeling, silver?" he asked, his voice soft. Tender.

At one time I would have leaned into his touch. Would have closed my eyes and let him hold me.

Instead my aching heart stopped. "I am alright," I replied, my voice hoarse. I glanced down at my body to see there were no bruises. No scrapes. The pain was gone.

The Deltas had lent a hand or two.

I lifted my gaze but that was when he moved.

Fast. Too fast for my still-healing body to brace.

His palm connected with my cheek in a burst of light and ringing heat.

The slap snapped my head to the side, my vision whitening for a beat. Pain exploded along my jaw, sharp and humiliating. My breath stuttered as the mark of his hand bloomed across my skin like a brand.

The room went deadly still.

For a second, neither of us moved.

My pulse crashed in my ears. The scent of him—once warm, once safe—now choked me. Bile rose in my throat.

Slowly, mechanically, I turned my head back toward him.

His chest rose and fell with ragged breath. Regret flickered across his face—but so did something darker, something territorial and vicious and afraid. His hand was still raised.

"Don't," I whispered, my voice hoarse and broken. "Don't you dare touch me like that."

But Draven only stared at me like he was staring at a ghost from a nightmare he couldn't understand. Like I was something wrong. Something broken that needed fixing.

"Twenty-two Vargans stolen, three of our gammas dead," he drawled, his words piercing through the ringing in my ear like knives.

All I could do was stare, frozen in fear as it did not sink in but slammed in that he had hit me.

He had HIT me.

"The Silvermoth struck last night then they find you beaten to a pulp." His voice rose, trembling with rage. "You put yourself in danger because you refuse to remember your fucking place. Who ordered you to fucking leave!"

He bellowed the last word, his fists clenching at his sides as I flinched—the first movement I made since he had struck me.

He laughed. An acerbic sound that made me shudder, made my skin crawl. He grabbed my jaw, roughly, fingers digging into my skin as he forced me to gaze up at him.

The first tear fell.

Hot. Shameful.

"What would happen if the Red Fever came back and you were not alive to give blood? Not alive to make the shitty cure?" His voice dripped with bitter humor, mocking. "What happens when Silverfang attacks and the gammas are dying? Do you want to ruin me because I didn't choose some Omega?"

I found my voice, dragging up the words even as the world had already tilted under me. Even as my vision blurred with tears I refused to shed.

"I made you Alpha."

The words hung in the air like a confession. Like a curse.

His eyes widened, pupils dilating. A deranged light seeped into the eyes I thought kind, turning them into something I didn't recognize. Something monstrous.

"No one, not even your mother would believe you." His voice dropped to something cold and deadly. "They will brand you a fucking witch and Morgana will have your head like she had the Luna Witch."

My mother's name sent a horrifying chill that sunk into my bones, freezing me from the inside out.

Morgana.

The woman who'd burned Seraphina alive.

"Why not give her the perfect excuse to get rid of you?" He mused with some sick sort of glee, his smile widening. "You know she's always wanted one. Blood art will do you right fucking in."

He broke into a cruel cackle, enjoying my misery like it was a performance. Like my pain was entertainment.

My blood had slowed to a crawl, because I knew he was right. It was one of the reasons I had let him take credit for the cure. Better him than a pyre.

I swallowed hard, tasting blood.

The sinister humor died as quickly as it came. He gripped my face hard enough to leave prints, hard enough to bruise. "You will always be mine. You might never be my Luna but you will be my concubine. You will submit to my absolute authority."

His voice was ice.

"Every breath of yours is mine, your life is mine and don't bother—your mother already agreed."

He let go, shoving me back into the headboard. My skull cracked against the wood.

He smiled that devilish grin I used to see as charming—boyish, even—and all I could see was the serpent had finally let itself be known.

He unbuckled his belt with deliberate slowness, his eyes never leaving mine. The leather slid through the loops with a whisper.

I blinked, squirming away and off the bed. My feet hit the cold floor.

"And don't worry, I will fill you with pups. You will serve a purpose in the pack."

His smile widened.

"Breeding whore."