2: Taken away from slavery

The guards held Lena in front of a heavy wooden door, their grip firm and unyielding. The head slave emerged, her expression impassive.

"The bath is ready," she announced.

Without hesitation, one of the guards spun Lena around as if she were nothing more than a lifeless doll. The sharp clink of metal echoed in the dim corridor as they crouched before her, unlocking the chains that had bound her for nearly a decade.

The weight disappeared from her ankle, and for a moment, Lena could only stare.

They had never removed it before. Not in all the years she had been paraded as a slave.

That cufflink was more than just a restraint—it was a brand, a mark of ownership. It was what kept slaves from running. The iron was impossibly heavy, designed to slow any escape attempt until a werewolf could hunt them down with ease.

Yet now, they had discarded it like it was nothing.

Before she could fully process the shift in her fate, rough hands shoved her forward into the room.

Inside, the scent of lavender and warm oils thickened the air. Steam curled from a sunken bath, the water shimmering under the soft glow of lanterns. Other slaves stood waiting, their expressions unreadable.

They did not speak. They simply moved with practiced efficiency, undressing her in swift, impersonal motions. The torn remains of her garment slid to the floor.

Lena’s skin prickled as she was guided into the bath. Warmth swallowed her whole, washing away the dried blood and sweat clinging to her body. She gasped softly as soothing hands worked over her skin, scrubbing away the filth of servitude.

No one had ever washed her like this.

It wasn’t gentleness—no, there was no tenderness in their touch. But there was purpose. Ritual. As if this act had meaning beyond mere cleanliness.

Her tangled hair was combed through, fingers working methodically to free the knots. The sting of her wounds dulled as they massaged fragrant oils into her skin, cleansing her injuries with a touch that was neither cruel nor kind.

When she finally stepped out of the bath, her body felt lighter. Fresher. But the unease in her chest only deepened.

They dried her with soft linens, tending to every inch of her as though she were something valuable. Her wounds were treated with careful precision. Ointments soothed the lash marks on her back. A salve was pressed into the bruises on her arms.

Then, they turned to her face.

She flinched slightly as cool fingers traced her jawline, smoothing something silky across her skin. A deep-conditioning oil seeped into her hair, restoring the shine that had been dulled by years of neglect.

By the time they finished, Lena barely recognized herself.

Her reflection shimmered in the polished silver mirror across the room.

She looked... whole. Not like a slave. Not like someone meant to be discarded.

They weren’t preparing her for death yet.

A wooden cup was suddenly thrust into her hands.

"Drink," a voice commanded.

Lena’s breath caught. The moment stretched thin.

Her thoughts spiraled. This is it. The end. I shouldn’t have been so foolish.

But then—why go through all this trouble if they only meant to kill her?

The hesitation burned in her throat, but she forced herself to raise the cup and down it in one go.

Bitter. So bitter her tongue curled against her teeth.

She didn’t die. Not yet.

The Beta’s words whispered through her mind.

"After today, you won’t have to see her ever again."

Her stomach twisted.

Was she being sent to the Alpha’s bed?

No. The Beta would never allow that. Would she?

Then what was their plan?

The dread coiled tighter as the guards returned, gripping her arms once more.

They moved her swiftly through the halls, past unfamiliar corridors, until they stopped in front of a massive oak door.

Her heartbeat thundered.

This wasn’t the path to the slave quarters.

The guard pushed the door open.

The moment she stepped inside, she felt it—the weight of power pressing against her skin.

Eyes turned toward her.

The leaders of the Crimson Moon Pack.

Their gazes pinned her in place, assessing, calculating.

Lena swallowed hard.

"She's sharp," one of the leaders murmured, circling Lena with slow, measured steps. His gaze raked over her like she was a specimen under scrutiny. "She'll do."

The Beta’s lips curled into a triumphant smile. "I told you."

Alpha Ethan, however, remained silent, his eyes locked onto Lena’s face, unreadable.

"How do you know she won’t talk?" he finally asked, his voice calm but edged with something Lena couldn’t quite decipher.

A chill crawled up her spine. What the hell are they planning now?

The Beta smirked, stepping toward her with a quiet confidence that made Lena uneasy.

"Oh, I have that covered," she said smoothly. "A witch will cast a spell on her. She won’t be able to speak of this—or run from it."

Murmurs rippled through the room, but Alpha Ethan wasn’t convinced. His expression darkened.

"And you think Alpha Darius won’t notice? What if someone tells him—" He stopped, turning to Lena as if seeing her for the first time. His gaze sharpened. "This is not Kara Voss." His voice dropped into a warning tone. "I don’t support this, Beta Lydia."

The room fell into heavy silence.

Lena's mind raced. Kara Voss.

The pieces clicked into place.

She wasn’t meant to be here. Kara was.

It made sense now—if this involved Alpha Darius, the most ruthless of the werewolf Alphas, they wouldn't risk sending someone valuable. They needed a replacement. A disposable body.

Hers.

Beta Lydia exhaled, irritated but unwavering. "I assure you, pack lords, the witch will handle all concerns. Alpha Darius will not question a thing."

Before anyone could respond, the doors burst open.

Two guards rushed in, their urgency palpable. "Alpha Darius has sent men from the Shadow Fang Pack!"

They barely had time to finish before two massive figures stepped inside.

The air shifted.

Lena’s pulse pounded.

Beta Lydia swiftly shrugged off her cloak and draped it over Lena’s shoulders, the heavy fabric falling around her like a shield. It concealed her face, cutting off any chance of meeting the newcomers' eyes.

"Is she ready?" one of the Shadow Fang men asked, his voice deep and unyielding.

"Yes, she is," Lydia replied without hesitation.

"Then the truce is sealed."

Strong hands gripped Lena, pulling her forward with no room for resistance.

She didn’t fight. She let them take her, her mind already working through the possibilities.

The minute she reached the Shadow Fang Pack, she would escape.

She will have to.