3: His bride to be

"Lena, run!" her mother screamed.

"No, Mother! I can get you out of here! I can take you with me!" Lena sobbed, desperately reaching for her hand.

"You can't save me!" her mother gasped, her voice strained with pain. "The only thing you must promise me is to survive. Do you hear me? Survive at all costs!"

A burning log crashed down, slamming into her mother’s back.

The fire roared around them, consuming everything in its path. Her mother’s screams echoed through the inferno.

Young Lena’s shriek tore through the night.

"Take her!" a deep voice commanded behind her.

Terror gripped her as she turned, her tear-filled eyes locking onto a man standing in the flames. A golden mask covered half his face, one eye a chilling blue, the other a blood-red ember.

A cruel laugh jolted Lena awake.

Her head ached, the jostling of the carriage making her realize she’d been dreaming.

"What do you think will happen to her when we reach the pack house?" one of the men outside sneered.

"They won’t go easy on her," the other grunted. "Kara will see hell."

The carriage lurched to an abrupt stop.

Footsteps approached.

Lena forced her eyes shut just as the carriage door swung open.

"Wake up," a voice barked.

Lena’s eyes fluttered open just as rough hands yanked her from the carriage.

"Here she is—Lydia's daughter!" a voice sneered.

A cluster of women stood before her, their gazes sharp with hatred.

"Goddess, I already despise her," one of them spat. "Look at her—she’s got some nerve."

"Take her inside," another snapped, her tone as cold as the night air.

No kindness. No warmth.

Lena stumbled but caught herself before she could fall. The guards dragged her forward, marching her through the grand hall. The clack of her footsteps echoed against the stone floors, each step a reminder that she didn’t belong here.

The stares that followed burned with contempt.

"She won’t last a week," someone muttered.

A low chuckle. "Alpha Darius will break her."

The massive double doors swung open.

"Present her," the woman commanded.

Lena barely had time to brace herself before the guards shoved her forward. She landed hard on her knees, the cold marble biting into her skin.

Silence weighed the air.

At the far end of the chamber, seated on a throne of black stone, was Alpha Darius.

His presence was suffocating. Shadows clung to him, his expression unreadable.

Then his voice cut through the stillness—deep, commanding.

"Raise your head."

Lena hesitated. But defiance had no place here. Slowly, she lifted her chin.

And the world around her shattered.

Ice crawled through her veins.

Those eyes—one blue, one red.

A golden mask covering half his face.

The same man who had burned her village.

The monster who had killed her mother.

The reason she had been dragged into slavery.

Darius stood, stepping down from his throne, circling her like a predator toying with its prey.

"So, you're my bride?"

Lena’s breath hitched. Her eyes snapped up in shock. "Bride?"

A throaty, cruel laugh tore from him.

"Don’t tell me she didn’t know." His lips curled. "You poor little thing."

He reached forward, fingers gripping her hood. With a single pull, he tore it away, revealing her face to the gathered crowd.

Hatred erupted around her.

"Traitor’s daughter!"

"Treacherous bitch!"

"Filthy whore!"

Darius barely acknowledged them. His gaze never left her.

"Take her to my chambers," he commanded. "Prepare her for the wedding ritual."

Lena barely had time to process his words before the guards seized her again. Her mind screamed in protest, but her body remained frozen.

The jeers and curses followed her as she was dragged from the throne room.

"She deserves worse!"

"Make her suffer!"

Their hatred clung to the air like smoke, suffocating her.

The grand hallways blurred past as the guards led her deeper into the castle. They finally stopped before an ornate set of doors, pushing them open before shoving her inside.

The room was vast, lit by flickering sconces. A large bed stood in the center, draped in dark, rich fabric. The scent of cedar and leather filled the air.

Lena’s stomach twisted.

This was his room.

The doors slammed shut behind her, sealing her in.

Two women stood near a basin of water, their faces impassive. Servants.

One stepped forward. "Strip."

Lena’s heart pounded. "What?"

"You heard her," the other said. "The Alpha demands you be prepared."

Her hands clenched into fists. "Prepared for what?"

Neither answered.

They only stared, waiting.

Lena swallowed hard. She knew resistance was useless. 

Slowly, with shaking fingers, she removed the outer cloak. Then her dress, letting the fabric pool at her feet.

The women wasted no time. They guided her toward the basin, washing her with cold, fragrant water. They scrubbed every inch of her, combed through her hair, and dabbed scented oils onto her skin.

She felt stripped down—not just of her clothes, but of herself.

When they were done, they draped a silk gown over her shoulders. It was deep crimson, flowing like blood down her body.

A wedding gown.

Her breath hitched.

She had spent years dreaming of escape, of breaking free from the chains of slavery.

Now, she was about to be bound in a different way.

The doors creaked open again.

A figure stepped inside.

Darius.

He stood there, watching her. His presence filled the room, suffocating.

For a moment, he said nothing. Just observed.

Then, in a low voice, he spoke.

"Kneel."

Lena dropped to her knees instantly, the cold stone biting into her skin.

"Kara Voss," Darius said, his voice like a blade as he strode toward her.

"I'm not..." The words lodged in her throat. She tried again. "I'm not..."

Nothing.

It was as if something was ripping the truth from her lips, strangling it before it could escape. Panic tightened her chest.

Darius tilted his head. "You're not what?"

She forced herself to speak, to push the words out—

But the moment she tried, pain tore through her body. A sharp, unbearable agony seized her lungs. Blood surged up her throat and spilled from her mouth, splattering onto his face.

Silence crashed over the room.

Darius stilled. His jaw clenched. Without a word, he wiped the blood from his cheek and turned to the maids.

"Take her to the ritual ground." His voice was cold, final.

Then he swept from the room, his dark robe trailing behind him.