Chapter 1

Tara

I snap awake, crying out and trembling. I had that dream again, of the night ten years ago when my father was brutally killed by the Blackclaw leader, Lorez Blackclaw. It still affects me now, despite the rest of horrible days that have since followed. I could dream forever and never run out of nightmare material.

I look to the clock and see that it is almost 5am. My alarm will go off soon. I really don’t want to get up. Do I have to? That’s a stupid question. I do if I don’t want extra beatings from Krono. I found out Krono wasn’t actually a human years ago. Krono is a warlock and a damn good one too.

There are many slaves here. My village wasn’t the only one they pillaged years ago. The count now is up to eleven, but they won’t stop. My village was the first and every year since then, they’ve added a new notch to their belt. This means a lot of slaves and a lot of runaway attempts.

Krono is tasked with capturing the runaway slaves, which is easy for him. They collect hair, blood, and other fluids from our body every couple of months in order to use them for Krono’s locating spells. Some try to skirt around this or fake it, but what they don’t realize is that the regular collection of dna is all for show. From day one of coming to Blackclaw, they took all the dna they would ever need. The regular collection is just to give hope and prevent people from knowing this.

However, even though I know this, I still can’t use this information. Like I said, Krono is a damn good warlock, and the amounts of protective spells he has layered on the structure that houses the dna collection is daunting. I can’t imagine anyone, magical or not, being able to unlock it before being found. He probably has detection spells for tampering.

In addition to capturing runaway slaves, Krono is head of interrogation and tasked with hiding the clan. Head of interrogation basically just means burning a person alive with fiery magic til they confess or die, whichever comes first. The hiding of the clan, however, is the real horror of this world I now live in.

The Blackclaw clan hides in the space between worlds, or so I’ve eavesdropped/heard Krono explain one time. On one side, the clan borders the dark forest of a world full of monsters. It is said that the dark forest hides vampires, extinct in be human world, witches and warlocks like Krono, and other human myths come to life. It is said that Lorez found a magical stone that teleported him to this world, where he first met Krono. From there, the tyranny that is Blackclaw began.

So if the clan borders the dark forest world on one side, it borders the human world on the other. That’s where we get our technology and money and torture devices from. Monsters on both sides of you will. Worst of all, the werewolf council will never be able to find this place, never be able to put a stop to it. Lorez not only has his his clan, he has blackmail on every meme we of the council. No man is a good man. To be honest, no one is a good anything. I’ve learned not to trust. My father failed to protect me and everyone wants me dead. My wolf and I will only ever trust ourselves.

Slinging my legs out of bed and turning the alarm off, I walk to my tiny bathroom. It’s the size of a closet basically. It’s a good thing I’m starved half the time or I wouldn’t fit, I think to myself, rolling my eyes.

Looking into the mirror, I see a pale face with freckles and deep chocolate eyes. I got my eyes from my father, along with the rich brown hair that never tangles and hardly gets oily. Thank goddess for that at least because the shower is practically a hose in the wall that trickles cold water.

After finishing up in the bathroom and getting dressed in my regular slaves clothes, a burlap sack of a dress and some ratty boy shorts I stole from a warrior one time, I’m ready for another grueling day. I race down the stairs of the pack house into the kitchen, immediately launching into cooking mode.

I do enjoy cooking, mixing spices and flavorings together to creat something beautiful. I make great food. It’s the only reason why I live in the pack house, even if it’s just the attic, and not in the slave corridors. Well it’s that as well as Lorez’s obsession with me despite his wife.

“Mmm, smells good my pet.” A raspy voice comes of behind me as I tense. Lorez. He always has to torture me in the mornings. It’s his favorite pastime of course. Lorez’s hands snake around my waist as I prepare the tens of omelets and mountains of bacon wrapped mushrooms.

“We will have a special guest this evening. I will need you to assign cooking to another slave, but leave no doubt, the meal must be up to standards.” His voice in my ear makes me shiver. His nails dig into me as they slide toward my breasts.

Even though I know it’s stupid, I can’t help but ask, “Why am I not going to prepare the food tonight?” No one questions the alpha. You do, and you’re beaten. If a slave does, they die. Then again, I simply am just tortured every time. I don’t know if that’s a blessing or curse, to not die from disobedience.

His hands snap to my breast, squeezing til I know they will bruise. Oddly enough, he releases me and goes to lean against the counter in the corner. He pours himself a coffee, and I wait for him to reprimand me.

“You know better than to question me little pet,” he remarks. Taking another sip, he continues on, “However, I’ll oblige you this one time and answer. I want to provide you to our guest tonight. Despite the lessons I teach you repeatedly, you are still the most beautiful of the slaves.”

Lessons, hah. More like punches, kicks, and whippings. So he aims to offer me up to the visiting guest? That’s just great. I’ll be raped, beat, and thrown away covered in whoever’s sticky release. It’s happened before, but it has been years since we’ve had a guest. I hate Lorez.

“You are to go to Delaina this afternoon to prepare, and I expect you to be kneeling by my seat before dinner is put out,” he says as he sets his empty cup on the counter, right next to the sink. How thoughtful, a couple more inches and it’d be in. Sounds like something else he’s lacking…

He saunters out of the kitchen, and I finish up with the food. After setting the table, I rush to clean up the kitchen and bring the scrapes to slaves corridor. Even though the slaves hate me just as much as the free ones, I still try to make the scraps taste well. Sighing, I head out to feed them.