By the time I finally made it inside, the rain had stopped pouring and the pack house was quiet. The morning had barely begun, and most of them were still asleep, warm in their beds, safe in their world.
I was not part of that world.
I forced my aching body up the stairs, every movement sending fresh waves of pain through me. My ribs felt cracked, maybe broken. My skin was raw from the rain, my bruises dark and angry against my pale flesh
Step by step, I climbed to the attic. My prison.
The room was as empty and cold as ever, just four walls and a thin, tattered blanket on the wooden floor. No bed. No warmth. Just space to exist in. Barely.
I peeled off my torn, bloodied clothes, wincing as the fabric pulled at dried wounds.
I stood naked in the middle of the room looking at my own body.
It was a mess of bruises, gashes, and swollen flesh.
Slowly, I made my way to the small metal basin in the corner, filling it with water from the rusted pipe. It was ice cold, but I didn't flinch. The cold was noothing compared to the pain beneath my skin.
I washed in silence, my hands moving mechanically. Dirt and blood swirled into the water, staining it red.
By the time I was done, my fingers were numb. I dried off with an old cloth and slipped into a fresh set of rags, if they could even be called that. The same torn, shapeless thing I always wore.
And then, I stopped.
I won't rush downstairs to start my morning chores like I always do. I will not force my broken body to scrub floors, to take their insults, to pretend that I am still trying to survive.
Because what is the point?
What was the point of working like a dog for people who wanted me dead? What was the point of enduring another day of humiliation and disgrace?
Tonight, it would all be over.
Tonight, I was being handed over to the Lycans.
The thought settled heavy in my chest.
The Lycans.
The name alone carried a power that sent shivers through the strongest of wolves. Even the mighty Elite Packs, the ones who ruled over everyone else, feared them.
Because Lycans weren't just werewolves.
They were the first. The original. The purest bloodline of them all. Their wolves were bigger, faster, stronger, monsters of fur and fangs, unmatched in battle, unrivaled in dominance.
The most ruthless predators in existence.
And I was being given to them.
In the name of some cursed scholarship.
I clenched my fists.
It wasn't a scholarship. It was a sacrifice. A ritual slaughter disguised as an opportunity.
I had known this day would come.
Every year, the Feral Packs offered up one of their own to the Lycans, and none ever returned.
I was just the next in line.
I leaned back against the wall, staring at the ceiling, my mind numb.
There was no point in fighting it.
No point in hoping.
Tonight, I was going to die.
I don't know how long I sat there, staring at nothing. My mind was empty, my body too broken to feel anything but a dull ache.
Then, without warning, my door burst open.
The rotten wood slammed against the wall with a sharp crack, and two towering figures stormed in, Alpha Wyatt and his son, Stephen.
I didn't move. Didn't even blink.
I just sat there.
Wyatt's face twisted in disgust as his gaze swept over my tiny, filthy attic room. "What the hell are you doing up here?" he snapped.
Stephen sneered beside him, arms crossed. "You've got work to do, rat. Get downstairs. Now."
I laughed.
It wasn't forced. It wasn't fake. It was raw, bitter, real. A genuine laugh from deep within me, the kind that I hadn't allowed myself in years.
I tilted my head, eyes locking onto theirs, amusement curling at my lips. "I didn't know I was so important," I mused. "The self-proclaimed Alpha and his precious little son came all the way up to this disgusting little attic just to look for me?" I gave a mock gasp. "I'm touched."
For the first time, I saw something flash in their expressions, shock, disbelief.
I had endured five years of torment. Beatings, humiliation, slavery. I had kept my head down, swallowed my pride, because I was determined to survive.
But not anymore.
I was going to die tonight.
And that meant I had nothing to fear.
Wyatt recovered first, his face darkening with fury. "Watch your mouth, girl."
I smirked. "Or what? You'll kill me?" I spread my arms wide. "Go ahead. Save the Lycans the trouble."
Stephen's eyes narrowed. "You think this is funny?"
"Oh, I think this is hilarious." I leaned forward, standing up, my voice dropping. "For five years, I let you beat me. I let you kick me, spit on me, treat me like dirt. And for what? So I could live long enough to be fed to the Lycans?" My smirk vanished, and something cold settled in my chest. "I wasted my time."
Wyatt stepped closer. "Mind your tone."
"My tone?" I let out a sharp breath. "Oh, forgive me, mighty Alpha Wyatt." I spat the title like it was poison. "Or should I say, thief?"
Wyatt's expression flifkered. Just for a second.
But I saw it.
I smiled. "That's right, isn't it? You're no real Alpha. You probably killed your own brother for the title. Then framed my father so no one would question it."
The room turned deadly silent.
Stephen's lips pulled back in a snarl. "You filthy—"
Before I could blink.... Wyatt's palm connected with my face so hard my head snapped to the side. The force of it sent me sprawling onto the wooden floor.
Pain bloomed across my cheek. The metallic taste of blood filled my mouth.
I let out a slow breath.
And then, I smiled again.
I pushed myself up onto my elbows, looking up at them through strands of my tangled hair. "Seems like I struck a nerve" My voice was hoarse but steady. "Truth hurts, doesn't it?"
Stephen's fists clenched. He looked ready to pounce, but Wyatt lifted a hand, stopping him.
The so-called Alpha crouched down, gripping my jaw roughly, forcing me to meet his gaze. His fingers dug into my bruised skin. "Listen to me, you little mongrel," he growled. "You're nothing. You've always been nothing. And tonight, you die as nothing."
I yanked my face from his grip, glaring at him with all the hatred burning inside me. "I've made my peace with that." My voice was cold, empty. "My only regret is that I won't get to kill you first."
Wyatt's eyes darkened.
Stephen kicked me hard in the ribs, making me gasp.
But I didn't scream.
I just laughed again.
I wiped the blood from my lips, my ribs aching from Stephen's last kick, but I didn't care. The pain was nothing now. Nothing compared to the fire raging inside me.
I lifted my head, locking eyes with Wyatt, and let the words drip from my lips like venom.
"The best decision you've ever made," I said, voice steady despite the pain, "is sending me to the Lycans to die."
Wyatt's gaze narrowed.
"Because if I lived" I let my lips curl into a bloodstained smirk. "If I survived, I would have killed each and every one of yuu. Your son, your mate, your warriors. I would have torn your pack apart with my bare hands, no matter how long it took."
Wyatt's face twisted with fury.
Before I could react, his hand shot forward and clamped around my throat.
I choked as he lifted me off the ground effortlessly, my legs kicking uselessly in the air. His grip was crushing, cutting off my air, the pressure unbearable. I could feel my heartbeat pounding in my skull, feel the way my lungs screamed for air.
But I didn't fight. I didn't claw at his hand. I didn't beg.
I just stared down at him, my vision blurring, and managed to rasp out, "Do it."
His grip tightened.
Black dots danced at the edges of my sight.
But then—
He dropped me.
I hit the floor hard, gasping, coughing as air rushed back into my lungs. My throat throbbed, my head spun, but still, I laughed. A broken, breathless sound.
Wyatt towered over me, his voice cold. "Killing you would be a mercy."
He leaned down slightly, his next words dripping with cruel amusement.
"You deserve no mercy."
He straightened, adjusting his sleeves as if I was nothing more than filth beneath his boot. "Dying a mysterious, painful death at Lunar Crest Academy will be much more fitting for you."
With that, he turned and strode toward the door.
Stephen lingered just long enough to sneer down at me. Then he spat, the disgusting glob landing right beside my face.
I didn't move.
Didn't flinch.
I just laid there, watching their backs as they walked away.
And in that moment, I made a vow.
If the Lycans didn't kill me, If I somehow miraculously survived....
I would come back.
And I would burn this pack to the ground.