PROLOGUE
**BlOODFANG CLAN**
ALPHA ISLANDER
Iskander Damaris stood at the edge of a dark forest, his golden eyes burning with hunger. Calyx Vale's scent was etched in his mind, a fire in his blood. She was a rare-blooded she-wolf, the only kind who could bear an Alpha's heir - his heir. Her scent lingered, and a cruel smile spread across his lips. He'd spent years searching, destroying packs, and now he'd finally found her.
Just then, his Beta approached cautiously. "Alpha, there's something -" Suddenly, a whisper of movement caught his attention. The wind shifted, and then he felt pain - a blinding, white-hot agony as steel coated with the deadliest poison even the strongest Lycan kings can't repel, pierced his back. His body convulsed, and his knees hit the ground. The scent of his own blood filled his lungs.
Another person had shown up, this didn't go according to how he planned it out; a wolf trader.
He felt betrayed.
Boots crunched on fallen leaves. A smooth, amused voice spoke, "Looks like the mighty Iskander finally bleeds." Another strike hit his throat. Darkness rushed in, consuming him.
CALYX'S POV
The night air is thick with untold tension, with each step I take, intoxicating scents of pine and damp earth fill my nostrils. It feels as though the wind howling around me carries untold secrets and revelations.
I take a deep breath, striding forward, I know I am not supposed to be here. My thoughts scream for me to spin my heels and run back to my pack house but with each step I take my curiosity piques. Well, no one would know about my disappearance, not like they care.
I'm just a worthless Omega so it wouldn't matter to them and going back means endless humiliation, torture and pain. So, a little thrill wouldn't hurt.
Just as I reach a part in the forest, I suddenly come to a halt. I see someone, a young man.
The first thing I see is the blood. It's everywhere, staining the ground beneath him like a dark mirror reflecting the moon's pale light. His body is a mess of torn flesh and shredded clothes, his breaths coming in rough, shaky gasps.
He looks like he's barely clinging to life, yet there's something in the way his fingers twitch against the dirt, something that screams desperation. Something that refuses to give up. I should turn away. He's the enemy. But my feet seem to move of their own accord, drawing me closer despite the warnings in my mind.
I drop to my knees beside him, my heart racing. "Hey," I whisper, my voice barely audible. "Can you hear me?" There's no response. His chest jerks up and down in uneven movements, his skin pale beneath the smudges of blood and dirt.
He's young, maybe only a few years older than me, but his face is etched with the sharp lines of battle, his jaw clenched even in unconsciousness. I swallow hard. I could leave him here. I should leave him here. But for some reason, I don't.
My fingers tremble as I rummage through the pouch at my waist, searching for the bundle of herbs I always carry with me. I am looking for yarrow to stop the bleeding, and some goldenrod to prevent infection.
If he's going to die, it should be at the hands of my people, not because I abandoned him to bleed out alone in the darkness. As soon as my hand makes contact with his torn tunic, the silence is shattered by a sharp, purposeful whistle.
My body freezes, the hairs on the back of my neck standing on end. The shadows around me begin to stir, and figures emerge from the trees like phantoms.
The moonlight catches the silver blades they hold, and my breath catches in my throat. I scramble to my feet, my fingers digging into the damp earth. No, no, no. This isn't about him - it's about me. I spin around to run, but something solid slams into me from behind.
My knees crash into the dirt, and the world tilts. Rough hands grab my arms, yanking them behind my back. I struggle forward, kicking and biting, but a net drops over me, the thick ropes constricting like a vice.
A menacing chuckle slithers through the darkness, making my skin crawl. "You were easier to bait than I thought," a low voice sneers.
A hand closes around my hair, yanking my head back with a sharp jerk. Pain shoots through my scalp, and I gasp for breath. My heart pounds in my chest, my pulse racing with fear.
The man crouched beside me is towering, his face obscured by the shadow of his hood. But I don't need to see his face to know what he is - a hunter, a wolf trader, and my worst nightmare.
I've walked right into his trap. Panic erupts, a scorching, blinding fire that consumes me. I flail against the ropes, but the net only constricts tighter, cutting into my skin.
My captor's grip on me becomes even more brutal, yanking my face closer to his. His breath reeks of rotting flesh and stale ale, his lips curling into a twisted, amused smile. "Feisty," he says, his voice dripping with malice. "Shame they'll crush that spirit out of you soon enough."
No.
The word is a silent scream in my mind, a desperate denial of the horror that's unfolding.
I snarl, baring my teeth, and lunge at my captor. But I'm met with a brutal fist that crashes into my face. Stars erupt behind my eyes, and my head snaps back, pain detonating through my skull. My vision blurs, the ground tilting beneath me like a ship in a storm.
A wave of nausea washes over me, making my stomach roil. I'm vaguely aware of hands binding my wrists, the rope biting into my skin. My mind is a foggy haze, my heartbeat a frantic drumbeat against my ribs.
My legs give out beneath me as they drag me toward a waiting wagon, its wooden slats looming like a dark, ominous mouth.
I am able to gather myself for a brief moment after the slap.
"No…" I mutter, struggling to at least break free from my captor's deadly grip and use the opportunity to escape. But unfortunately, it seems as though they have already mapped out my next moves when suddenly, his grip tightens against my skin.
"Try something stupid one more time and I swear you would become nothing less of a runt!" He hissed, manhandling me.
I grit my teeth in anger, who the hell is he to threaten me?! Ignoring his warning, I try again, kicking this time around with all my might, praying to the moon goddess that I am able to succeed this time around.
But unfortunately, I suddenly receive a deadly blow in my rib cage. One of the men had attacked me. Before I can process what is going on, a suffocating feeling washes over me, as though I'm being intoxicated by something and I'm right; wolfsbane.
The man behind me had blocked my nostrils with a cloth laced with wolfsbane to weaken me, and it works. I feel my legs giving out beneath me, this time around, I'm not able to resist anymore.
I can feel the world spinning even faster and suddenly, I am thrown inside the wagon, my head hitting on the iron bar which sends a sudden splitting pain.
"Ahh!" I whimper, tears falling freely down my cheeks. My cry and whimper is muddled by the banging sound of the cage when it's slammed shut.
Gathering my last strength, I stand up, but just as I am about to move towards the cage bar, I hear whimpers and voices behind me.
Freezing, I turn to meet sad, hopeless faces staring at me; there are other women in here.
I glance around, taking in the other captives huddled in the wagon. One girl is curled into a ball, silent tears streaming down her dirty cheeks.
Another rocks back and forth, her lips moving in a whispered prayer. The wagon jolts forward, and my stomach twists with a sickening sense of dread. Reality crashes over me like a wave of ice: I'm not in my pack's land anymore. I've been taken.
I'm being sold. I'll be broken. And the most terrifying thought of all: no one is coming to save me. I'm alone, at the mercy of these ruthless traders.
The thought sends a chill down my spine, and I feel my heart sink into darkness.