The smell of burnt wood and metal hung over the Blood Moon Rogues' territory like a storm cloud that refused to leave. The air was heavy with smoke, and the ground bore the scars of battles fought long before Liora and Elira ever set foot there. They were seated now in what passed for a dining hall, an open, crumbling structure of black stone and timber, where long wooden tables stretched beneath torchlight that flickered against the walls like restless spirits.
It was strange, almost surreal, how peaceful the moment appeared on the surface. Liora's wrist still ached from the chains that had bound her only a few days before, but she sat upright, her posture commanding even in exhaustion. Across from her, Elira fidgeted, her small hands trembling as she picked at the bread placed before her. The rogues had brought them food—real food, not scraps and water that didn't reek of iron or blood. It was almost enough to make one believe they were guests instead of captives. Almost.
Liora tore a piece of roasted meat and pushed it gently toward Elira.
"Eat," she murmured, her voice low but steady. "They're watching."
Elira swallowed hard, glancing nervously at the group of men and women who lingered near the edges of the hall. "I can't," she whispered. "They're rogues, Liora. They kill without mercy. I've heard stories—"
Liora's lips curved into something that wasn't quite a smile. "Stories are told by the victors, little one. And those victors wear crowns and call themselves purebloods." She leaned closer, her pink hair falling forward, glowing softly under the torchlight. "Do you want to know the truth? Gonzalo and his pack are the real rogues."
Elira's eyes widened, disbelief cutting through her fear. "You don't mean that. He's—he's the Alpha King. The strongest of them all."
"Strength doesn't make one noble," Liora said coldly. "He hides his cruelty behind polished marble walls and the scent of incense. But strip that away, and you'll find he's no different from the beasts who prowl these woods." She looked down at her hands, hands that had once held his face, had once trusted his touch and her chest tightened. "The only difference is that the rogues here don't pretend to be holy."
Elira hesitated, her fork frozen halfway to her lips. "But why would they help us then? Why bring us here?"
Liora's gaze shifted toward the far side of the hall, where Alpha Dante sat like a shadow made flesh. He was tall, broad shouldered, his dark hair tied loosely behind him, and his scarred hands drummed idly on the table. He didn't eat. He didn't drink. His attention, unflinching and cold, was fixed entirely on her.
"They're not helping us," Liora said quietly. "They're studying us."
Elira's heart skipped a beat. "Studying?"
Liora nodded. "To decide if we're worth keeping alive."
A silence stretched between them, broken only by the crackle of fire and the low murmur of voices around them. Liora forced herself to eat another bite, showing no weakness, no hesitation. If there was one thing she had learned, it was that predators fed on fear long before they fed on flesh.
At the high table, Alpha Dante leaned back in his chair, his amber eyes never leaving her. He turned slightly toward the man beside him, a rugged brute with a crooked grin and a missing ear.
"She's got spirit," Dante muttered. "The way she carries herself, it's not the way of prey."
The one-eared man grunted. "You want to keep her?"
Dante's gaze deepened. "I want to see what she can do first."
Liora could feel the weight of their stares, could sense every unspoken word traveling across the smoky air. She didn't need heightened senses to know what they were thinking. The rogues weren't a structured army like Gonzalo's; they were chaos dressed in skin. Every decision here was survival first, loyalty second, morality last, if at all.
Still, there was something about Dante's silence that intrigued her. It wasn't lust, at least not entirely. It was calculation. He was measuring her, dissecting her. And Liora knew how to play that game.
She looked up and met his gaze across the room, unflinching. The corner of his mouth twitched, almost approvingly, before he said something to the man beside him that made the table erupt in laughter.
Elira leaned closer. "He's looking at you again."
"Let him," Liora said simply. "If he sees me as a threat, I live longer."
The girl frowned. "That's not how it's supposed to work."
"That's exactly how it works," Liora replied. "Fear is currency here, Elira. The moment they stop fearing you, you're no longer worth anything."
For a while, they ate in silence. The food was rough but nourishing, roasted boar, potatoes cooked in ash, and ale that burned down the throat. Around them, rogues shouted, laughed, and argued, their energy raw and unfiltered. It reminded Liora of another life, one before betrayal, before the mark on her shoulder had become a curse.
When the meal was done, a young rogue woman approached them. Her hair was braided tight, and her arms bore the marks of countless battles.
"Alpha wants to see you," she said curtly, her gaze darting between Liora and Elira. "Both of you."
Elira froze. "Now?"
The woman didn't answer. She simply turned and gestured for them to follow.
Liora stood slowly, placing a reassuring hand on Elira's shoulder. "Stay behind me," she said. "And whatever happens, don't speak unless I do."
They followed the woman across the hall, past the broken pillars and rusted weapons that decorated the walls like trophies. The rogue pack watched them pass, whispering, sneering but none dared approach too close.
Dante was waiting at the far end, seated on a stone platform that served as his throne. The firelight painted his scars in molten gold.
"So," he said, his voice rough but calm. "The infamous Liora. The wolf who fought the Alpha King and lived. Gonzalo's once Luna."
Liora didn't bow. "Infamy is just the name people give women who survive men like him."
A low murmur rippled through the rogues nearby. Dante's lips curved, almost imperceptibly.
"I like her," he said. "She's got claws."
He stood, descending the steps until he stood a few feet away from her. Elira shrank back, but Liora stood her ground. Their eyes locked—hers defiant, his assessing.
"You've been through hell," Dante said finally. "And yet you're still standing. That earns respect here." He turned to his men. "The girl stays."
"And the other?" asked the one-eared man.
Dante's gaze shifted briefly to Elira, then back to Liora. "Where she goes, the girl goes. For now."
Liora exhaled silently, though her face betrayed nothing. She knew what "for now" meant in a world like this, it was mercy on borrowed time.
As Dante returned to his seat, his men broke into low conversation again.
"What do you plan to do with them?" one asked.
"She fights well," Dante replied, his tone almost thoughtful. "A warrior like that could be useful. And if she hates Gonzalo as much as I think she does…" He paused, a slow smile touching his lips. "She may be the key we've been waiting for."
Liora didn't hear his words, but she could feel the shift in the air, the subtle tightening of interest, the scent of opportunity. They saw her now not as prey, but as a weapon. And a weapon in the hands of rogues was both protection and doom.
When they were dismissed, Liora led Elira back toward the smaller quarters they'd been given, a cramped room with two straw beds and a barred window. Elira sank onto the mattress, her hands still shaking.
"I don't like it here," she whispered. "They look at us like we're meat."
Liora knelt in front of her, brushing a strand of hair from the girl's face. "We've been looked at worse," she said softly. "The difference is, this time, we'll use it."
Elira blinked up at her. "You're planning something, aren't you?"
Liora's expression darkened, though a faint smirk touched her lips. "I always am."
Outside, the night deepened. The sounds of the rogues celebrating drifted through the walls, howls of laughter, the clatter of weapons, the unmistakable hum of chaos barely restrained. And somewhere beyond the forest, she could feel Gonzalo—his presence brushing against her thoughts like a whisper she didn't want to hear.
She lay back on the hard bed, staring at the ceiling. Elira was already asleep, curled up like a child clutching at a dream that might protect her.
Liora closed her eyes, her mind burning with one truth that refused to fade:
If the Blood Moon Rogues thought they had taken in a broken woman, they were wrong.
They had just welcomed the storm.
And when she rose again, every Alpha who had ever wronged her would learn the price of mistaking her for prey.