The drive to the Ironclaw Pack felt endless. Each passing mile dragged me farther away from the only home I'd ever known—cruel as it was. I sat stiffly in the back seat, staring out the tinted window, my hands trembling in my lap as I tried to steady my breathing. The forest blurred past in shades of gray and green, the gnarled trees casting long shadows over the winding road. It almost felt like the woods were mourning for me, whispering their condolences through the wind.
The car's interior was cold, sterile, and painfully quiet, broken only by the low hum of the engine. The driver didn't speak, his eyes fixed ahead. I didn't try to communicate. What was there to say? I just kept watching the blur of trees, clinging to the distraction while dread gnawed at the pit of my stomach.
When the car finally slowed and came to a stop, I felt my pulse quicken. I turned toward the window and froze. The Ironclaw estate loomed before me—dark, towering, and utterly devoid of warmth. The mansion's gothic spires pierced the gray sky, and its black stone walls seemed to swallow what little light remained. The iron gates behind us clanged shut with finality, and I knew in my bones that sound was the death knell of my freedom.
The driver stepped out and came around to open my door. I hesitated. My hands clutched at the fabric of my simple dress, my entire body trembling. Then, gathering what little courage I had left, I stepped out onto the gravel drive. The crunch beneath my shoes sounded far too loud in the still air.
No one was waiting. No one came to greet me. The silence pressed down like a weight. Even the wind felt colder here. I followed the driver toward the front doors, each step heavier than the last.
"This way," he said curtly, holding the door open for me.
The inside was no better. The grand foyer was dimly lit, shadows pooling in the corners. Massive portraits of grim-faced alphas lined the walls, their painted eyes seeming to follow me as I walked past. Their stares felt accusing, as if they already knew I didn't belong here. The air was thick, heavy, like it hadn't been breathed in years.
A servant appeared, her expression flat and voice hollow as she gestured toward the stairs. "You'll be staying upstairs," she said.
I followed her up the grand staircase, my heartbeat echoing in my ears. We moved through a long, dim corridor until she stopped at a modest door and pushed it open.
"This is your room," she said. "Alpha Garrick will see you tomorrow."
Then she left without another word, closing the door softly behind her.
I stood there for a moment, just staring at the small, plain room. The walls were bare, the bed narrow and stiff-looking. A single window overlooked a desolate courtyard of black stone and dying trees. There was nothing warm here—nothing alive.
I sank onto the edge of the bed, my hands trembling as I pressed them against my knees. The realization hit me like a wave—I was truly alone now. Traded away like some offering, a pawn for my father's ambitions. My throat tightened, tears burning behind my eyes, but I refused to let them fall. Crying wouldn't change anything. I had no voice to scream, no strength to fight. I was trapped.
As night fell, I found myself pacing the room, the silence pressing harder against me with each passing hour. The only sounds were the faint creaks of the old house settling and my own heartbeat. I tried to distract myself, picking up a dusty book from the nightstand, but the words blurred together. My mind wouldn't stop replaying my father's cold voice—his final command that sealed my fate.
Then I heard it—the soft click of the doorknob turning.
I froze, my pulse spiking. The door creaked open, and every muscle in my body went rigid.
Alpha Garrick stepped inside.
He filled the doorway like a storm cloud—tall, broad, his presence suffocating. His hair was streaked with gray, his face hard and lined, his dark eyes glinting with something cruel. When his gaze landed on me, I felt my stomach twist.
"Well," he drawled, closing the door behind him. "You look even more pathetic than I imagined."
My hands balled into fists at my sides, but I didn't move. I didn't dare. My silence only seemed to amuse him.
He chuckled—a low, humorless sound that made my skin crawl. "Don't look so scared, little mute. You should be grateful. Tomorrow, you'll be my bride."
My stomach churned. I shook my head, instinctively stepping back, but he followed, slow and deliberate, the cruel smile never leaving his face.
"Oh, don't be shy," he taunted. "It's not like you have a choice. Whether you want this or not, you'll belong to me soon."
My chest heaved as I glared at him, my hands trembling. Inside, I was screaming. I'll never belong to you. Never. But the words stayed trapped, strangled by silence.
He noticed my trembling and laughed again, the sound dripping with mockery. "You're weak," he said, his voice low and disdainful. "But I'll find a use for you."
He stepped closer, and before I could move, his hand reached out, his rough fingers brushing against my cheek. I flinched and jerked away, but his grip shot out, catching my wrist in a bruising hold. Pain lanced through my arm.
He pulled me closer until his breath was hot against my ear. "Don't worry," he murmured. "I'm not in a hurry. Tomorrow, you'll be mine. And then…" He let the words trail off, his smirk deepening as his meaning hung heavy between us.
My body shook, fear flooding my veins. Every instinct screamed for me to run, to fight, to do something—but I couldn't move. I was frozen, trapped between terror and disbelief.
"Rest well tonight, little mute," he whispered, his voice dark and mocking. "You'll need your strength to be a beautiful bride."
Then, just as abruptly, he released me. I stumbled back, clutching my wrist where his fingers had dug into my skin. He straightened his jacket like nothing had happened, his expression one of mild amusement.
"I'll see you at the altar," he said with a smirk before turning and leaving the room.
The door shut behind him with a heavy thud that echoed through my chest. My knees gave out, and I sank to the floor, the tears I'd fought so hard to hold back finally spilling over. Silent sobs wracked my body as I pressed a trembling hand to my chest, trying to hold myself together.
I felt filthy—tainted just by his presence. The thought of him touching me, claiming me, made bile rise in my throat. I wanted to run, to disappear, but there was nowhere to go. No one to help me. No voice to call out.
Moonlight spilled through the narrow window, casting a cold silver glow over the bare floor. I crawled to the corner and pulled my knees to my chest, curling into myself. My tears soaked my hands as I pressed them to my lips, smothering the cries no one would ever hear.
My mind raced with desperate thoughts—escape, rebellion, anything—but every idea crumbled beneath the weight of reality. I had no allies. No strength. No power.
Eventually, exhaustion dragged me under. I fell into a restless sleep, huddled in the corner like a wounded creature. But even in my dreams, there was no peace. Garrick's cruel smile followed me into the darkness, a shadow I couldn't escape. Tomorrow, I would wake to the nightmare made real.