Chapter 3 THREE

SERAYA

My stomach clenched as I continued heaving onto the floor. Unable to support my weight any longer, I collapsed, a broken gasp slipping from my lips.

“What’s wrong with her? Her body shouldn’t reject the suppressant!”

“Except she has a scent on her.”

“Did she do the forbidden?”

Voices rose around me, overlapping, sharp and accusing. My head spun as I tried to make sense of them, but nothing settled. Nothing made sense.

Then I felt it. Mistress Yhlda’s presence. The murmurs died instantly.

I scrambled, forcing myself upright despite the pain twisting in my stomach. I bowed slightly, my body trembling. “I-I will clean this up, ma’am. I just feel a little ill. I think it’s the flu.”

Mistress Yhlda said nothing. She strode toward me and grabbed my hand. Her grip was harsh as she yanked me upright, forcing my face toward hers.

Her nose lifted slightly. She was scenting me again. This time, it wasn’t to check if I had been with someone.

She already knew. His scent clung to me. Alpha Rhazien. My system was no longer clean, that was why the suppressant had failed.

That was why my body had rejected it.

Tears blurred my vision no matter how hard I tried to hold them back. I sniffled, biting down on my lower lip.

“Henceforth, you shall be on laundry duty. Perhaps the stench of lye will teach you your lesson!”

“Please,” I cried as she began dragging me away from the kitchen. “Please, I’ll be good, ma’am.”

My words meant nothing. They fell into silence, as if I were speaking to empty air instead of a person.

The Omegas in Ashhall’s kitchen watched in silence as I was dragged toward the laundry room, the cruelest place anyone could be assigned.

Anything was better than laundry duty.

There, you handled the filth no one else wanted. You scrubbed out stubborn stains, dried blood that clung to fabric like it had a will of its own. Noble silks, heavy cloaks, and battle-worn uniforms weighed down your arms until they ached.

It could take an entire day to clean just a few.

Moreso, there was no water in the room. You had to walk all the way to the gate, draw it yourself from the well, and carry it back. I had often wondered why water couldn’t simply be brought in, like in the kitchen.

But I knew the answer. It was deliberate. They wanted us to feel it. Every ounce of the labor. Every strain.

And worse than the work were the overseers. They were devils in wolf form. Cruel, unapologetic, and relentless. Omegas were punished without reason. Some even died, but none of it was ever recorded.

No one cared.

Their deaths were brushed aside, labeled as accidents, and forgotten. Like they never existed.

Mistress Yhlda shoved me into the room, and I stumbled forward, barely catching myself. I bit down on my trembling lip, forcing the tears threatening to spill back into my eyes.

She stepped inside, her gaze sweeping the room. The other Omegas kept to their work, as if I weren’t even there.

“Twelve buckets before sundown. If you spill one drop, you shall start again. Report to me as soon as you’re done.” Her voice was sharp and final.

“Yes, ma’am,” I murmured.

There was nothing else I could say. Even if it was the last thing I wanted to do. Mistress Yhlda walked out of the room.

I stepped toward the iron-banded wooden bucket and lifted it. It was heavy, even empty.

Now I had to fill it. Six trips through the stone corridors. The thought alone made me shudder, but there was no choice.

I carried water from the well to the laundry room, one trip after another. By the third, my hands had begun to shake, protesting every movement.

I grimaced, rubbing my wrists as a dull ache settled deep within them. It didn’t help. If anything, the pain only sharpened.

“What do you think?” a smooth, sultry voice asked.

I paused and turned toward the fitting alcove. It was a small chamber set off to the side, often used to measure Omega uniforms and dress Luna candidates in ceremonial garments.

Someone was inside. Mistress Yhlda stood nearby, which meant only one thing. The girl speaking was a Luna candidate.

She was everything I could never be.

Her hair was a soft, luminous shade, falling straight over her shoulders. Her face was delicately shaped, with a refined nose and full lips that revealed perfect teeth when she smiled.

She carried herself with effortless grace. Everything about her spoke of elegance, of status, of belonging.

She was exactly what a Luna candidate should be. The kind of woman who would bear perfect heirs for the Alpha. Even more so if she came from an Alpha or Beta bloodline.

Her eyes suddenly locked onto mine.

I quickly looked away, bending to pick up my bucket as if I had never noticed her. But it was too late.

Mistress Yhlda’s gaze followed.

Her lips curled into a snarl as she glared at me, then beckoned with a single finger.

Reluctantly, I stepped toward her.

“Wash this,” Mistress Yhlda said, tossing a tunic at me.

I caught it instinctively. The moment I inhaled, I regretted it.

The scent hit me all at once, overwhelming and unmistakable. I staggered back, my fingers tingling where they touched the fabric.

Alpha Rhazien. It was his scent.

Something unfamiliar coiled deep in my stomach. My chest tightened as heat surged through me all at once.

I trembled. The room suddenly felt too small. Too hot. Dots flickered across my vision as dizziness set in.

My knees gave way. I reached for the stone wall, desperate for support. But there was nothing. I fell forward, bracing for the ground.

Instead, a sharp sting exploded across my cheek. My ears rang. It took a moment to register it.

Mistress Yhlda had slapped me.

“You stupid dirty runt!” she spat, her hand fisting in my hair.

Pain shot through my scalp as she yanked me upright.

“You’ll pull my hair out!” I cried as she dragged me across the room.

My scalp burned. I grabbed at her wrist, trying to loosen her grip, but she struck my hand away without hesitation.

“I should rip it out,” she snarled, “maybe that will teach you not to act like a little whore, spreading your scent like that in public!”

She shoved me hard against the wall, my face scraping painfully against the rough surface.

The assault didn’t stop.

Mistress Yhlda kept yanking my hair, each pull sharper than the last.

The pain didn’t seem like it would ever end. Until—

The sharp blast of the bloodhorn echoed through the hall.