Chapter 2 Taken away from slavery

The guards halted Lena before a heavy oak door. The head slave stepped forward, her face blank, her eyes indifferent.

"The bath awaits," she said flatly.

Without warning, a guard spun Lena around like a rag doll. Metal clinked down the corridor as they knelt and unlocked the iron cuff that had bound her ankle for nearly a decade.

The weight lifted. Lena stared, stunned.

They had never removed it. Not once. That cuff had been more than a restraint. It marked her as property, and it slowed her so that any beast in the territory could hunt her down if she ever ran. Now it lay on the stone floor like garbage. The absence should have felt like relief. It felt like a warning.

Before she could make sense of it, rough hands shoved her into the chamber.

The scent of lavender and warm oils rolled over her. Steam curled off the bath, and the water shimmered in the dim lantern light. Other slaves stood in the shadows, silent, their eyes unreadable.

They stripped away her tattered gown without a word. The bloodied fabric tore and fell, forgotten.

Hands pushed her into the water. Warmth closed around her, lifting away blood, sweat, and years of filth. She sucked in a sharp breath as rough fingers scrubbed her skin with quick, efficient strokes.

Then one hand paused as it moved her wet hair aside.

Fingers brushed her nape and stopped, tracing the faint mark there.

"You are not fully human," a young, uncertain voice whispered.

Lena turned her head slightly. "I am as human as you are."

"But this mark—"

"Ilara," the elder slave snapped. "Hold your tongue."

The girl flinched and looked away. Silence returned.

Lena's thoughts churned. Her mother had always called the mark a harmless blemish, nothing worth a second thought. Yet today it had earned her gasps, whispers, and a stranger's wary hands. She had never questioned it before. Now she could not stop.

When she stepped from the bath, they dried her with linens softer than anything she had touched in years. They tended her wounds in total silence. Cool balm eased the fresh welts across her back, and salve faded her bruises before sinking deep into her skin.

Then they turned to her face.

Cool, unhurried fingers glided along her jaw. A paste of herbs and crushed pearl smoothed over her cheeks. They worked oil through her tangled hair until it gleamed like burnished copper.

When they finally stepped back, she turned to the silver mirror on the wall and barely recognized the girl in it.

Not a filthy slave anymore.

The face looking back was clean, composed, and strangely distant. They were not preparing her for death. This was something else. Something worse.

A wooden cup was shoved into her hands. Dark liquid sloshed against the rim.

"Drink," a guard ordered.

The sharp, medicinal smell turned her stomach. "No," Lena said. "I will not."

His brows rose. "It was not a request."

"I do not care." She lifted her chin. "Kill me if you want. Just finish it. I will not swallow anything you give me."

Another guard stepped closer, sneering. "Stubborn little bitch."

They closed in before she could move. One pinned her arms behind her back. Another seized her jaw and forced it open. She thrashed, but a third hand clamped over her nose, and her lungs began to burn.

"Swallow or choke," someone muttered.

The cup tilted. Bitter, thick liquid flooded her mouth, tasting of iron and rot. She gagged and sputtered, but the brew slid down her throat. When they let go, she dropped to her knees, coughing violently, the empty cup rolling beside her.

"You bastards," she rasped.

They did not answer. One hauled her back to her feet.

Her head spun. The Beta's promise echoed in her mind: By nightfall, she will be nothing but a memory. A cold knot formed in her gut. Why summon her to Alpha Ethan? Would he kill her himself? Had the Beta finally learned of their secret?

The guards marched her through unfamiliar corridors lined with ancient carvings she had never seen. Wolves in battle. Flames licking the edges of the stone. A single moon hanging overhead. This was no path to the slave quarters.

At the end stood a towering oak door, its iron hinges etched with runes. Her heart pounded as a guard reached for the handle.

The door creaked open.

Power pressed down on her chest the moment she entered. Eyes turned toward her, sharp and calculating. The lords of the Crimson Moon Pack studied her like predators sizing up prey.

Lena swallowed hard.

"She is suitable," one elder remarked, circling her slowly. "She will suffice."

The Beta, Lydia, curled her lips in triumph. "I told you she would."

Alpha Ethan stood apart from them, silent. His dark eyes found Lena's and held, his expression unreadable. Something in her chest twisted. Some stubborn, foolish part of her still hoped he had called her here to save her.

"How can we be certain she will not speak?" he asked at last, his calm tone edged with something dangerous.

A chill slid down Lena's spine.

Lydia stepped forward with cold confidence. "I have handled it. A witch has bound her tongue. She cannot speak the truth, and she cannot flee. It is settled."

A low murmur passed through the lords. Lena opened her mouth to protest, to ask what truth, what plan, what any of this meant. The words dissolved on her tongue like smoke. Only a thin, strangled breath escaped.

The brew. It had not been poison. It had been a leash.

"Do you truly believe Alpha Darius will remain blind to this deception?" Ethan's voice deepened. "What if the truth comes out?" His gaze pinned Lena where she stood. "This is not Kara Voss. I do not approve of this, Beta Lydia."

Silence fell over the hall.

Kara Voss. Lena's mind reeled as the pieces fell into place. She was never meant to be here. Kara was. Lena was only the substitute, a disposable body to send in her place.

And Ethan, who claimed to disapprove, had not said a word to stop it.

Lydia exhaled slowly. "I give you my word, lords of the pack. The witch will manage everything. Alpha Darius will ask no questions."

Before anyone could answer, the doors burst open and two guards rushed in.

"Alpha Darius has sent men from the Shadow Fang Pack!"

Two tall, grim figures followed them in, their presence casting long shadows across the floor. Lena's heart thundered.

Lydia swept off her cloak and threw it over Lena's shoulders. The heavy fabric hid her body and her trembling face.

"Is she ready?" one emissary asked.

"She is," Lydia replied steadily.

"Then the truce is sealed."

Strong hands seized Lena and pulled her forward. Her path was no longer her own. She did not fight them. She could not speak, but she could still think.

The moment she reached the Shadow Fang Pack, she would find a way to escape.

She had to find freedom.