The Slave Dragon Claims All

Valencia’s POV

Alpha Marcus was dead. Killed by a brown bear during what should have been a routine hunt. According to pack law, 12 young girls who were wolfless or omega slaves must be selected as burial companions for Alpha Marcus. I was one of them. We would be killed at the funeral and cremated together with fucking Marcus.I pressed my back against the cold stone wall of my cell, iron shackles biting into my wrists and ankles. Fear clawed at my insides, mixing with a rage it almost burned away the terror.

Why? The question screamed through my mind. My fingers traced the raised scars crisscrossing my arms, each one a reminder of Alpha Marcus’s "training."

I'd done everything they'd asked. Scrubbed their floors until my knees bled. Taken their beatings without a sound. Swallowed their scraps and called it mercy. And this was my reward? To be sacrificed with a dead man who'd never shown me an ounce of kindness?

The crack of the whip across my shoulders shattered my thoughts. Pain exploded through my body, and I stumbled forward with a strangled gasp.

"Move, you wolfless whore!" The guard's voice was thick with disgust as he coiled the whip for another strike. "Quit your daydreaming and walk!"

I forced my legs to carry me forward, though the heavy iron shackles around my ankles made every step a struggle. The chains clinked with each movement. My bare feet slipped on the wet stones, and I nearly collapsed under the weight of the collar around my neck—a thick band of iron that had rubbed my skin raw over the years.

Bastard, I thought viciously, shooting a glare at the guard's back. I hope you rot in hell.

The corridor gave way to the outside world, and the pale winter sun hung low in the sky. Mist clung to everything, making the marshlands appear ghostly and unreal.

The ground beneath our feet alternated between frozen earth and treacherous patches of half-frozen bogand released the putrid smell of decay and stagnant water.

My legs were already shaking with exhaustion. The meager rations I'd been given over the years had left me painfully thin, my ribs clearly visible beneath my torn dress. Every muscle in my body screamed for rest, but the guards kept pushing us forward with whips and curses.

Around me, other slaves wept and pleaded with their captors, their voices desperate and haunting. Their torn rags provided little protection against the harsh cold, and I could see them shivering violently, their lips blue and their breath forming thick white clouds in the air.

Some called out to the Moon Goddess. Others begged for mercy, their teeth chattering as they spoke. Strangely, the cold didn't seem to affect me the same way. My torn dress offered no more protection than theirs, yet the cold didn’t touch me.

The mist grew thicker as we approached the ritual grounds, and through it, I could make out the dark silhouettes of stone pillars arranged in a circle. My breath came in short, panicked gasps.

Knowing that each step brought me closer to death, the psychological torture was worse than the physical pain. I wanted to stop. To fall down in the mud and refuse to take another step. Let them kill me here if they wanted to. At least it would be quick.

My strength finally gave out completely when my left foot sank deep into a patch of boggy ground. The mud seemed to swallow my ankle, and I couldn't find the energy to pull myself free. I toppled forward, landing hard on my knees in the muck, my shackled hands unable to break my fall properly.

"Get up!" The guard's boots splashed through the mud as he approached. "Get up, you fucking piece of shit."

The whip came down again, and again, striping my back with fresh wounds. But the pain felt distant now, muffled by the exhaustion and despair. I could barely feel the sting of the lash anymore.

Through the haze of my failing consciousness, I saw him—a small figure crouched beside me in the mud. My younger brother, Kai, his face innocent the day he'd disappeared during the raid on our pack. His blue eyes were filled with concern as he reached out to touch my cheek.

"Sis," he whispered. "You're so tired. You can rest now."

Tears spilled down my cheeks. I reached for him with trembling fingers, desperate to touch his face one more time, to tell him how sorry I was that I couldn't protect him.

But rough hands tangled in my hair, yanking me back to brutal reality. The guard dragged me through the mud like a sack of grain, and I clawed at his grip to keep from losing my scalp.

"Pathetic," he spat, hauling me toward the altar. "Can't even walk to your own death with dignity."

The crowd parted as we approached the altar, their faces twisted with revulsion and cruel anticipation. I could smell their excitement that made my stomach turn.

My eyes swept across the sea of Alphas, Lunas, and Betas. The crowd of nobles watched us with expressions ranging from boredom to mild revulsion. Some were actually laughing, making jokes about our suffering.

Every last drop of energy had drained from my body. The agony I'd just endured had wrung me out completely. I could only curse them all—every last one of these shits—even if only in my head.

The guard unlocked my shackles with rough, impatient movements. He grabbed me and shoved me against one of the stone pillars. The rope bit into my wrists as he bound them behind the pillar, the coarse fibers rubbing my skin raw. My ankles were next, tied so tightly I could already feel my circulation cutting off. When he stuffed the dirty rag into my mouth, I nearly gagged on the taste of mold and something else I didn't want to identify.

Around the circle, other pillars held other slaves. Their eyes were wide with terror, tears streaming down their faces. I made up my mind long ago that I won't cry over fear or hardship anymore. My dignity is all I have left.

Luna Kestrel, my master, stood at the front of the crowd, her face hidden behind a black veil, her shoulders shaking with sobs. Her son Wiley walked beside her, his hand on her arm in a gesture of comfort.

I felt no sympathy for her suffering—only anger.

I remembered the day Alpha Marcus had destroyed my pack and he had murdered my adoptive parents in cold blood. I could still hear my mother's screams, still see the light fading from my father's eyes as Marcus's sword pierced his skull. And Kai had vanished that day.

The crowd pressed closer, their excited chatter growing louder. I met their eyes with all the hatred I could muster. Let them know that if I became a ghost, I'd haunt every last one of them. Several stepped back, startled by the fury they saw there.

My gaze swept across the gathering and caught on a figure standing apart from the others, half-hidden in the shadows near the stone hall. Our gazes locked, his eyes cold, and I felt something shift in my chest, a strange flutter that had nothing to do with fear and rage.

The sound of applause brought me back to the present. The eulogies were finished. The crowd began to shift restlessly, anticipation crackling in the air.The sound of drums began to echo from the stone hall, low and ominous. The crowd fell silent, their excitement giving way to an almost reverent hush, but dread crept up my spine like icy fingers, my heart racing.

The procession emerged from the hall. The drummers came first, their faces painted with strange symbols. Black-robed priest swayed as they walked, their movements too fluid, as if their joints bent in ways human joints should not.

Four armored knights followed the priests, carrying an ornate coffin on their shoulders. The knights placed the coffin carefully on the wooden pyre at the center of the circle.

At the center of this parade walked a red-robed priest, swinging a bronze censer that belched forth smoke the color of dried blood. The scent made my stomach lurch—it smelled of decay chicken.

My heart hammered against my ribs as cold sweat beaded on my forehead. My chest tightened until each breath felt like drowning.

Death was coming for me, I could smell it in the air.

At a gesture from the red-robed priest, the crowd stepped back, forming a wider circle around the altar and the silence that followed was deafening. Every eye in the crowd turned toward us.

My vision began to blur at the edges, my breathing coming in sharp, desperate gasps. The world tilted sideways, and I had to lock my knees to keep from collapsing.

The red-robed priest stepped forward. In his hands, he held a curved dagger that gleamed in the torchlight.

My fingernails dug into my palms as I fought to control my breathing.