After My Mate Tortured Me, the Lycan Claimed Me

Three years. One thousand and ninety-five days of staring at damp stone walls, breathing in the metallic tang of silver and the rot of my own despair. I had counted every second in the dark, but when the heavy iron door of the asylum cell finally groaned open, the sound was deafening.

Two pack warriors stood there. Their faces were impassive, their noses wrinkled against the stench of the cell—the stench of me. I didn't recognize them. New recruits, probably. They didn't see Naomi Bishop, the Luna who had once led them. They only saw a feral, broken thing.

"Get up," one barked. "Alpha’s orders."

My legs trembled as I forced myself to stand. My muscles had atrophied from confinement, and my asylum rags hung off my skeletal frame like a shroud. I shuffled forward, wincing as the daylight from the hallway pierced my eyes.

Dr. Helena Cross was waiting just outside the threshold. She held a syringe, the liquid inside shimmering with a faint blue hue. I flinched. I knew that color. Wolfsbane suppressants.

"Please," I rasped, my voice sounding like grinding gravel. "No more."

Helena wouldn't meet my eyes. She stepped forward, her movements quick and clinical, jabbing the needle into my arm. But as she depressed the plunger, I heard her whisper, barely audible over the hum of the ventilation, "I'm so sorry, Naomi. Just survive."

The chemical burn spread through my veins, dulling the already silent void where my wolf, Luna, used to be. She had gone dormant a year ago, unable to withstand the torture. I was truly alone inside my own head.

The guards didn't drag me; they herded me, shoving my shoulders whenever I stumbled. We emerged from the underground facility into the blinding afternoon sun. I gasped, the fresh air overwhelming my senses.

There it was. The Pack House. The Obsidian Shadow estate.

It stood grand and imposing against the tree line, a mansion of dark stone and glass. Once, this place had been my sanctuary. Now, it looked like the mouth of a beast waiting to swallow me whole again.

The guards stopped at the edge of the lawn. "You're released to the grounds," one muttered. "Don't make us regret unchaining you."

They left me there. I stood shivering in the warm sun, clutching my rags. Instinct took over. My feet, bloody and bare, carried me up the familiar stone path toward the main entrance. I just wanted to wash the asylum off my skin. I wanted my room. I wanted to sleep in a bed that didn't smell of urine and rust.

I reached the heavy oak front doors and pushed them open. The foyer was exactly as I remembered—the grand staircase, the chandelier—but the smell hit me like a physical blow.

The scent of cedar and rain—Cole’s scent—was there, but it was buried under a thick, cloying layer of synthetic roses. It was suffocating. It was *her*.

I kept my head down, trying to make myself invisible as I climbed the stairs to the Alpha suite. My hand shook as I reached for the handle of the master bedroom. Locked.

I fumbled for the spare key hidden atop the doorframe—a secret Cole and I had shared since we were teenagers. My fingers brushed only dust.

"That doesn't belong to you anymore."

I spun around. Sarah, a maid who I had once laughed with over morning coffee, stood at the end of the hall. Her lip curled in a sneer I had never seen directed at me before.

"Sarah?" I whispered.

"Don't speak to me," she hissed, taking a step back as if I were contagious. "Your scent has been scrubbed, Naomi. You don't exist on this floor. The Alpha ordered your things moved to the basement servant's quarters. The boiler room."

The basement. Where we kept the cleaning supplies and the old broken furniture.

Before I could process the insult, a booming voice echoed from the floor below. It was a sound that vibrated in my very bones, triggering an ache in my chest that three years hadn't erased.

"Bring her to the dining hall. Now."

Cole.

Sarah grabbed my arm, her grip bruising. "Move."

She dragged me down the stairs and shoved me through the double doors of the dining hall. The room fell silent. The entire inner circle was there—the Beta, the Gamma, the Elders. They were eating lunch, silver cutlery clinking against fine china.

And at the head of the table sat Alpha Cole Mitchell.

He looked devastating. His dark hair was perfectly styled, his shoulders broad and powerful in a black button-down shirt. He radiated power and health, a stark contrast to the hollow shell I had become.

Perched on his lap, feeding him a grape, was Jolene Rivera.

She looked up, her eyes widening in mock sympathy. "Oh, Cole. Look at her. She looks... feral."

Cole’s eyes locked onto mine. They were cold, devoid of the warmth that used to melt my heart.

"Kneel," he commanded.

The Alpha tone slammed into me. My knees hit the hardwood floor with a sickening crack. I couldn't resist. My wolf was too weak, and the bond—that cursed, tattered thread connecting our souls—forced me to obey.

"Welcome home, Naomi," Cole said, his voice smooth and deadly. He gestured to the pack members who were averting their gaze. "Let this be clear to everyone. Naomi Bishop is no longer Luna. She is no longer a ranked member of this pack."

He paused, his hand resting possessively on Jolene’s thigh.

"She is lower than an Omega," Cole declared, his eyes never leaving my face. "She is a ghost. You will treat her as such."

I bit my lip so hard I tasted blood. I wanted to scream that I was innocent, that Jolene was a liar, but my voice died in my throat.

Cole smirked, sensing my agony. He leaned back, pulling Jolene flush against his chest. "Does it hurt, Naomi? To see what you threw away with your weakness?"

He didn't wait for an answer. He grabbed Jolene’s chin and crashed his lips onto hers.

It wasn't just a kiss. He shoved his energy through our mate bond, weaponizing our connection. A shockwave of psychic pain ripped through my chest, hot and jagged. It felt like my heart was being squeezed by a fist of barbed wire.

"Ah!" The cry escaped me before I could stop it. I curled in on myself on the floor, clutching my chest, gasping for air while the sound of their wet, sloppy kiss filled the silent room.

Jolene pulled away, giggling, while Cole stared down at me, his eyes burning with a cruel, twisted satisfaction.

"Pathetic," he spat.