I spun around, my heart hammering in my chest. His face was unreadable, but his eyes burned with quiet fury.

“Who... who is she?”

Ronan stepped into the room, his presence suffocating. “That’s none of your concern.”

“Why is she—”

“She’s my mate,” he snapped, his tone final. “My Luna.”

Something about the way he said it sent a chill down my spine.

“She’s... she’s not alive,” I whispered, glancing back at the unmoving woman. “What are you doing to her?”

Ronan’s jaw clenched. “She’s sick. And you’re going to help me bring her back.”

“What?” I took a step back.

He grabbed my arm, pulling me close. His voice dropped to a cold whisper.

“You’re not here to be part of this pack, Elena. You’re here because humans are useful in rituals. And in two weeks, I’m going to kill you to save her, whether you like it or not.”

His words hit me like a slap in the face.

“Two weeks,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “You’re going to kill me... in two weeks?”

Ronan smirked, leaning back against the doorframe as if we were discussing the weather. “On the blood moon. It’s the perfect time for rituals. And with the witch’s help, your sacrifice will ensure Luna’s return.”

Sacrifice. The word twisted in my chest like a knife.

“You… you can’t be serious,” I said, my voice trembling.

“Oh, I’m fucking dead serious,” he replied, his tone almost bored. “But until then, you’ll stay here. Do what I tell you. And you’ll start by looking after her.”

He jerked his head toward the woman on the bed—his Luna. Her pale face was peaceful, almost serene, but the energy in the room felt... wrong.

“You want me to take care of her?”

“You’ll do more than that,” Ronan said, his voice hardening. “You’ll bathe her, feed her, keep her clean. If I so much as smell neglect on her, I’ll make sure your death is slow.”

I swallowed hard, my mouth dry. “What if I... what if I hurt her by accident?”

Ronan’s expression darkened. He stepped closer, towering over me.

“If you try anything— anything—to harm her, I’ll fucking throw you to the rogues. Let them tear you apart piece by piece and feast on your remains. Understand?”

A shiver ran down my spine. His tone wasn’t a threat; it was a promise.

I nodded quickly, not trusting my voice to work.

“Good.” He grabbed my arm, pulling me out of the room. “You start now.”

***

The first thing I learned about taking care of Alpha Ronan’s Luna was that it wasn’t about her. It was about him.

He wanted her pristine, perfect, untouched. Every detail had to be just right—the water temperature for her baths, the way her hair was brushed, even the position of her hands on the bed. It was obsessive, and the weight of it pressed down on me with every passing second.

I carried a basin of warm water into the room, my arms shaking under its weight. The Luna lay exactly as I’d left her, unmoving, her chest rising and falling so faintly I had to lean closer to be sure she was still breathing.

I set the basin down and hesitated.

This was insane. I was supposed to be in school, worrying about exams, hanging out with friends, maybe daydreaming about my future. Not... this. Not bathing a woman who was basically a corpse while her psychotic mate planned to kill me.

My hands shook as I dipped a cloth into the water and wrung it out.

“Just get it over with,” I muttered to myself.

The cloth brushed against her skin, and I froze. Her body was cold—colder than it should’ve been—but there was a faint warmth beneath the surface, like embers buried under ash.

I worked quickly, trying not to think too much. Every movement felt surreal, like I was watching myself from outside my body.

When I finished, I stepped back, wiping my hands on my pants.

“Good enough,” Ronan’s voice said from the doorway, making me jump.

I turned to see him leaning against the frame, his arms crossed over his chest.

“She looks... decent,” he said, his eyes scanning the Luna’s form. “For now.”

I bit back the urge to snap at him. What was I supposed to do? Give her a makeover?

“Get out,” he said abruptly. “You’ve got other work to do.”

I didn’t need to be told twice.

***

The days blurred together. Ronan didn’t just assign me to the Luna; he made sure I was his personal slave too. Cleaning, cooking, running errands—every task was designed to remind me of how little I mattered.

But the worst part wasn’t the work. It was the looming shadow of the blood moon, ticking closer with every passing day.

I tried to push the thought away, but at night, alone in my cramped little room, it was all I could think about. How would it happen? Would the witch drag me to some altar and carve me open? Would Ronan watch? Would anyone care?

The days crawled by, each one heavier than the last. Ronan kept me running on scraps of food and exhaustion. My body ached from endless chores, knees bruised from scrubbing stone floors until my skin cracked.

But it wasn’t just the labor—it was the waiting. The looming dread of the Blood Moon, a countdown I couldn’t stop.

Then, something shifted.

I was in the Luna’s chambers, cleaning dust-covered shelves stacked with leather-bound books and glass vials filled with God-knows-what. Ronan had barked his usual threats before locking me in.

The shelves blurred as I worked, but one book caught my eye—a spine glowing faintly behind a curtain of cobwebs. My heart kicked against my ribs as I pulled it free. Heavy. Worn. Its crimson-etched title burned into my mind: “Blood and Moon: Rituals of Resurrection.”

My breath hitched.

The pages crackled as I flipped through them. Strange symbols filled the first few, but then, there it was. My fate. Spelled out in ink.

“Under the Blood Moon, the vessel must be prepared. Her blood, pure and untainted, will flow into the earth. Her life force will be consumed, and in return, the soul of the Luna will be restored to her body.”

I read it again. And again. My vision blurred.

Her blood. Her life. Me.

I slammed the book shut, panic clawing at my chest. “So that’s it,” I whispered. “They’re going to bleed me dry.”

A creak behind me made me flinch, nearly dropping the book.

Selene was awake.

Her pale, moonlit eyes locked on mine from the bed. She looked fragile, almost translucent under the dim light, but her gaze was sharp.

“You found it,” she said, voice soft and brittle.

I clutched the book tighter. “You’re awake.”

Her faint smile held no warmth. “For now.”

Something about her wasn’t menacing—just tragic. Not some evil queen lurking behind Ronan’s plans. Just… tired.

“You know what he’s going to do to me?” My voice cracked.

Her gaze lowered. “Yes.”

“You’re just… okay with it?”

“No.” Her eyes snapped back to mine, a flicker of fire beneath the exhaustion. “But Ronan believes my life is worth more than yours.”

The words hung in the air, suffocating.

“And you? Do you believe that?”

Selene hesitated, searching my face. “No life is more valuable than another, Elena. But I am bound to him. I can’t stop what he’s set in motion.”

Tears burned my eyes. “There has to be another way.”

“If there is,” she said, her voice almost a whisper, “it’s in those texts. But you don’t have much time.”

The door rattled, and we both froze.

“Elena!” Ronan’s bark jolted me into motion. I shoved the book back onto the shelf and scrambled to my feet.

The door swung open. Ronan’s sharp eyes scanned the room, suspicion simmering.

“What’s going on?” he growled.

“Nothing,” I said, my voice steadier than I felt. “Just cleaning.”

His gaze lingered, but he didn’t press. Instead, he stepped closer, towering over me.

“It’s time for your preparations,” he sneered.

***

The preparations were hell.

Ronan dragged me to a stone chamber deep beneath the packhouse. The air was damp, the walls scored with claw marks and streaked with dried blood.

“Take off your clothes,” he ordered.

I froze. “What?”

His eyes narrowed. “I said, take them off.”

“I’m not—”

He grabbed my arm, his grip crushing as he shoved me forward. “Do it, or I’ll have someone else strip you.”

Shaking, I peeled off my shirt and pants, my arms crossing over my chest. The bruises and scrapes across my skin burned in the frigid air.

Ronan tossed a thin, white gown at me. “Put this on.”

I slipped it over my head. It barely reached my knees.

“This is your uniform until the ritual,” he said coldly. “No food. Minimal water. The witch will keep you alive just enough to stay pure.”

My stomach churned, twisting in pain.

I sank to the floor, wrapping my arms around myself as silent sobs wracked my chest.

Two weeks.

Two weeks to either escape or die.

***

The days were hell. Ronan’s grip tightened as Selene’s condition worsened. I wasn’t allowed to rest, eat, or escape his wrath. Whenever Selene showed signs of pain, he came for me, his anger sharp and relentless.

“I told you to take care of her!” he roared, his hand around my throat. I could hardly breathe but didn’t dare fight back. The other slaves in the house stayed silent, watching from the shadows, too afraid to intervene.

Still, I found myself drawn to Selene. Not out of pity—but because she was the only one who treated me like a person.

One night, as I sat beside her, she whispered, “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” I asked.

“For you. For what’s going to happen,” she said, her voice weak.

“This isn’t your fault,” I said, trying to keep my anger in check. “Don’t apologize for him.”

She sighed, her eyes distant. “You don’t understand. I’m the reason he’s like this. If he can’t bring me back, he’ll never forgive himself.”

“You’re still here, Selene,” I said, gripping her hand.

“For how long?” she replied softly. Her resignation stayed with me long after I left her room.

The ritual loomed closer, and I felt trapped.

The chance to escape came unexpectedly.

I was in the kitchen scrubbing pots when I overheard two pack warriors outside.

“The borders are weak,” one grumbled. “Ronan’s pulled patrols for the Blood Moon preparations.”

The words struck like lightning. Weak borders. A way out.

That night, as I brushed Selene’s hair, my hands shook.

“You’re trembling,” Selene said softly.

“I’m fine,” I muttered.

“No, you’re not,” she said, her gaze heavy in the mirror.

She was right. I wasn’t fine. But I couldn’t let her—or Ronan—know what I was planning.

After a long pause, Selene sighed. “If you’re thinking of running, you’ll need more than courage.”

My breath hitched. I met her gaze in the mirror, searching for any hint of malice, but all I saw was exhaustion.

“I’m not—”

She raised a hand. “I won’t stop you. But be careful. Ronan doesn’t forgive, and he doesn’t forget.”

I nodded, my mind spinning with plans.

Over the next few days, I gathered supplies—scraps of bread, a stolen canteen—hidden beneath the loose floorboard in my room. Selene distracted others just enough to buy me time.

The night I got caught, I was in the pantry, stuffing food into a bag. The house was quiet, most of the pack busy with Blood Moon preparations. I thought I was safe.

Then I heard boots behind me.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

Ronan’s voice cut through the dark like a blade.

I froze, turning slowly to face him. His eyes burned with fury.

“I—I was just—”

“Stealing?” He stepped closer, his presence suffocating.

I backed away. “It’s not what it looks like.”

He snatched the bag, dumping its contents on the floor. “Were you planning to run?”

My silence betrayed me.

His face twisted with rage. He grabbed my arm and yanked me toward him. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

“Let me go!” I struggled, but his grip was iron.

“You think you can walk away?” His voice was low, dangerous.

He slapped me hard. I stumbled, tasting blood, but didn’t cry.

“You’re nothing,” he snarled. “And you dare defy me?”

I spat blood on the floor. “I’ll defy you every chance I get.”

His eyes darkened. He grabbed my hair and dragged me to the dungeon.

The cell was cold and damp. He threw me inside. “You’ll stay here until the Blood Moon. Breathe wrong, and I’ll throw you to the rogues myself.”

“You’re a monster,” I said, glaring at him.

He smirked. “No, Elena. I’m your 'Alpha.' And you’ll learn to obey.”

The door slammed shut, the sound echoing through the chamber.

I sank to the floor, shaking but determined. This wasn’t over.

I closed my eyes, leaning back against the cold stone wall. A memory surfaced, warm and golden, so far from this nightmare it felt like cruelty to remember.

My grandparents’ house always smelled of fresh bread and lavender. Grandpa sat in his creaky chair, his glasses slipping down his nose as he spoke with quiet conviction.

“Werewolves aren’t just stories, Ellie,” he said, wagging a finger while Grandma chuckled in the kitchen. “They’re real—strong, bound by loyalty... and sometimes, darkness.”

I’d laughed, brushing it off. “Folklore, Grandpa. Just bedtime stories.”

His face grew serious. “Folklore starts with truth, little one.”

I hadn’t believed him.

Now, in the cold dungeon, his words haunted me. Werewolves were real, and I was their prisoner. My ribs ached, my cheek throbbed, and my lip stung. Each shallow breath reminded me this wasn’t a dream. This was reality.

---

Time blurred in the darkness—no light, no sound but the occasional scuttle of rats. Hunger gnawed at me, and thirst burned my throat. When the metallic clank of keys echoed through the hall, I flinched.

“Get up,” a guard barked.

I didn’t move fast enough. Rough hands yanked me up, dragging me through the twisting halls. My bare feet scraped against the stone floor.

“Please,” I croaked. “Don’t—”

“Shut up,” the guard snapped, shoving me forward until we entered a steamy room.

Other women scrubbed the floor, their hands raw. One glanced up at me, pity softening her hollow gaze.

“She’s for the ritual,” a guard sneered.

“Strip her,” another ordered.

I shrank back, trembling. A she-wolf stepped closer, her hands shaking as she held a cloth. “Don’t fight. It’ll hurt worse if you do.”

Saltwater was poured over me, icy and stinging. It burned every bruise, every cut. I bit my lip until it bled, choking back my scream.

“Clean her,” the guard growled. “The Alpha wants her ready for the witch.”

They scrubbed me until my skin felt raw, then draped me in a thin white robe. My body shook as guards grabbed my arms, dragging me outside into the woods.

The clearing blazed with the crimson glow of the Blood Moon. Smoke curled from copper bowls around the stone altar. Ronan stood at the front, his towering figure shadowed against the moon. His eyes gleamed with dark intent.

Beside him, the witch chanted in a strange language, her robes shifting like smoke. Selene sat nearby, her face pale and lips pressed tight. Her sad eyes met mine and didn’t waver.

“Bring her,” Ronan commanded.

I was shoved forward, my knees buckling as I stumbled toward the altar.

The guards threw me onto the altar, cold stone knocking the air from my lungs. My wrists were yanked above my head, leather straps biting into my skin.

“No! Please!” I thrashed, voice raw, but no one cared.

Ronan loomed over me, his face a mask of cruelty. “Your life has meaning tonight. Be grateful.”

The witch’s chant grew louder, the air thickening. Something unseen clawed at my chest, a darkness pressing, pulling.

“Please, don’t!” My cries broke as the dagger sliced my forearm, blood spilling onto the altar.

“Enough,” Ronan barked, his cold gaze unwavering. The witch’s dagger rose high, her voice hitting a crescendo.

But then—chaos.

Selene moved, her hands slamming into a burning bowl. Embers scattered across the altar. The witch shrieked, momentarily breaking her chant.

“Run!” Selene’s voice cut through the confusion.

Adrenaline surged. My wrist tore free from the restraint, skin burning as I yanked myself loose. My other hand slipped free, and I bolted, the sound of Ronan’s roar crashing behind me.

“Get her!”