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!”