Accident

The cold draft of the air conditioning against my completely naked skin was the first thing that registered when I woke up. My head throbbed with a sickening rhythm, and as my eyes adjusted to the harsh morning light filtering into the strange hotel room, a wave of profound, suffocating panic crashed over me. The bedsheets were tangled, stained, and smelled heavily of sweat and a potent, unfamiliar male musk. I shifted, wincing at the deep ache between my thighs, the undeniable physical proof that I had lost my virginity to a faceless stranger in the dark.

I was alone. The mysterious man who had taken me was gone, leaving behind absolutely nothing but a single piece of crisp paper resting on the bedside table—a blank check.

Before my drug-addled brain could even begin to process the horror of what had happened, the hotel room door burst open with a violent crash.

My mother, my father, and my sister Blaire flooded into the room. I scrambled to pull the ruined sheet over my naked body, my heart hammering against my ribs like a trapped bird.

“Tessa, you shameless whore!” My mother’s scream shattered the air. She lunged forward, snatching the blank check off the nightstand and throwing it directly into my face. The sharp edge of the paper scraped my cheek. “How dare you sell your body for money? How could you do this to your family? To your pack?!”

“To Declan,” Blaire chimed in, her voice dripping with venomous satisfaction. “Do you even remember your fiancé? Your childhood sweetheart?”

My mind spun helplessly. “No, no, you don’t understand,” I croaked, my throat raw. “I wasn’t looking for anyone. I went to the club to find you, Blaire! You ran off again, and I came looking for you. I held your drink, and then… then my body just burned. I was forced into a premature heat. I was drugged!”

Blaire’s lower lip trembled, a masterful display of fake hurt. “Are you implying that I drugged you? Who says you wouldn’t do this for cash? Mom, show them.”

My mother glared at me with absolute disgust and pulled out Blaire’s cell phone. She shoved the screen toward my face. The photos displayed my bedroom back at the pack house, the floor completely littered with Blaire’s extravagant belongings—designer bags, expensive watches, and glittering gems. Items she had deliberately planted there.

“You conniving little thief,” Blaire sneered, though she made sure to let out an audible, pitiful sob. “You wanted more money, so you stole my things and then sold yourself when it wasn't enough.”

“I didn't do it!” I pleaded, desperately looking between them. “I'm marrying Declan. I'm supposed to be the future Luna. Why would I ever throw that away for some jewelry and a blank check?”

Blaire buried her face in her hands, her shoulders shaking as she wept loudly. But as my parents looked at her with sympathy, she shifted her fingers just enough to expose her eyes to me. She was smirking. A cold, victorious smirk right behind our parents' backs.

Desperate, I turned to the one man who was supposed to protect me. My father, the Beta of the Blackwood Pack.

“Father, please,” I begged, reaching a trembling hand out from beneath the sheet. “Have mercy. You know me. I wouldn’t do this—”

*Crack.*

The sound of his hand striking my face echoed like a gunshot. The force of the slap threw me sideways against the mattress, my ear ringing loudly as the metallic taste of blood flooded my mouth.

“No one needed to drug you,” my father growled, his eyes burning with absolute hatred. “You gave up your dignity for money. You are nothing but a jealous, thieving whore. As of this moment, you are stripped of your future Luna title. You are no longer my daughter.”

That was three years ago. Three years since my life was completely destroyed, reducing me from the beloved future Luna to a miserable, filthy household slave.

My knees ache as I walk across the hardwood floor of the pack house living room, my eyes kept strictly lowered to the baseboards. The heavy silver tray in my hands rattles slightly, the fine china teacups clinking against their saucers. The atmosphere in the room today is suffocating, thick with an unnerving tension that has put my entire former family on edge.

An official royal messenger from the Lycan King has arrived. He sits in a high-backed armchair, a striking man dressed in pitch black with a vivid violet sash draped over his arm. The Lycan King never interacts with a pack as small and insignificant as ours. The suddenness of his arrival sent the entire household into a panicked frenzy, forcing me to scrub the floors until my fingers bled just to prepare for this meeting.

Directly across from the messenger sits Blaire, lounging on the plush velvet couch. Next to her sits Declan.

Declan. The man who was supposed to be my future, my Alpha, my mate. Now, he belongs entirely to Blaire. She parades around the pack lands like she is already his queen, wearing the lavish clothes and jewelry that were once meant for my future. When the scandal broke three years ago, Declan turned his back on me instantly. He didn't ask for my side of the story. He didn't look for the truth. He discarded me like trash and stepped right into Blaire's waiting arms. Even now, sitting just a few feet away from me, he refuses to even acknowledge my existence.

I approach the coffee table, my muscles burning from exhaustion. As a slave, I am forbidden from making eye contact. I sink down into a deep crouch, carefully transferring the steaming teapots and delicate porcelain cups onto the table.

Blaire snatches her cup before I even finish setting it down. She takes a small sip, holds it in her mouth for a second, and then violently spits it back into the saucer. The hot liquid splashes over the rim, staining the pristine lace doily.

“This is absolute filth!” Blaire shrieks, her voice echoing sharply in the tense room. She glares down at me, her eyes flashing with malicious intent. “Are you trying to poison the royal guest? You useless wretch!”

“No, I—”

“Silence!” Blaire snaps. She points a perfectly manicured finger to the bare, uncarpeted patch of hardwood floor right beside the coffee table. “Kneel here. Right now.”

A cold sweat breaks out over the back of my neck. I know the brutal beatings that await me if I show even a hint of defiance in front of an honored guest. The basement cell. The silver-laced whips. Swallowing the heavy lump of pride and humiliation in my throat, I shuffle forward and drop my knees onto the unforgiving hardwood. The impact sends a dull jolt of pain up my shins.

“Extend your arm,” Blaire orders, her voice dropping into a cruel, breathless whisper.

My breath hitches. I know exactly what she is going to do. Slowly, my hand trembling violently, I pull back the frayed sleeve of my uniform and hold my bare arm out over the table.

Blaire unhooks her other arm from Declan’s grasp and leans forward. She reaches out and wraps her fingers around the handle of the boiling teapot. Steam billows from the spout, a terrifying promise of the agony to come.

Desperate, I dart my eyes up and look at Declan. Just one word from him could stop this. He is the future Alpha; his authority overrides hers. I stare at the sharp line of his jaw, begging him silently with every shattered piece of my heart. Declan shifts his gaze. He looks at Blaire, then at the steaming teapot, and finally, his cold eyes land on my bare, trembling arm. For a fraction of a second, his jaw tightens. A muscle twitches in his cheek. But then, he simply looks away, staring blankly at the wall.

He remains completely silent. He is going to let her burn me.

My heart shatters all over again, the betrayal burning deeper than any physical wound ever could. I squeeze my eyes shut, biting down hard on my lower lip as I brace myself for the searing, blistering pain of the boiling water. I hear the ceramic lid clink as Blaire tilts the pot.

“Stop.”

The voice is deep, commanding, and rings out with an authority that freezes the air in the room.

I open my eyes. Blaire has frozen, the spout of the teapot hovering just an inch above my exposed skin. Her eyes dart toward the royal messenger, hardening with furious indignation at being interrupted.

“Excuse me?” Blaire snaps, her chest heaving as she grips the teapot tighter. “She is a slave. I have the right to punish her. I am allowed to keep my sister in her place when she dreams above her station.”

The royal messenger stands up slowly, his dark eyes locking onto Blaire with an expression of absolute, terrifying coldness.

“No, you aren’t,” the messenger says, his voice cutting through the tension like a blade. “Not anymore. This woman is now the property of the Lycan King, and only he can decide her punishments.”