Permission Denied

Calla’s POV

The harsh, artificial hum of fluorescent lights dragged me from the dark void. My heavy eyelids fluttered open, revealing a barren, sterile hospital room. The walls were a sickening, clinical white. The sharp scent of bleach stung my nose, failing to mask the metallic tang of copper that seemed to coat the back of my throat. I tried to shift my weight on the thin mattress, but a deep, hollowing ache radiated through my pelvis. My body felt scraped out. An empty, desolate shell.

A figure in blue scrubs stepped into my line of sight. The nurse checked the fluid dripping from my IV bag, her expression a mask of cold indifference. She did not offer a comforting smile. She did not hold my hand.

"You had a miscarriage," the nurse stated.

The blunt words echoed resoundingly in my fragile mind, bouncing off the stark white walls. I stopped breathing. The monitor beside my bed picked up the sudden, erratic spike of my heart rate.

Traumatic memories instantly crashed over me, a tidal wave of blood and agony. I squeezed my eyes shut, but the images played on a vicious loop behind my eyelids. The sharp, unforgiving crack of Sloane’s designer heel shattering my fragile pregnancy test into jagged plastic shards. The horrifying, slow-motion image of Corbin’s foot swinging back. The brutal force of his boot sinking to violently kick me in the pregnant stomach. The wet, tearing sensation deep inside my womb. The dark crimson pool spreading across the wooden floorboards.

That was my baby. My tiny, unborn child. Destroyed in an instant by the man who was supposed to protect us.

Overwhelming despair clawed at my throat, threatening to drag me back into the dark void. I swallowed the thick lump of grief forming in my airway. I could not afford to break down. Not here. Not while I was still trapped in his territory.

"Bring me the official paperwork," I demanded. My voice cracked, dry as sandpaper, but the resolve beneath it held firm. "I am applying to permanently leave the pack."

The nurse paused, her brow furrowing in displeasure. She opened her mouth to argue, then shut it, turning on her heel to leave the room. Minutes later, she returned and tossed a clipboard onto my lap.

I stared at the black ink on the page. The application for pack severance. With a shaking, weak hand, I gripped the cheap plastic pen. My knuckles turned white from the strain. I aggressively scratched my signature onto the dotted line, desperate to sever all remaining ties to my abusers. I needed to escape. I needed to run so far away that Corbin’s name would never reach my ears again.

I handed the clipboard back to the nurse, but before she could take it, the heavy hospital door slammed open. The hinges groaned in protest.

Corbin strode into the room, his jaw set in an authoritative scowl. His dark eyes locked onto the clipboard in my lap. He closed the distance between us in three long strides, his presence sucking the oxygen straight out of the room. He snatched the departure application from my trembling fingers.

He held the paper up, his eyes skimming my messy signature. A cruel sneer twisted his handsome face. He gripped the edges of the form and ripped it down the center, tearing it to shreds before my eyes. He let the torn pieces flutter down onto the stark white sheets like snow.

"Request denied," Corbin barked, his voice dripping with Alpha command.

"You have no right," I whispered, pressing my back into the stiff pillows.

"I have every right," he snapped. He drew dangerously close, leaning his large frame over the bed. I tried to scramble backward, to put distance between my broken body and the monster who put me here, but the IV line pulled taut against the back of my hand. He stepped forward, caging me in. He physically trapped my frail body against the metal IV pole, his broad shoulders blocking out the overhead light.

He stared down at me, his gaze dropping to my pale neck and the collar of my hospital gown. "I didn't expect the severing of our fated mate bond to affect me this deeply," he muttered. His voice dropped an octave, laced with a dark, primal hunger that made my stomach churn. "I felt the snap. But my body... my wolf... we still crave you. I am not used to being denied what belongs to me."

He leaned in closer, his hot breath brushing against my cheek. "You are not going anywhere, Calla. You will remain in the pack to keep my bed warm on-demand."

I stared at him in pure horror. The man I once dreamed of marrying, the man I thought I would build a life with, was looking at me like a piece of meat.

"I will have your body whenever I want," he stated explicitly, his tone leaving no room for argument. "You will spread your legs for me. You will submit. And you will obey my every command."

Righteous fury ignited in my chest, burning away the cold numbness of my grief. I trembled, but it was no longer out of fear. It was pure, unadulterated rage. I glared up at the Alpha who had shattered my world.

"How could you do this?" I demanded, the anger tearing through my vocal cords. "I was carrying your unborn baby! You killed our child!"

Corbin’s expression did not soften. Zero remorse flickered in his cold eyes. "I couldn't care less about that dead child," he snapped back, his words slicing through my heart like a serrated blade. "I only require your body and your absolute compliance. The rest is meaningless."

I refused to be his victim any longer. I refused to let him break my spirit into dust.

"No!" I shouted my refusal. I freed my arm from the tangle of blankets and forcefully shoved his face away.

Enraged by my physical defiance, Corbin roared. The sound vibrated the medical equipment beside my bed. His hand shot out with terrifying speed. Thick, unforgiving fingers gripped my throat, crushing my windpipe. He lifted my frail body up off the hospital bed.

My feet dangled in the air. The IV needle ripped out of my vein, sending a splatter of crimson across the white sheets. I clawed at his thick wrist, gasping desperately as my lungs burned for oxygen.

He stepped closer, snarling directly into my face. "If you think resisting me will win your freedom, you are sorely mistaken," he hissed, his eyes flashing with the golden light of his wolf. "You will become a lowly pack slave starting today. You will scrub the floors. You will eat scraps. And at my command, you will never be allowed to leave this territory."

His fingers squeezed tighter, black spots dancing in the corners of my vision.

"Submit," Corbin demanded, his voice echoing with the crushing weight of an Alpha aura. "Submit to me, and I might show you mercy."

He released his grip. He dropped me heavily back onto the mattress. I collapsed against the pillows, clutching my bruised throat, dragging ragged, wheezing gasps of air into my burning lungs.

Corbin stood over me, his face twisted into a gloating, wicked mask. He waited for my obedience. He waited for me to bow my head and accept my fate.

I stared back at his smirking face. "Never," I vowed.

True to his cruel threat, Corbin did not hesitate to exact his punishment. That very afternoon, two burly guards dragged me from the hospital bed. They hauled me to the pack’s holding cells, ignoring the blood soaking through the thin fabric of my gown.

They strapped me to a heavy wooden chair. The blacksmith pulled a searing hot iron from the glowing coals of the forge. The heat radiated in the damp air, sending a primal wave of panic through my chest. Before I could brace myself, the guard shoved the glowing metal into the flesh of my shoulder.

My scream tore through the dungeon. The sickening sizzle of burning skin filled the room, accompanied by the pungent stench of charred flesh. The iron left a dark, blistered brand on my pale skin, permanently marking me as a criminal to the rest of the pack.

The guards unbuckled the straps and threw my shaking, weeping body into the squalid slave quarters.

The slave barracks was a damp, rotting building situated on the edge of the pack lands. It smelled of mildew, sweat, and despair. The moment I stumbled through the door, the pack's Head Slave marched forward. A hulking, mean-spirited woman with heavy arms and a cruel sneer. She immediately singled me out, pointing a thick finger at my fresh, weeping brand.

"The Alpha wants you broken," she announced to the room.

She assigned me the absolute harshest and dirtiest manual tasks available. Before the sun even rose, I was forced out into the freezing mud. I hauled heavy buckets of slop to the pig pens. I scrubbed the latrines with bare, blistered hands until my fingernails cracked and bled. I carried massive loads of firewood across the compound, my knees buckling under the crushing weight.

Every step was agony. The lingering, agonizing cramps from my recent miscarriage twisted my insides. Blood spotted my rough burlap tunic, a constant, physical reminder of the child Corbin had ripped away from me. My branded shoulder throbbed with a fiery infection, the untreated burn rubbing raw against the coarse fabric of my clothes.

Yet, amidst the grueling, backbreaking labor and the relentless pain, a strange phenomenon began to occur.

On the third morning, I expected to wake up unable to move. I expected my abused muscles to seize, my bones to finally crack under the strain. But as I opened my eyes on the thin, lice-infested sleeping mat, a warm pulse of energy hummed in my veins. The ache in my back had lessened. The dark bruises on my arms from the guards' rough handling had faded to a pale yellow.

I inexplicably awoke each morning feeling physically stronger.

The heavy wooden buckets that had nearly torn my shoulder from its socket on Monday felt manageable by Thursday. The steep hill leading up to the Alpha’s manor, which had previously left me gasping for breath, no longer burned my lungs. My senses sharpened. I could hear the scuff of the guards' boots from three corridors away.

I did not understand how this was happening. I had lost my mate bond. I had lost my baby. I was starving on a diet of stale bread and murky water. I should be dying.

Recognizing the danger of revealing this newfound vitality to my tormentors, I made a silent vow to hide it. If the Head Slave or the roaming guards realized I possessed this mysterious stamina, they would only double my workload. They would exploit me further, working me twenty hours a day instead of sixteen.

I wisely kept it a closely guarded secret. Whenever a guard walked past, I forced my shoulders to slump. I dragged my feet through the mud. I feigned complete, trembling exhaustion, panting heavily and dropping to my knees to avoid suspicion.

One week before Corbin and Sloane's grand wedding, a ripple of news traveled through the squalid slave quarters.

We were huddled in the corner of the barracks, eating our meager ration of cold porridge, when an older slave whispered the gossip she had overheard from the main house. Alpha Vaughn was coming to the territory.

Alpha Vaughn was the region’s most powerful, wealthy, and ruthless Alpha. His pack held thousands of warriors. His lands stretched past the northern mountains, rich with resources and impenetrable defenses. Rumors painted him as a brutal warlord who had wiped out entire packs that dared to cross him. But the older slaves whispered something else.

Vaughn was attending the wedding ceremony along with his young daughter, Cleo. His first mate had died years ago, and he was raising the child alone. Rumors circulated that Vaughn was actively hunting for a new Luna, a strong female to act as a mother to his child.

I stared down at my calloused, dirt-stained hands. I silently recalled a time, just days ago, when I had held a fleeting, desperate hope of escaping this hell. I had dreamed of crossing the border, of presenting myself to Alpha Vaughn and begging to join his pack. I wanted to start over in a place where Corbin could never reach me.

But I traced the raised, blistered skin of the criminal brand on my shoulder. My current status as a branded slave made that dream seem utterly impossible. No Alpha, especially one as powerful as Vaughn, would accept a criminal runaway with a scorched mark on her flesh.

When the actual day of the wedding arrived, the pack grounds descended into chaotic celebration.

Up in the grand hall, Corbin and Sloane were busy completing their marking ceremony. I could hear the distant cheers of the visiting Alphas, the clinking of crystal glasses, the swelling music of the orchestra. The entire pack was celebrating the union of their Alpha and his chosen Luna.

Meanwhile, I was banished to the filthy scullery in the belly of the manor kitchens.

The heat in the enclosed room was suffocating. Plumes of greasy steam rose from the massive iron sinks. I was forced to crouch on the wet, slippery stones, ordered to scrub blackened, greasy roasting pans. I gripped a handful of abrasive sand and a coarse brush, digging into the baked-on grime. My arms ached with the repetitive motion. My stomach severely cramped with starvation, twisting into painful knots at the smell of the roasted meats passing by on silver platters.

Suddenly, loud shouts erupted from the kitchen entrance.

I paused, wiping the sweat from my brow with the back of my forearm. The Head Slave was screaming. A massive group of adult kitchen slaves surged forward, their faces twisted in aggressive, ugly scowls. They were yelling, raising their heavy fists, and kicking their boots against the tile.

They were cornering someone against the wooden pantry door.

I squinted through the steam, my heart dropping into my stomach. It was a tiny, terrified five-year-old girl. She wore a delicate dress that was now smeared with soot. She had dark hair and wide, trembling eyes. She pressed her small back flat against the wood, her hands clutching a single, half-eaten bread roll she had snagged from a passing catering tray.

"Filthy little thief!" a towering scullery worker spat, pulling his foot back to kick her. "Teach her a lesson!"

Seeing the young girl's wide, tear-filled, frightened eyes, I felt a massive echo of my own fear and grief. The sight of the heavy boot pulling back to strike a defenseless stomach flashed through my mind.

That was me on the hospital floor. That was my unborn baby, destroyed by a cruel, unfeeling mob.

I thought of the child I couldn't save. The baby whose blood still stained my memory. I could not turn back time. I could not fix the hollow emptiness in my womb. But I realized, in that split second, I had the power to try and save this living child.

I tossed my heavy scouring brush aside. It clattered loudly against the wet stones.

I rushed forward without a single second of hesitation. My boots slipped on the greasy floor, but my newfound strength propelled me forward faster than the adult slaves could swing. I threw my own battered body directly in front of the angry mob. I dropped to my knees, sliding across the wet tile, and wrapped my arms protectively around the little girl’s slight form. I pulled her tiny body flush against my chest, burying her head beneath my chin to shield her fragile skull.

I gritted my teeth, squeezing my eyes shut, and braced myself as the slaves' heavy fists and heavy boots landed violently upon my own back.