The Alpha's Summons

Marcy's POV

I dashed frantically down the hallway as fast as my trembling legs could carry me. The searing sting from my father’s heavy leather belt radiated across my back, sending shockwaves of pure agony through my nerves with every step. I burst into the nearest bathroom, slamming the heavy wooden door shut. Collapsing onto the cold tiled floor of a corner stall, I pulled my knees to my chest and cried my eyes out. The horrific humiliation of being stripped and whipped in front of the entire pack clawed at my mind. The severed fated bond throbbed in my chest, a gaping void leaving the metallic taste of blood thick on my tongue.

I sat there shivering for a few minutes, trying to muffle my heavy sobs, until the sharp clack of heels echoed against the bathroom tiles. I held my breath. I sniffed the air, my wolf senses picking up the overpowering scent of rich vanilla and crushed roses. Drusilla.

Her footsteps marched straight toward my stall. Before I could even stand, the door flew open. She reached down and grabbed a fistful of my hair.

"Get up!" she hissed, yanking me out of the stall. My scalp burned as she dragged me across the floor.

"Do you have any shame?" Her voice held no sisterly emotion, only stone-cold malice. She stood over me, her eyes flashing with triumph.

"I didn't mean to—" I raised my hands to defend myself, but her palm slashed through the air.

A scorching smack landed forcefully on my cheek. The impact snapped my head to the side, making my vision swim.

"You are a slave," Drusilla spat, leaning in close. "Nobody will ever want you as a mate, and you do not deserve one. You will always be nothing but a worthless slave." She dug her nails into my shoulders, shoving me hard against the tiled wall. My bruised back hit the solid surface, knocking the wind out of my lungs. "Now stay away from my mate!"

Without waiting for a response, she spun around and marched out the door, her heels clicking away until she disappeared from sight. I slumped against the wall, hot tears streaming relentlessly down my bruised face.

*She is wrong. Do not listen to her, Marcy,* my wolf, Sable, spoke up in my mind. Her voice pushed through the lingering pain, attempting to soothe my shattered heart.

*She is right, though,* I whimpered back. *I have always been a slave. Who could possibly want me? Look at me.*

*You underestimate our inner strength,* Sable countered, her tone fierce and unwavering. *You have endured a great deal, yet you are still standing. Since our mate has rejected us, we can leave this cruel pack and never come back. There is nothing left here worth fighting for.*

I blinked, wiping a stray tear from my cheek. *You would go rogue?*

*I told you I would always be here with you,* Sable promised. *Even if we are forced to live as wandering rogues, I will stand by your side.*

Deeply comforted by my wolf's loyalty, I took a shaky breath. "Thank you, Sable," I whispered into the empty room.

I pushed myself off the floor, splashed cold water on my flushed face, and straightened my clothes. I had to keep moving. I left the bathroom and hurried back into the bustling kitchen.

The moment I stepped through the swinging doors, Beatrice spotted me. The head chef stood near the massive stoves, wiping her hands on her apron. She caught my eye and sharply signaled me over to a loaded serving tray resting on the counter.

"Go serve that table," Beatrice instructed, her tone clipped. She pointed directly through the kitchen doors, aiming straight at the Alpha's table in the great hall.

My heart froze. Panic seized my throat at the terrifying sight of that spot. It was the exact place where I had just been brutally whipped and humiliated in front of everyone. The mere thought of stepping back out there made my stomach churn.

"You are to serve the Beta this specific food and drink," Beatrice added, tapping the silver pitcher on the tray before turning her back on me to tend to a boiling pot.

I swallowed my paralyzing fear, gripping the edges of the heavy tray. My knuckles turned white. I forced myself to walk out of the kitchen, moving like a ghost through the lingering crowd. I dragged the tray toward the Beta's table, keeping my head bowed to avoid the cruel whispers and mocking stares. My hands shook, but I managed to place the steaming food and drinks down without causing a scene. I did not look at my father. I did not look at Garrick. I spun on my heel and quickly retreated to the safety of the kitchen.

I rushed to the large stone sinks and plunged my hands into the soapy water, scrubbing dishes as fast as I could. I prayed the mindless work would make the time pass, desperate to earn my day's pay and figure out a way to leave this pack for good.

Thirty agonizing minutes crawled by. The kitchen slowly emptied of staff. Then, the ominous sound of heavy boots echoed on the stone floor. Two armed guards marched through the swinging doors, their hands resting on their sword hilts.

"Marcella! Marcella!" one of them barked.

"Yes?" I answered, turning around, water dripping from my raw hands.

"Alpha Vance sent us to get you," the guard announced, grabbing my arm and forcefully marching me toward the great hall.

I stumbled alongside them, confusion swirling in my mind. The great hall, which had been booming with music and laughter just a half hour ago, was now transformed. It was as silent and chilling as a graveyard. The moment the guards shoved me through the grand archway, every eye locked onto me.

My blood ran ice-cold.

I looked past the gathered crowd and saw a horrifying sight. Garrick's father, Beta Valerius, lay motionless on the cold stone floor. His eyes were wide open, staring blankly at the vaulted ceiling. He was dead.

Alpha Vance stepped forward, shattering the tense, suffocating silence. His dark eyes burned with uncontrollable, lethal rage. When he spoke, his voice was deep and monstrous, sounding more like a feral beast than a man.

"You thought you would get away with it, did you not?" he snarled, pointing a thick finger at me. "Poisoning my Beta right under my roof simply as revenge because his son rejected you as a mate."

"I—I didn't poison him, Father!" I cried out, my entire body trembling. "I swear it! I would never!"

"Lies!" he roared. "Who served that table? Who served Valerius?" He closed the distance between us, his massive frame towering over me.

"I did... but I swear I didn't poison him!" I pleaded, frantically shaking my head. "Beatrice, the head chef, she explicitly told me to serve that specific food. She gave me the tray! Please, you have to believe me!"

Snarling with murderous intent, my father lunged forward and grabbed my arm in a bone-crushing grip. The pressure ground my bones together, drawing a sharp gasp from my lips. "Enough!" he bellowed. "Go get me Beatrice this instant!"

A guard darted off. I stood there, trapped in my father's agonizing hold, tears blurring my vision. For a split second, a brief wave of relief washed over me. I trusted Beatrice. She was the one person in this miserable palace who had always shown me a shred of kindness. She would step up. She would tell the truth and clear my name.

A moment later, Beatrice walked into the hall, flanked by several other kitchen servants.

"Beatrice," my father demanded, his voice echoing off the stone walls. "Marcy claims you gave her this poisoned food to serve Valerius. Is this true?"

Beatrice stopped a few feet away. She did not cast a single glance in my direction. Her expression remained neutral as she smoothly and devastatingly lied to his face.

"That is a lie, my Lord. I have not seen Marcy all day, and I never asked her to serve any food."

My vocal cords froze. The sheer magnitude of this unexpected betrayal hit me harder than the physical whipping. I stared at her, my mouth opening and closing, unable to form a single word in my defense.

"My Lord, observe the uniform I and my kitchen staff wear today," Beatrice continued calmly, gesturing to the gray aprons her servants wore. "I know all the people who worked with me today, and Marcy is not one of them. You can ask my servants."

"Yes, Beatrice is telling the truth, my Lord," the surrounding servants nodded in unison, backing up her fatal lie without hesitation.

I stood paralyzed, my heart pounding so hard it felt like it would crack my ribs. I trusted her. Why was she framing me for murder?

My father's eyes blazed crimson. He released my arm only to shove me back. "So, you thought you could kill my Beta for rejecting you and get away with it?"

"No..." I choked out, a mere whisper.

"Guards!" Alpha Vance bellowed. "Take this wretched being out of my sight and lock her in the dungeon! She will be beheaded at sunrise tomorrow outside the city gates. Let this serve as a reminder of what happens to traitors!"

Two muscular, snickering guards lunged forward. They grabbed my arms, forcefully dragging me away from the crowd. I kicked and struggled, but their grip was unbreakable. They hauled me into the dark corridors leading beneath the palace. Once out of sight, they brutally beat me. Fists slammed into my stomach, boots kicked my bruised legs. The pain overwhelmed my senses until the edges of my vision blacked out. They dragged my broken body down a flight of stone stairs and tossed me into a freezing, empty stone cell.

I awoke sometime later in pitch darkness. A feeling of intense discomfort traveled through my skull. My head pounded with agonizing pain. I groaned, attempting to sit up, but the heavy sound of clinking metal stopped me. My wrists and ankles were bound tightly by biting iron chains, thick links anchored securely to the damp stone wall.

I pulled at the restraints, but my hands could not move beyond a few inches. I was trapped.

Sitting alone in the freezing, dead silence, the reality of my impending execution crashed over me. I pulled my knees up as far as the chains would allow and wept bitterly. I cried for my dead mother, wishing she were here to save me. I agonized over Garrick's cruel rejection, the phantom pain in my chest acting as a constant reminder. And Beatrice's inexplicable betrayal tore at the remaining shreds of my sanity. I was going to lose my head at dawn.

Suddenly, the distinct sound of heavy footsteps echoed ominously through the dungeon corridor.

The rhythmic thud of boots grew louder, halting directly at my thick wooden door. I scrambled desperately backward, pressing my spine into the dark, damp corner of the cell. Panic seized me. Was it sunrise already? Had the executioner arrived for my head?

I covered my mouth with my chained hands, trying to stifle my terrified sobs.

"Come out!" a strangely familiar female voice echoed softly.

The heavy iron lock clicked, and the thick door swung open with a harsh creak. A shadowy figure draped in a dark, heavy cloak slipped silently into view. I stayed frozen in my corner, my breath hitching in my throat.

"Come out, Marcy," the voice called again.

As the figure approached the dim moonlight filtering through the high grated window, she reached up and pulled back her hood. I caught a brief glimpse of her face, and everything inside my chest stopped dead.

“Impossible,” I whispered, eyes wide with disbelief. “What are you doing here?”