The Abduction

Valeria’s POV

Beta Boris twisted his thick fingers into the roots of my hair, tearing a ragged gasp from my throat. He didn't pause, just leaned forward and dragged my battered body across the abrasive stone floor of the packhouse. Each yank threatened to rip my scalp apart.

Hot tears cascaded down my cheeks. I kicked and scrambled, but my bare skin scraped over jagged rock. The friction tore open fresh cuts along my legs and stomach, leaving a trail of stinging fire.

Heavy silver shackles encased my wrists, the metal biting deep into my flesh. Every time I tried to pry his fingers from my hair, the silver seared my skin. The burn radiated up my arms, a toxic heat stealing the breath from my lungs. I was half-naked, wearing nothing but torn scraps of fabric that offered zero protection from the cold stone or the degrading stares of the pack members watching from the shadows. Yet the humiliation intertwining with my confusion hurt almost as much as the physical agony. What had I done to deserve this? Why was he so eager to throw me to the wolves, to strip me of what little dignity I had left?

There was no time to process the sudden death of my father. Alpha Viktor Draganov of Meridia had been taken down hours ago, his massive frame succumbing to a dose of silver poisoning after a territorial dispute. He was a man who seemed immortal. Feared by neighboring packs, despised by his own. He ruled with an iron heart, his cruelty legendary. He took what he wanted, shattered who he wanted, and left nothing but broken lives behind. Greed fueled his every decision, a relentless hunger for dominance that was never satisfied.

I wasn't granted a single second to mourn or reflect before his betas decided I was the next piece of trash to discard. The second his heart stopped, whatever thin protection my bloodline afforded me vanished.

To Viktor, I had always been his most profound disappointment. From the moment I drew my first breath, I was a failure in his eyes. He demanded a ruthless son to inherit his bloody legacy. Instead, he got me. Weak. Late-blooming. Female. And now, at eighteen, still missing the one thing defining our kind. I was wolf-less. An ordinary girl masquerading in a bloodline of literal monsters.

The psychological weight of the Draganov name pressed down on me. We were Valkin. Valkin Alphas possessed a supreme magic elevating them above all others. They could force submission with a mere glance. But there was a catch. That magic only manifested when a Valkin Alpha bonded with their fated mate.

My father never unlocked his magic because he made a selfish choice. He chose my mother.

My mother wasn't his fated mate. The stories claimed she hunted down his true mate and murdered her in cold blood to keep him.

And he let her. But the cost was his power.

Without his fated mate, Viktor's magic remained stagnant. The loss festered inside him, twisting his soul into something unrecognizable. He aimed his bitter resentment at the woman he had chosen. He exiled my mother to the furthest fringes of the territory, isolating her from the pack until her heart gave out from grief. She died a broken shell of a woman, punished for a crime he allowed her to commit.

When she died, his disappointment needed a new target. I became the ghost of his regrets. He never raised a hand to me, but he didn't have to. His chilling scorn did more damage than any physical blow. He denied me basic affection, treating me as an invisible stain on his pristine marble floor. Everyone in Meridia assumed I carried my parents' dark taint. They looked at me and saw a murderer's daughter, a weakling who would poison the pack from the inside out.

Boris jerked my head back so hard my neck popped. I cried out.

"Let me go! Let me go!" I screamed, thrashing against his grip. But the words echoed hollow in the hallway. Without a wolf, my voice held no power.

Boris glanced down. A cruel sneer stretched across his scarred face. He mocked my powerlessness, tightening his fist in my hair and hauling me toward the heavy steel doors.

The steel doors slammed open to the freezing night air. Boris didn't slow down. He dragged me down the concrete steps, my shins banging against the hard edges, sending waves of nausea through my gut. We hit the gravel driveway, sharp rocks biting into my raw knees and bare toes. The silver cuffs clinked together, a mocking chime harmonizing with my ragged breathing.

I tried to dig my heels into the dirt, but it was useless. Boris hauled me toward a waiting van idling in the shadows.

Beside the running vehicle stood a stranger who made the blood freeze in my veins. He was tall, imposing, casting a shadow that seemed to swallow the moonlight. He wore a heavy leather coat over unyielding shoulders. A thick beard fell to his chest, braided with coarse strands.

But his eyes sent a chill racing down my spine. They were icy. Empty. Stripped of any trace of humanity or warmth. He watched my humiliating approach with a detached indifference, as if I were a piece of meat being delivered to a slaughterhouse.

I swallowed the massive lump of fear. My lungs burned. But I forced my chin up, refusing to cower. I locked eyes with him, daring him to look away.

"Is she the one?" the bearded stranger asked. His voice was a harsh rasp. He addressed Boris directly, treating me as a mere object.

Boris stopped and offered an eager nod. Selling me out was a prize he had been anticipating.

The stranger stepped forward. Without warning, his massive hand closed around the silver chains linking my wrists.

He yanked upward. The chains bit into my raw flesh, and a sharp gasp tore through my lips as he hauled me to my feet in one effortless motion. His grip was unyielding, iron-clad. I dangled from his grasp, the tips of my toes barely brushing the dirt, forced to endure his invasive scrutiny.

He leaned in, studying my battered face with detached curiosity.

"No wolf?" he questioned, his tone dropping. He shifted his cold gaze to Boris.

Boris crossed his arms, dismissive. "She's eighteen. A genetic failure." He made sure the stranger understood how worthless I was.

The stranger didn't flinch. Instead, his eyes narrowed.

"She's a Draganov?" the man pressed.

Boris nodded again, a vicious smirk breaking across his face. "The last of them."

At that exact moment, the stranger's mouth curled into a chilling, ominous smile.