The door creaked open, and four figures stepped into the room.
Luna's breath hitched. Her heartbeat roared in her ears—fast, frantic. She blinked hard, forcing her body to tremble. Let her lip quiver. Let her eyes glisten just enough to mimic tears.
'Scared. Look scared. Not furious. Not sick to your stomach. Just scared.'
Leading them was the man she half-remembered from the forest—the one with black streaks in his ash-grey hair, tall and broad like a statue carved from storm clouds and war. His eyes glowed gold in the dim light, sharp and scanning, as if stripping her bare with a single glance.
The men behind him were older. Worn and wrinkled, with skin weathered like old leather, but their slow movements didn't make them any less oppressive. Their yellow eyes glimmered just the same.
'Wolves. All of them.'
The girl—human, clearly—dropped to her knees the instant they entered. She bowed, forehead pressed to the wooden floor in a gesture of submission that sent a sick twist through Luna's gut.
'What the hell...'
Before she could process it fully, all eyes turned to her.
She flinched on instinct, a sharp, practiced whimper catching in her throat. Her arms trembled as she drew them in closer, making the chains rattle against the bedpost with a sharp metallic snap.
"W-Who are you?" she whispered, voice high and brittle, like a bird whose wings had just been snapped. "Wh-Where am I? Please—I don't understand…"
She gave the rope on her wrist a feeble tug. It didn't budge. Her skin burned.
The man with the streaked hair smiled, slow and satisfied. Like she'd just danced perfectly to the tune he'd been playing in his head.
"Easy, little one," he said, his tone gentle but unnervingly smooth. Like silk draped over something jagged. "You're safe now. This place will be your new home."
'So I'm 'little one' now? Not Broodmare?'
Her breath caught. She blinked, letting a tear spill over. "Home…?"
'This place will never become my home.'
He stepped closer.
"My name is Tyrnhael," he said, dipping his head with elegant ease. "Alpha of this pack. Chief of our kind. You are among your people now."
Behind him, the three elders drifted forward like ghosts—Oryn, Maedric, Ysrald. Time had twisted their faces, their bodies, but not their eyes. Those still gleamed with curiosity—and something darker.
Luna instinctively pulled back, curling her shoulders inward, trying to make herself disappear.
Oryn peered at her, eyes narrowing, fingers twitching like they were itching to touch her. "It's true," he murmured. "She's full-blooded. No scent of human. No trace of mixing. Incredible…"
"She's perfect," Maedric breathed, his voice trembling with awe.
"Pure," Ysrald rasped, licking the word like it tasted good on his tongue.
Their gazes consumed her like she was a relic—a once-lost treasure finally recovered.
Luna clenched her teeth behind quivering lips. Her stomach flipped. She wanted to lash out, to scream at them, to tell them to burn in whatever hell they'd crawled out of.
'Touch me and I swear I'll bite your ancient fingers off.'
Instead, she let her voice crack again. Let the tear trail down her cheek like it belonged there. "P-Please… why am I here? I don't understand…"
Tyrnhael chuckled, turning slightly to address the others. "And to think," he said, his voice thick with smug satisfaction, "we got her for free. The only living female werewolf in nineteen years. We've finally found one."
Luna's hands curled into fists.
'…nineteen years?'
So the rumors were real. All the female werewolves… gone. Extinct.
Luna's mind was spinning, a haze of disbelief clouding the edges of her vision.
'I still can't believe it. How am I... how am I even a werewolf?'
It didn't make sense. Not with the life she knew. Not with the people who raised her.
Werewolves had bloodlines. One parent at least. That was the rule. That was how it worked. Her parents, though…
She could still see them in her head—her mother's warm smile as she tucked a blanket around her shoulders, her father's arm shielding her as they crossed busy streets. Brown eyes. Black eyes. Human eyes. Completely, unmistakably human.
And yet… here she was.
With memories that never quite added up. The way her ears would ring when the moon was full. How scents came alive around her, too vivid, too real. Animals either adored her—or couldn't run away fast enough. Her reflection with its white hair that never darkened, and golden eyes that shimmered unnaturally, like they held trapped sunlight.
She had always felt different.
But different didn't mean this.
Did it?
"You must have questions," Tyrnhael's voice cut through her thoughts—smooth, calm, and cold like riverstone. "Considering you've lived as a human your whole life. And I assume… you've never turned."
"Turned…?" Luna echoed, voice thin, caught somewhere between fear and confusion.
He tilted his head at her, lips curled into that same unreadable smile. The kind that knew more than it said. The kind that left her stomach twisted in knots.
But he didn't explain. He let the silence stretch.
Luna's hands curled into fists, the weight of her chains pressing into raw skin. She wanted to scream at him. Wanted to demand every truth he was keeping locked behind that smug expression. But she was still pretending. Still acting weak.
Still biding time.
Oryn stepped forward next, golden eyes gleaming with restrained excitement. "Everything will be explained to you in due time," he said. "For now, the pack must see you."
"Indeed," came Ysrald's rasp, low and guttural. He grinned wide, nearly matching Tyrnhael's. "Everyone must know... We have done it. Nineteen years without a single female, and now—her."
Tyrnhael gave a dismissive flick of his fingers. "And she must meet them, too."
'Them? Who's them?'
She didn't get to ask.
Tyrnhael's gaze flicked toward the girl kneeling by the wall—the human, the one who hadn't spoken since Luna had first opened her eyes here.
"You," he barked, voice suddenly sharp as flint. "Thrall. Help Luna. Guide her out of the room. Not a scratch. Not a bruise. If there's so much as a hair out of place, it's your life on the line."
The girl flinched violently but nodded, dropping her forehead to the floor with rehearsed obedience. Silent. Obedient. Broken.
Luna blinked, her stomach tightening. "Thrall?" she whispered, unfamiliar with the word.
The girl moved forward on her knees, head still bowed. She didn't speak. Couldn't, Luna realized.
Her mouth was gagged. Not with cloth—but with stitched fabric, frayed with age. Stained with time.
Her movements were small. Careful. Like a servant who knew better than to draw attention.
Luna's gaze dropped to her own wrists. "Why am I tied up?" she asked, letting her voice tremble. "Please… I don't even know where I am. Just—just let me go. Please."
Tyrnhael sighed, long and theatrical, as if she were a child asking to play outside in the rain. "Safety measures, little one. I may be many things, but I am not a fool. You don't want to be here. That much is obvious. And earlier, you managed to get past us. Past a perimeter of trained alphas."
He smiled, all teeth now.
"A girl your size? That shouldn't have been possible. You're strong. Stronger than you think. So, until I'm sure you won't disappear again… the bindings stay."
Her heart dropped.
They had seen it—at least part of her escape.
The door creaked. The older men began to leave, footsteps echoing against the stone floor. Tyrnhael didn't look back.
Luna stayed still, heart hammering. She didn't want to go. Didn't want to meet their pack. Didn't want to be seen.
Paraded.
But she had to know. Had to see. Had to find a weakness—some way to claw out of this.
So she let her face crumple. Let the panic rise just enough. Let fat, shaking tears spill down her cheeks like a girl surrendering to fate.
Maedric stepped last. His hand brushed the top of her head, fingers cold against her scalp.
Luna flinched, jaw tightening to bite back a snarl.
"Don't be afraid," he murmured, tone too gentle. "No one will hurt you here."
'That's a lie.'
But she cried anyway.
The thrall girl reached her then, moving with soft, tentative hands. She began to undo the bindings carefully, her fingers trembling just slightly.
Luna's legs refused to cooperate. Numb. Weak. The girl caught her without a sound, supporting her like she was used to holding broken things.
"Thank you," Luna whispered, her voice low, hoarse.
The girl looked up.
And Luna saw it—truly saw it.
The exhaustion in her sunken eyes. The bruises on her wrist. Her ribs far too defined beneath her thin clothing. Starved. Silenced. Used.
And behind the sorrow in her gaze… was fear.
Not for Luna.
But for what came next.
And in that moment, Luna understood—
Whatever fate they had planned for her…
Would be worse than hers.