Chapter 2
Save Me
Alexa
The car speeds at a violent pace. This kind of speed doesn’t belong to an ordinary vehicle. This must be a Rider. A normal human car modified with magical gears to absorb the energy of the driver and passengers, converting it into brutal acceleration.
My head grows heavier by the second. The dizziness thickens. My stomach twists, rolling harder and harder until the truth settles in.
“Answer me,” Alpha Alastair growls.
His voice is right in front of my face. The sound of it snaps through me. My body jerks, every muscle locking tight. I tremble, forcing myself to stay upright, to stay conscious.
“I’m not,” I whimper.
“What?”
“I’m not a virgin,” I say, the words scraping their way out of my throat.
He stills. His grip tightens around my neck, cutting off my air. My lungs burn as his eyes flare, bright crimson, sharp with fury. His other hand digs into my inner thigh, fingers biting deep.
“Those bastard in the auction lied? So, who took it?” he grunts.
I shake my head, refusing him, panic rattling through me.
“Answer me. Who took it?” His voice drops, slow and deliberate. “Was it someone from your pack?”
Everything inside me spirals. My thoughts scatter, but his stare pins me where I sit, heavy and commanding, forcing obedience without a single order spoken.
“Alpha Gabriel,” I choke out between breaths. The truth spills whether I want it to or not.
His eyes narrow, something dark flashing across his face. Before he can say another word, my stomach heaves. The pressure from the Rider twists my gut violently. I try to swallow it back, but it’s useless.
My body rebels. I vomit. Liquid spills from my mouth, soaking my clothes and splashing onto him where he’s pressed too close.
“Agh. You cursed woman,” he snarls, shoving me away in disgust. “Stop the car!” He shouts the order to the driver.
I collapse against the seat, shaking, gasping for air as the Rider jerks to a stop. Alpha Alastair opens the door and steps out without looking back. Cold air rushes in, then the door slams shut again, sealing me inside.
He makes a call outside, his voice low and controlled, like this is nothing more than a minor inconvenience. He asks for a replacement car and fresh clothes. I am not mentioned.
I sit alone, the gag removed but still voiceless, drenched in my own vomit.
The stench is unbearable, and there is nothing I can do with silver cuffs locked around my wrists.
The driver keeps his eyes forward, pretending I don’t exist. The silence stretches, thick and humiliating, pressing down on me harder than Alastair’s grip ever did.
This is what I am to them. A mess to be cleaned up. A problem to be transferred. I curl inward on the seat, shaking, swallowed by the dark as the Rider starts speeding again.
* * *
I don’t know what else I have done wrong. Whatever the Moon Goddess wants from me, she has fated me to a terrible life, one so cruel that I no longer understand what I am meant to endure or how I am supposed to survive it.
Alpha Alastair’s rage throws me into the underground dungeon of the Blood Moon Pack.
The moment he learns that I am no longer a virgin, something in him snaps.
It only worsens with the humiliation of his ruined clothes and his soiled car.
His anger is sharp and final, leaving no room for explanation or mercy.
Instead of a luxurious room in the packhouse, instead of the title of Luna I once dared to imagine, he abandons me in a filthy, dust-choked corner of the underground prison.
I lie there wondering if lying about my virginity would have changed anything, if pretending might have spared me this fate.
The answer comes with a bitter clarity. Probably not.
“It looks like he doesn’t want me as his mate anymore,” I say to Mythril.
“Yes,” Mythril replies after a moment, her tone subdued. “But he already bought you. That means he won’t just let you go.”
“So I’m useful.” I sigh. “Just not as a mate.”
“Likely not,” she says. “More like something he can use or the mate bond pulls him to keep you close.”
“As a punching bag, maybe.”
Time loses its meaning behind the iron bars.
I don’t know how long I remain curled up on the cold floor, knees drawn to my chest, my body aching from stillness and fear.
The bars are designed for werewolves, reinforced and unforgiving.
The scent of wolfsbane poison saturates the air, sharp and dizzying, burying my senses until my head spins and my limbs feel heavy and weak.
There are no windows. No cracks in the ceiling. Nothing to tell me whether it’s day or night. I can only guess the passing of time by the guards who bring food twice a day, sliding trays through the narrow slot beneath the bars. It feels like a week passes.
Alpha Alastair never comes. He never speaks to me. It’s as if he has forgotten entirely that he spent a million dollars to claim me. No one answers my questions. They pretend I’m just a pet to be fed.
One night, a guard returns with the usual tray of food. As soon as it slides into my cell, something feels wrong.
The scent is different. Mint and pine drift toward me, calm and clean, completely out of place in this filthy dungeon. The food itself looks the same as always, thin porridge and cold broth, unremarkable and dull in color.
I step closer, my suspicion growing. When I pull the tray toward me, I notice the spoon. A tissue is wrapped around it, folded neatly, almost carefully, like something served in a restaurant far above ground.
Frowning, I unwrap it. The scent grows stronger. Now I am certain it isn’t the food. It’s the tissue. When I unfold it fully, my breath catches in my throat.
Get out now!
My heart slams hard against my ribs. Hope surges so suddenly it nearly knocks me off balance. I shove the tray aside, my hands shaking as I reach for the lock.
The padlock is gone.
I stare at it, disbelief washing over me. When did this happen? How long has it been open?
“It has to be the guard from earlier,” Mythril says, her voice sharp with realization.
Faint grunts and low growls drift in from outside. Then everything falls quiet again, leaving only the soft whisper of air moving through the darkness. The rustle of leaves and a thin whistling breeze slip into my cell. It is the same sound I hear every time a guard comes to bring my food.
But this time, it doesn’t stop. The sound lingers.
Cold air seeps into the cell, brushing against my skin. It carries the sharp stench of wolfsbane and damp earth, stirring it up from the dungeon floor until the smell thickens in every breath I take.
I don’t hesitate. I unlatch the iron door and push it open. The wolfsbane stings my nose and burns my fingers, but the scent of mint and pine cuts through it, steady and grounding, lending me strength I didn’t know I still had.
My footsteps echo through the filthy hallway as I sprint toward the exit. Ahead, the outer iron door hangs slightly ajar. I can’t believe what I’m seeing. This narrow gap is where the wind has been slipping into the dungeon.
I draw in a deep breath, steady myself, then push the door while my heart beats wildly. Nothing stops me. And just like that, I step outside.
I gasp and take a deep breath. Two guards lie sprawled on the ground, unmoving. What has happened to them?
My heart pounds as I look around. To the right, far in the distance are the pack’s residential houses. The packhouse. There are three silhouettes in the distance, rushing closer to where I stand now. That direction means capture, maybe worse.
To the left, behind the prison building, a faint light spills toward the forest. Instinct takes over. I run toward the trees.
My feet scrape against dirt and roots, pain shooting up my legs as blood rushes through me so fast it hurts. Time after time, the wolfsbane fades gradually. Clean air fills my lungs, sharp and purifying, especially as I run with nothing but escape in my mind.
“There she is.”
I turn my head just enough to see a Gamma warrior shouting as he charges toward me. Two guards follow close behind him. I push myself harder, plunging deeper into the forest.
“Stop!”
They gain on me. My bare feet bruise against rocks and dry leaves. I glance back and see how close they are.
A gust of wind carries the scent of spicy mint and calming pine. In the next heartbeat, someone crashes into one of the guards, tackling him to the ground. The impact sends them both rolling.
“Keep running!” a man shouts.
I stop without meaning to. A stranger stands between me and my pursuers. One man against three. I don’t recognize him, yet something about him feels familiar, like a memory I can’t quite reach.
I can’t look away. He moves fast and fierce, striking with precision, knocking one guard down. The other two break past him and chase me again.
I turn to run, slowing just enough to see what happens next. The stranger lunges after the second guard, slamming into him from behind. They roll across the forest floor before he hauls the man up and throws him straight into the Gamma.
The last guard attacks from behind. The stranger elbows him, strikes his thigh, then drives him into the ground.
“Run!” he shouts again.
I force myself to move and leave him behind. Then his voice cries out in pain. I stop and turn back.
My chest tightens as I see him overwhelmed now, bloodied and pinned. Two guards hold him down while the Gamma hammers his stomach with brutal punches.
“He’s outnumbered,” Mythril says urgently.
I bite my lower lip, watching his face twist with every blow. Something burns inside me, hot and restless. With ragged breaths, I weigh the choice before me.
Can I help him? Am I strong enough? The wolfsbane has completely worn off. The dizziness is gone. My head is clear again. But there is one problem no potion, no ritual, no miracle can fix.
I can’t shift. I can’t control my wolf.