Chapter Three

Abigail’s POV

Something in the air was wrong.

The study was too quiet, the silence not peaceful but suffocating, the kind that presses against your ribs until you can’t draw a full breath. The air itself was heavy, thick enough to choke on, as though the walls had absorbed centuries of secrets and were holding them in. Shadows clung to the corners, and the faint flicker of the fireplace only deepened the gloom.

My father sat at the head of the long oak table, a figure of authority carved from stone, his shoulders rigid, his gaze unreadable. To his right sat Luna Jessica, draped in silk the color of spilled wine, her nails gleaming like claws as she rested her hand too casually on the armrest. And around them, the elder council filled the room, their faces a gallery of severity — cold, unblinking, masks of false wisdom.

Their eyes followed me as I stepped inside. Not one blinked. Not one softened. Goosebumps prickled up my arms, and my pulse picked up a frantic rhythm. Something in my bones told me I shouldn’t have come, that whatever waited here would unravel me.

Without a word, my father slid a rolled parchment across the table. The sound of the paper scraping against wood echoed louder than it should have, slicing through the silence.

He didn’t speak. He didn’t need to. His face was iron, carved into stillness, leaving no room for doubt or negotiation.

My hand trembled as I reached out. I hesitated, my stomach twisting, then unrolled it with unsteady fingers.

The first line stopped my breath.

The second made my vision blur.

By the third, my pulse was roaring in my ears so loudly that the words blurred and bled together. I read them again. And again. As if rereading would change the meaning, as if I could force the parchment to tell a different truth. But the words burned themselves into me, unrelenting, final.

“No.” The word left me as a whisper, thin and fragile, but it grew, filling my chest until it broke sharp and hard. “No. I won’t do this. I’m not doing it.”

I raised my head, meeting each pair of eyes around the table, refusing to let them see me shrink. If they wanted me broken, they would have to drag the pieces out of me themselves.

My father didn’t flinch. His gaze stayed locked on mine, steady and merciless.

“It’s already signed,” he said. His voice was iron striking iron. “The council and I agreed long ago. You’ve been chosen to bear the Lycan’s heir. It is an honor.”

An honor.

The words hit me like a slap, so absurd I almost laughed. And then I did — a sharp, splintering laugh that broke halfway into a sob.

“An honor?” I repeated, my voice cracking. “The Lycan is a bloodthirsty killer. He takes pleasure in… in tearing apart lives, in leaving nothing but ashes behind! You can’t—”

“You cannot refuse.” My father’s voice cut through mine, final and immovable. “His men are already on their way.”

It hit me then, cold and heavy, settling into my bones with the weight of a death sentence. This wasn’t a proposal. It wasn’t even a marriage.

It was a transaction.

I had been sold. Not as a wife. Not even as a concubine. As a breeder.

The parchment slipped from my numb fingers and landed on the floor with a soft thud.

Around me, the elders stayed silent, their mouths pressed into thin lines, their eyes avoiding mine. Cowards. Every one of them. They called it duty, tradition, honor. But I saw what they were — men too weak to challenge power, so they sacrificed me instead.

And Jessica — my stepmother — she wasn’t even pretending. The faint smile on her lips was victory, pure and sharp. She wanted this. She wanted me gone, erased, swallowed by the monster everyone feared. She tilted her head slightly, as if already picturing the Lycan’s hands around my throat.

“You can’t do this!” My voice cracked, too high, too desperate, but I didn’t care. “I am your daughter!” The word scraped my throat raw as I dropped to my knees, crawling forward, tears spilling hot and endless down my cheeks. Pride was ash now. All I had left was begging. “Please, Father. I’ll do anything. Just don’t give me to him.”

His gaze didn’t shift. Didn’t soften. His eyes were colder than the stone walls surrounding us, emptier than the night sky.

“Stand up,” he growled.

I stayed on the floor, shaking my head, clutching at the hem of his cloak like it might tether me to him.

Two guards moved instantly, seizing me by the arms. Their grip was bruising as they hauled me upright. My father didn’t move. He didn’t blink. He didn’t even acknowledge my tears.

That was the moment I knew — I could die here, right now, and he wouldn’t blink.

The tears dried on my face as something else took root in their place. Cold. Hard. Razor-sharp. They wanted to break me, but all they had done was sharpen me into something dangerous.

I clenched my jaw as they dragged me from the study, the weight of every stare burning into my back. Let them watch. Let them think I would bow.

They would regret this. Every single one of them.

Minutes later, I heard the rumble of engines. Through the barred window, I saw them — the Lycan’s men. They arrived in a black, armored vehicle, monstrous and imposing, its metal sides gleaming under torchlight. Behind them, another truck rolled into the courtyard, sagging under the weight of bags stacked high with money.

My father’s eyes fixed on the cash. Not me. Never me.

By the time the gates closed behind the convoy, I wasn’t a daughter anymore. I was a transaction.

The drive to the Lycan’s territory was endless. Hours bled together as I sat caged in the back of the armored vehicle, my wrists bound, my thoughts gnawing at themselves. Every mile carried me farther from the life I’d fought for, deeper into the heart of a nightmare whispered about in every pack. His kingdom was the largest in the world, a fortress of brutality and dominance, his name spoken in fear rather than respect. Mothers warned their children that if they strayed too far into the woods, the Lycan would take them. And now, he had taken me.

When we finally arrived, towering gates of iron opened to swallow us whole. They dragged me into a chamber that smelled of smoke and musk. Two Omegas waited there, their faces blank, their hands efficient.

They stripped me of my clothes without a word, bathed me in water that stung against my raw skin, and dressed me in a silk nightgown that clung to me like a whisper. The fabric barely covered me, leaving me exposed, vulnerable. Perfume was dusted across my collarbones, cloying and sweet, meant to make me appealing.

I didn’t speak. My throat felt raw, clogged with all the words I couldn’t force out. Screams would have been useless here.

When they were finished, a man stepped forward, his voice deep and clipped. “The Lycan will see you now.”

The door shut behind me with a click that echoed like a lock sealing.

The room was dimly lit, the air sharp with the scent of cedar and iron. He stood by the bed, broad-shouldered and bare-chested, a towel wrapped low around his hips. Even from across the room, his aura pressed against me like a stormfront, suffocating, cold, and absolute.

Slowly, he turned. His eyes were a piercing, unnatural blue — not just looking at me, but through me, into me, consuming me.

My pulse stuttered, and the air caught in my lungs.

“Strip,” he said, his voice low and glacial. “Now.”