Avery’s POV

Michael laughed.

Not the laugh of a man—not even the laugh of a wolf. It was something else. Something cruel. Twisted. Mad. His eyes sparkled like broken glass, full of something darker than hate.

“You reject me, fated mate?” he said between crazed chuckles. “Well… isn’t that just hilarious?”

I took a step back, but he followed.

And then, just like that, his laugh stopped. His face changed—no more humor, no more mask. Just rage. Pure, terrifying rage.

“Oh dear,” he whispered, stepping so close I could feel his breath. “You look like you’ve just seen a scary ghost.”

His fangs slid out, and his voice dropped to something sharp and wicked. “Monster?” he said. “You don’t know what a monster I really am.”

He gripped my arm. It burned. I gasped, trying to pull away.

“I’ll show you monster,” he hissed. “After I’ve dragged you back to my pack like a little slave girl. After I’ve worn you down, limb by limb. After I break not just your body, but your mind. Your spirit.”

I screamed and tried to pull free.

“No!”

He laughed again, darker this time. “I’ll start right now.”

Then he turned to the broken pieces of my home—my people, those who had barely survived the war.

“Cawthorne Pack!” Michael shouted, voice booming through the burning air. “I’ll leave the rest of your pitiful, weak excuse of a pack alive—if you do just one thing.”

Everyone stopped moving.

“All you have to do,” Michael said, smirking, “is reject your Alpha’s daughter.”

The silence that followed broke me more than any scream ever could.

I turned slowly. The children stared at me with wide eyes. Mothers held their little ones close. Blood and ash stained the ground. What was left of the elders stood in a crooked line, broken and afraid.

Then Elder Shawn stepped forward.

Tears ran down his cheeks as he spoke.

“We…” his voice cracked, “we reject you, Avery Cawthorne.”

He fell to his knees.

My body turned cold.

I looked around.

They were all joining him—elders, warriors, mothers… even the children. Falling to their knees. Whispering pleas.

“Please, Avery…”

“Please save us…”

It was too much. Too much pain. Too much betrayal.

I looked at Michael. He was smiling.

“Not enough,” he said calmly. “You need to make her want to go. She has to swear it. Tell her to leave with the Damire Pack, or all of this burns.”

Elder Shawn turned to me. His hands shook. “Please, Avery,” he said, broken, “please go with them… to save us.”

I opened my mouth to speak but no words came.

This wasn’t sacrifice. This was slaughter dressed as choice.

But I couldn’t take any more lives. Not after what had already been lost.

“I’ll go,” I whispered.

Then louder, so they could all hear.

“I’ll go with him.”

Michael finally released me. My arm was bruised and sore, but I walked without being dragged. I didn’t cry. I didn’t scream. I walked straight into the silver cage they had prepared for me.

The bars shimmered pristine silver. They burned when I touched them, but I stepped in anyway.

The gate closed behind me with a loud clang.

I looked back one last time.

The pack looked… relieved. Not happy. Not grateful. Just relieved. Like I was an easy trade. Like I had never mattered.

It hurt.

But maybe it was better this way.

My eyes found Michael’s.

I was not broken. Not yet. Not even now.

I told myself that.

But then he smiled. That wicked, sharp smile.

“You didn’t really think I needed their permission,” he said slowly, “to take you with me, did you?”

My heart stopped.

Then he raised his hand and gave a signal.

And in a blink—

Elder Shawn’s head flew from his shoulders.

Screams filled the air like thunder.

“No,” I whispered. “No—no—no!”

The soldiers moved like shadows. Swords and spears. Fire and screams. They stabbed through the elders. Slashed through the women. They didn’t even spare the children.

A young boy, no older than ten, cried out before a spear pierced his chest.

“Stop!” I screamed, rattling the cage. The silver scorched my palms. I didn’t care. I shook it again and again. “Please stop!”

Michael didn’t even look back.

He walked away.

And I was dragged behind him in the moving cart—away from my pack, away from everything—as the sounds of death faded slowly behind me.

I cried like I never had before. The pain in my chest, my soul, my body… I didn’t think anything could be worse.

I was wrong.

This was all my fault.

All of it.

I pressed my burning hands together and prayed.

Prayed in old Latin to the Moon Goddess.

I prayed for the children, for the elders, for my father’s soul. I prayed for forgiveness. For peace.

The full moon watched me from above, a silent witness to everything I had lost.