The whip cracks across Claire’s back.

Her body jerks forward, chains rattling against the stone wall as her knees buckle. Her skin burns, the sting spreading like fire. She bites down hard on her lip, refusing to cry out. The metallic taste of blood fills her mouth, but she holds it there, because she knows they want to hear her scream.

“You thought you could raise a hand against a warrior?” Elder Rowan’s voice drips with disgust. His gray hair gleams under the torchlight, his eyes cold as steel. “An Omega slave like you daring to defend herself? Insolence.”

“I didn’t—” Claire starts, her voice hoarse, but the whip lashes again, cutting her words into silence.

The pack warriors surrounding her chuckle darkly. One of them, Marcus, leans on the wall, smirking. “She thinks she’s special. Thinks she’s more than the dirt under our boots.”

“I only—” Claire’s throat tightens. She forces the words past the lump of pain. “I only wanted him to stop hitting me.”

“Lies!” Rowan’s voice booms, echoing off the stone chamber. “You provoked him. You struck first. And you dare twist the story now?”

Another strike. Her back feels raw, hot tears welling despite her effort to stay strong. She remembers her mother’s voice—Never show them weakness, my little wolf. Weakness is what they feed on.

But her mother’s voice feels so far away now.

“Elder,” Marcus says with mock respect, “maybe we should cut out her tongue. That way she can’t spin more lies.”

The others laugh.

Claire forces herself to look up, even with her vision blurred by tears. Her voice trembles but she speaks, “Why are you all doing this to me? I didn’t kill my mother. And I didn’t attack anyone. You’re lying about me.”

The chamber goes silent for a heartbeat. Then Rowan steps closer, his boots heavy on the stone floor. He crouches so his face is level with hers. His breath smells of smoke and old wine.

“You dare speak of your mother,” he says, each word slow and venomous. “The woman you butchered in her own bed.”

“I didn’t!” Claire spits out, shaking her head so hard her tangled hair whips across her face. “I woke up—and she was already—already—”

“Already dead,” Rowan finishes for her, eyes narrowing. “With your claws soaked in blood.”

“I don’t remember!” Claire’s voice cracks. “I don’t remember doing it! What if someone else—”

“ENOUGH!” Rowan’s roar slams into her like a physical blow. He slaps her, hard, and her head whips to the side, cheek burning. “You dishonor her memory every time you open your mouth. You murdered her. And the Moon Goddess herself knows it.”

The others mutter in agreement, their voices like knives cutting into her skin.

Claire lowers her head, not from shame, but to hide the fire in her eyes. Something deep in her gut twists. A whisper she can’t ignore. This isn’t right. Something’s wrong. They want me silenced.

Her instincts scream at her. She’s being framed.

She remembers flashes from that night. Her mother’s scream. The shadows moving across the wall. The scent of iron and smoke that didn’t belong in their home. And then—darkness. When she woke, the blood was everywhere. Her mother’s body still, cold, lifeless. Her own hands trembling, claws out.

But it doesn’t add up.

If she killed her mother, why can’t she remember it clearly? Why do the details shift every time she tries to recall?

Rowan signals to the guard with the whip. “Two more strikes. Let her remember her place.”

The whip cracks again. Claire’s body jerks, but this time a growl escapes her throat. Low. Defiant. Wolf-like.

The guard hesitates. “Elder… did you hear that? She—”

“Do as I say!” Rowan snaps.

The last strike cuts across her shoulder. Her knees hit the ground, the chains clanging. But she doesn’t bow. She stays on her knees, chest rising and falling, eyes burning with fury.

Marcus crouches near her, voice low. “Careful, little slave. That spark in your eyes? One day, someone will crush it out. Better if you learn your place now.”

Claire lifts her head slowly, meeting his gaze. Her lips curl, even through the pain. “And maybe one day you’ll choke on your own words.”

Marcus freezes, then laughs sharply. “She’s got a tongue, I’ll give her that.”

Rowan raises his hand to silence him. His gaze pierces Claire like a blade. “Take her back to the cellar. No food tonight. Let hunger tame her wolf.”

The guards drag her by the chains, pulling her across the stone floor. Every scrape of metal against the ground rings in her ears. Her body aches, but her spirit—though battered—clings to something stubborn.

When the heavy door slams shut behind her, leaving her alone in darkness, she finally allows herself to collapse. Her back presses against the damp wall, every wound throbbing. She closes her eyes, breathing ragged.

Her mother’s face appears again in her mind. Warm eyes. A soft smile. A lullaby whispered under the moonlight.

My little wolf, no matter what they say, the truth always finds its way out.

Claire clenches her fists. “Then let it find me,” she whispers into the dark. “Let it prove I’m not what they say.”

Footsteps echo faintly outside the cellar door. She stiffens, pressing closer to the wall. Voices murmur.

“…she’s dangerous. If she starts asking too many questions—”

“She’s already asking. But Rowan will break her. He always does.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

A pause. Then: “Then she won’t live to see another moon.”

Claire’s breath catches. She bites her lip to stop from gasping aloud. The voices fade, footsteps retreating. But the words linger like poison in her mind.

She isn’t just hated. She’s being silenced. Someone doesn’t want her alive long enough to discover the truth.

Her chest tightens, but not with fear. With fury.

She tilts her head back, staring at the thin crack in the ceiling where a slice of moonlight seeps through. The silver glow paints her face, and for a moment she feels the bond to something greater.

Her voice is low, but steady. “Moon Goddess, if you’re listening, I swear… one day I’ll prove it. One day they’ll all know the truth. I didn’t kill her.”

Her eyes glisten, but no tears fall. “And when I find out who did, I’ll tear them apart.”

The vow hangs in the cold air, strong and unbreakable.

Claire’s chains rattle as she shifts, the sound echoing like wings in the dark. Wings of betrayal—but also wings waiting to rise.

Outside, the pack howls under the moon. But Claire’s silence is louder than their voices, carrying a promise that the night itself seems to hear.

*

The whip’s memory still burns across Claire’s back, but the fire in her heart burns hotter.

The cellar is silent except for the distant drip of water and the faint scratching of rats in the corners. Her body trembles with exhaustion, but her mind refuses to rest. Every word she overheard claws at her thoughts—someone is afraid of her questions. Someone wants her dead before she uncovers the truth.

That means she’s close to something.

Claire pulls weakly against the iron cuffs around her wrists. They don’t budge. Her skin is rubbed raw from days of shackles. She exhales shakily, closing her eyes. For so long, she’s allowed herself to believe their story. That she was cursed. That she was a murderer. That the Moon Goddess had turned Her back on her.

But tonight… tonight she feels something stir.

Her mother’s face. The shadows on the wall. The strange scent of iron and smoke.

Claire’s eyes snap open as the reality of her situation struck her.

Just as she was about to process what was happening at the moment, she could feel the strange scent of a man that she heard so much about.

The scent was so strong that when he stopped, she could feel the intensity.

The man standing close to Claire was no other than the Alpha King she had heard a lot about.