KAYE'S POV

Someone was pounding on my door.

I jerked awake, my heart hammering in my chest. For a second I forgot where I was. Then it all came crashing back. The packhouse. Ethan. The bond that connected us whether we wanted it or not.

The pounding came again, harder this time.

"Get up," a woman's voice barked through the door. "You have work to do."

I stumbled out of bed and opened the door. A woman stood in the hallway. She was older, maybe fifty, with gray streaked through her dark hair. Her face was hard, her eyes cold. She looked me up and down like I was something she found on the bottom of her shoe.

"I am Margaret," she said. "I run the kitchens. Alpha says you work for me now."

"Okay," I said quietly. My voice was rough from sleep.

"You will address me as ma'am." Margaret's eyes narrowed. "And you will do exactly what I tell you, when I tell you. Is that clear?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Good. Get dressed. You have five minutes. Then come down to the kitchens." She turned and walked away without waiting for me to respond.

I closed the door and leaned against it. My whole body ached. I had barely slept. Every time I closed my eyes, I felt Ethan through the bond. His anger. His pain. His wolf fighting him.

I looked down at my wrists. The burns from the silver chains were almost healed. Just faint pink lines now. The medicine Lucas gave me had worked.

I pulled on the same clothes from yesterday. They were wrinkled and smelled like smoke and sweat. But they were all I had. Everything else I owned was back in Montana. In a motel room I would never see again.

Four minutes later, I was heading down the stairs.

The packhouse was already awake. Wolves moved through the hallways, talking and laughing. They all stopped when they saw me. Their conversations died. Their eyes followed me as I walked past.

I kept my head down and kept moving.

The kitchen was on the first floor, at the back of the packhouse. It was huge. Three stoves. Two ovens. A sink big enough to bathe in. Counters that seemed to go on forever. The whole room smelled like coffee and bacon. My stomach growled so loud I was sure everyone heard it.

Margaret pointed at a mountain of dishes piled beside the sink. "Wash those. All of them. Then you will help me make breakfast for the pack."

"Yes, ma'am."

I walked to the sink and turned on the water. It was cold. Ice cold. There were no gloves. I rolled up my sleeves and started washing.

My hands were numb within minutes. The water was so cold it hurt. But I did not complain. Complaining would only make things worse.

Other wolves started coming into the kitchen. Young women, mostly. They were laughing and talking until they saw me. Then they went quiet. They whispered to each other, shooting me looks that could kill.

"Is that her?" one of them asked Margaret. She had blonde hair pulled back in a ponytail. Her pretty face was twisted with disgust. "Is that the Moonstone bitch?"

"Watch your language, Sara," Margaret said. But she did not sound angry. She sounded like she agreed.

"Why did the Alpha not just kill her?" Sara demanded. "After what her pack did to us?"

"That is not for us to question," Margaret said. "The Alpha has his reasons."

"Well, I think it is bullshit." Sara walked over to where I was standing. She did not say anything. She just stood there, glaring at me.

I kept washing dishes. Ignored her. Maybe if I did not react, she would get bored and leave.

Sara picked up a plate from the drying rack. She held it for a second. Then she smiled and dropped it.

The plate shattered on the floor.

"Oops," Sara said sweetly. "Looks like you broke something."

I stared at the broken pieces. I had not touched that plate. Sara dropped it on purpose. And everyone in the kitchen knew it.

But no one said anything.

"Clean it up," Margaret said without looking up from the stove. "And that comes out of your breakfast. Break something, you do not eat."

"But I did not—" I started.

"Did I ask for excuses?" Margaret's voice was sharp. "Clean it up. Now."

I knelt down and started picking up the pieces. My hands were still wet from the dishwater. The sharp edges cut into my fingers. Blood mixed with the water on the floor.

Sara laughed. "Clumsy and stupid. Just like her father."

The other women in the kitchen laughed too. Not all of them. But enough.

I bit my lip and kept cleaning. Do not cry. Do not react. Just survive this.

When I finished, Margaret handed me a broom. "Sweep the whole kitchen. Then mop. Then you can start chopping vegetables for breakfast."

"Yes, ma'am."

I worked for the next two hours without stopping. Sweeping. Mopping. Chopping onions until my eyes burned and tears ran down my face. But I did not know if the tears were from the onions or from everything else.

Through it all, I felt Ethan. He was somewhere in the packhouse. Moving from room to room. I could feel his presence through the bond like a weight on my chest. And I knew he could feel me too. He knew I was hurting. He knew I was exhausted and hungry and afraid.

But he did not come.

*********************************

By the time breakfast was ready, I was shaking with exhaustion. My hands were cut and blistered. My back ached from bending over the sink. My feet hurt from standing on the hard floor.

Margaret handed me a tray loaded with plates of food. "Take this to the dining hall."

I picked up the tray and carried it down the hallway. My arms trembled under the weight. The dining hall was massive. Long wooden tables that could seat hundreds. Right now maybe sixty wolves were eating and talking.

They all went silent when I walked in.

I set the tray down on the serving table as quickly as I could. Turned to leave. Just get out. Get back to the kitchen where at least I could hide.

Someone stuck their foot out.

I did not see it until it was too late. I tripped and fell hard. The tray flew out of my hands and crashed to the floor. Plates shattered. Food went everywhere.

Pain shot through my knees and palms where I hit the ground.

Laughter erupted around me. Loud and cruel.

"Look at her," someone said. "Can't even walk straight."

"Just like her father. Destroyed everything he touched."

"Moonstone trash."

More laughter.

I pushed myself up slowly. My palms were bleeding. My knees throbbed. But worse than the physical pain was the humiliation. Sixty wolves watching me. Sixty wolves hating me.

And through the bond, I felt Ethan. He was close. Maybe just down the hall. And he knew what was happening.

But he did not come.

I picked up the broken plates with shaking hands. No one helped me. They just sat there, watching, waiting for me to make another mistake so they could laugh again.

When I finally made it back to the kitchen, Margaret was waiting.

"You broke the plates," she said.

"Someone tripped me," I said quietly.

"I do not care." Margaret crossed her arms. "Broken plates mean no lunch. And if you break anything else, you will not eat dinner either."

"Yes, ma'am."

She handed me more dishes. "Back to work."

I worked through lunch while the other kitchen staff ate. My stomach cramped with hunger. The smell of food made me dizzy. But I did not complain.

Finally, when the lunch dishes were washed and put away, Margaret handed me a single piece of bread and a cup of water.

"That is all you get today," she said.

I took the bread and water and sat in the corner of the kitchen, away from everyone else. The bread was stale and hard. But I ate it slowly, making it last as long as possible.

Through the bond, I felt Ethan moving through the packhouse. Getting closer. Then stopping. Like he wanted to come to the kitchen but could not make himself do it.

I hated that I was aware of him. Hated that the bond made me feel everything he felt. His guilt. His anger. His wolf howling at him to come to me.

But he would not come. Because he hated me more than he cared about the bond.

I finished my bread and water and got back to work. Because what else could I do? I was trapped here. A prisoner in a pack that wanted me dead. Bound to an Alpha who would rather watch me suffer than accept what fate had given him.

This was my life now.

And I did not know how much longer I could survive it.