Four

LILITH'S POV

The days that followed were incredibly difficult, as was promised.

Frost bit at my exposed skin as we knelt in rows upon the stone yard. My thin shift fluttered against my thighs, useless against the wind that seemed to find every crack in the stone walls surrounding us. A shiver ran through the line of bodies beside me, a ripple of misery wrapped in those mockeries of uniforms—rags dyed mud-brown, the color of ownership.

The Lycan captain prowled the edge of the yard, his yellow eyes catching the weak sunlight like coins at the bottom of a well. "Backs straight! Eyes down!" he snarled, spittle flying from elongated canines. The soldiers flanking him adjusted their weapons, metal gleaming with silent threat.

The yard fell silent save for the whistle of wind and the soft, desperate breathing of fifty humans trying to become invisible.

Then came the sound—boots on gravel, heavy and measured, approaching from the eastern gate.

The Gamma had arrived. Rumors had spread around days before his arrival. About who he was. His social standing and if he would be one of the Lycans that would be coming to take a slave. Stupid questions to be asked if you asked me because why else would a beast of high social standing want to mingle with ‘our kind’ if not to further hurt us or descrate us.

The soldiers stiffened to attention. Even the captain's ears twitched backward, his posture straightening as the gate swung open. “Hail Lord Raelan Frost, Gamma of House Kevlon and the Kingdom of Veyloria!”

Gamma Raelan Frost strode into the yard like he owned not just the mines but the air above them. His armor caught the light and threw it back tenfold, silver plates interlocking over a chest broad enough to block the sun. A cape of deepest blue billowed behind him, the color reserved only for those of noble blood. His face was all hard angles and arrogant beauty. High cheekbones, a strong jaw dusted with silver stubble, and eyes the unsettling amber-gold of harvest moon.

Not wolf, not man. Something worse.

I kept my gaze fixed on a crack in the stone between my knees, counting the tiny pebbles lodged within it. One, two, three... anything to ignore the crunch of his boots drawing nearer, the predatory rhythm of his breathing.

"Captain," Raelan's voice rolled across the yard, smooth as river stones, "I trust your selection meets the specifications I sent ahead?"

"Yes, Lord Frost. The finest specimens from this quarter's arrivals."

I dug my fingernails into my palms. Specimens. Not people.

The Gamma's footsteps slowed, his shadow falling across the line like a cold cloud. He moved methodically, pausing occasionally, inhaling deeply. Scenting us. I could feel the crawl of his gaze like insects on my skin.

Three bodies away... two... then he stopped.

I risked lifting my eyes just enough to see his gloved hand reach down, fingers closing around Lyra's chin. She knelt two spaces to my right, golden hair hanging in dirty strands around a face still round with youth. The bruise on her cheekbone had faded to a sickly yellow-green, but the hollows beneath her eyes were fresh and dark. Last night's nightmares, no doubt.

Raelan tilted her face upward with surprising gentleness. "Look at me," he commanded.

Lyra's eyes flickered up, wide and ocean-green. Something in them changed as she met his gaze. I knew what that pathetic look was. Fear giving way to wonder, then a terrible, naive hope.

The Gamma leaned closer, inhaling along the line of her throat. The sound sent bile rising in mine.

"Sixteen summers, yes?" he murmured, thumb brushing her cheek. "From the western villages?"

Did he know her perchance?

Lyra nodded, lips parting slightly. A flush spread across her face, turning the grime on her skin into a mockery of bashfulness.

"You have your mother's eyes," Raelan said, his voice dropping to a register meant for her alone, though we all heard it. "I remember when we took your village. You fought—tried to protect her with a kitchen knife. Brave, foolish little thing."

Lyra's breath caught. "You... remember me?"

"I remember everything that belongs to me." His smile revealed teeth too sharp for comfort. "My cock has taught about your stubborn body for a while now and I have been bidding my time. Though it seems now you shall belong to me alone."

He straightened, addressing the captain while his hand remained possessively on Lyra's shoulder. "This one. Have her bathed, properly fed, and dressed for the journey." His voice carried across the yard like a proclamation. "She will be transported to my quarters in the palace by sundown."

The captain bowed, fist to heart. "As you command, Lord Frost."

A ripple passed through the others. Not quite movement, more like electricity finding the path of least resistance. I saw it in the minute straightening of spines, the furtive glances. Hope, stupid and contagious, spreading through the ranks like fever.

"Tch."

The sound escaped my lips before I could trap it behind my teeth.

Lyra's head turned, her eyes meeting mine. The dreamy smile faltered, uncertainty creeping in like shadow.

"Lilith?" Her voice was small, questioning. Half of it came from worry. But most of it came from undiluted fear. The Gamma was still close enough to hear my dissatisfaction.

"Something amusing, slave?" The Gamma's voice dropped ten degrees.

I kept my eyes down, but it was too late. His boots shifted, pivoting toward me with deliberate slowness. I could smell him now—cedar and iron and something wild that made my hindbrain scream danger.

"Captain Varic," Raelan called, "it seems one of your charges lacks proper discipline."

The captain materialized at my side, fingers digging into my arm as he hauled me to my feet. Pain lanced through my half-healed shoulder, but I swallowed the cry that rose in my throat.

"Forgive the interruption, Lord Frost," the captain said, his voice oily with deference. "This one has been difficult since arrival. We'll correct the behavior immediately."

Raelan moved closer, crowding my space. I refused to look up, staring instead at the intricate buckles on his armor.

"What is your name?" he asked.

I remained silent.

The captain's grip tightened until my bones ground together. "Answer the Lord, slave!"

"Lilith," I said, the word like stone in my mouth.

Raelan circled me slowly, his gaze a physical weight. "The troublemaker. Yes, I've heard of you. Three escape attempts in six months." He sounded almost impressed. "Most don't try even once."

Lyra was watching us, tears making clean tracks down her dirty face. "Please," she whispered, though whether to me or to him, I couldn't tell.

"You disapprove of my choice?" Raelan asked me directly.

I said nothing. What was there to say? That he was selecting a lamb for slaughter? That the palace was just a prettier prison?

"Answer Lord Frost!" the captain barked.

I raised my eyes then, meeting the Gamma's gaze directly. "It matters little what I think of your... selection methods."

The yard went dead silent.

Raelan's eyes narrowed, but something like amusement flickered across his face. "Bold," he murmured. "Stupid, but bold."

Lyra stepped forward, her chains rattling softly. "My Lord, please forgive her," she said, voice trembling. "Lilith doesn't understand what an honor you've bestowed upon me." Her eyes darted between us, desperate and pleading.

I spat on the ground near her feet. "Honor? You're choosing a prettier prison over dying with your head held high." My voice cut through the yard like a blade. "Have you forgotten what they did to your family? Or does a warm bath and silk sheets make that memory fade?"

Lyra flinched as if struck. Her eyes glistened with fresh tears, but there was something else there too—anger, bright and sudden.

"You can hate me all you want," she said, her voice breaking. "I thought I was strong too. But I am not. I want to live like I am human. I miss the taste of fresh bread and warm milk. I don't care what they think of us anymore. They have the power and we do not. It is time we realize there is no running from this. Am I wrong?"

The question hung in the air between us, heavier than it had any right to be.

Before I could answer, Captain Varic stepped forward, his smile spreading like oil on water. "Disrespect among slaves is punishable," he said with false cheer. "Especially when directed at those favored by nobility."

He nodded to his men. "Bring the brand."

A soldier approached, carrying a brazier glowing with coals. Another pulled a long rod from its heart, the end a searing crimson that pulsed with malevolent light. As he turned it, I saw the word carved into the metal: OWNED.

My stomach dropped through the stones beneath my feet.

"Hold her," the captain ordered.

Hands seized me, wrenching my arms behind my back. My knees hit the ground hard enough to split skin. The soldier with the brand stepped closer, the heat of it radiating against my face.

The captain knelt before me, yellow eyes gleaming with pleasure. "Perhaps this will remind you of your place," he said, voice gentle as a lover's. "Hold still. It hurts more when you squirm."

I looked past him to where Lyra stood, her hand pressed to her mouth, eyes wide with horror. Her hope didn't look so bright now.

"Do it," I managed, staring the captain straight in the eye.

Confusion flickered across his face, then anger. He nodded to the soldier.

The brand descended toward my back. I heard it before I felt it—the sick hiss of hot metal meeting flesh. Then pain, white-hot and absolute, consumed the world. The smell of burning skin—my skin—filled my nostrils.

My vision tunneled to pinpricks of light. My body arched against the restraining hands, muscles seizing beyond my control. Tears streamed down my face, but I locked my jaw, trapping the scream behind my teeth.

I would not scream. I would not give them that victory.

The brand pulled away, taking some of my flesh with it. I sagged forward, my forehead nearly touching the ground as bile rose in my throat.

"Perfect," the captain said, standing and brushing his hands together. "A reminder for all to see."

I collapsed when they released me, cheek pressed against cold stone. The pain throbbed in time with my heartbeat, each pulse sending fresh agony across my back.

Through blurred vision, I saw Lyra being led away, her golden head bowed. The Gamma watched me for a moment longer, his expression unreadable, before turning to follow.

The yard emptied slowly. Humans shuffled back to their barracks, soldiers resumed their posts. No one looked at me. No one helped.

I pressed my palms against the stone, focusing on its coldness instead of the fire consuming my back. They thought they had marked me as theirs. They thought they had broken me.

But all they had done was carve their death warrant into my flesh.

I would remember this. And someday, so would they.

Rage could outlast pain. Rage could outlast them all.