She had lived here all her life. Born behind closed doors, her mother's name never spoken, her father a ghost in whispers. An orphan, they called her. A mistake. A slave-maid gifted with just enough beauty to attract cruelty.
"You're still on this hallway?" came a snarl from behind her. Freya. The late Alpha's youngest daughter, as vicious as she was vain. She wore a dress of crimson silk, her raven-black hair braided with gold threads. Her eyes were as cold as the moon outside.
"I just finished the west wing-"
"Then get up. The ballroom floors are covered in mud from the Alpha's hunting dogs. I want it spotless before the evening meeting," Freya sneered.
Ciara lowered her gaze and dipped her head. "Yes, Lady Freya."
As Freya sauntered away, Ciara clenched her fists. Every insult, every slap, every hour without rest-it all fed the storm inside her. One day, she would be free of this. One day, she would no longer bow to wolves who pretended to be gods.
But in Shadowwolf, dreams like that got you killed.
Later that evening, as the moon hung high and pale, Ciara returned to the servant quarters-cramped, dark rooms tucked beneath the palace kitchens. She barely sat on her straw bed when a knock sounded on the door.
It wasn't a fellow maid. It was Ryker.
The late Alpha's second son stood in the doorway, handsome in a cruel, arrogant way. His lips curled in amusement.
"You've been summoned," he said, folding his arms.
"Summoned?" she repeated, confused. "By who?"
"Thane. The new Alpha."
Her heart stalled. Thane never summoned her. He barely acknowledged her existence.
"What...what does he want?"
Ryker's smile widened. "Go and find out."
The Alpha's chamber was nothing like the dungeons beneath the palace-but to Ciara, it felt just as dangerous. Warmth from the hearth couldn't erase the sharp tension in the air. Thane stood with his back to her, tall and broad-shouldered, his golden-brown hair messy from combat training.
He turned, dark eyes raking over her. "You came quickly."
"I was told to."
"Take off your cloak," he said flatly.
Her heart pounded. "Why?"
"I said take it off."
She obeyed, slowly untying the worn fabric from her neck. Beneath it, she wore a plain servant's tunic and patched trousers. Her breath caught as she felt Thane's gaze crawl over her skin like fire.
"You've been staring at me lately, haven't you?" he said suddenly.
"What? No! I haven't-"
"I don't like liars," he growled. "You want to be Luna, don't you? Think seducing me will earn you a throne?"
Her shock turned to panic. "No! I've never thought-"
He stepped closer, and she backed away instinctively.
"Don't play dumb. Freya saw you hanging around my training grounds. Ryker said you asked about my bedchambers."
Ciara's mouth fell open. "That's not true! I never-"
Before she could speak further, the door burst open. Freya and Ryker stood smugly in the hallway.
"She's lying," Freya purred. "She's always been watching you, brother. A little snake, that one. Just like her mother."
Thane's jaw flexed. "Throw her in the dungeon."
"No! Please!" Ciara cried. "I didn't do anything!"
But it was too late. Guards appeared like shadows, grabbing her arms as she screamed.
She didn't see Thane's face again as they dragged her into the dark. But she would remember the sound of his voice when he said:
"She's not worth the air she breathes."
Beneath the palace, where the walls wept and rats roamed free, Ciara sat in chains, her body aching and her mind reeling. The betrayal was complete. There was no escape now. She would rot here. Forgotten. Alone.
But fate, as cruel as it could be, had other plans for Ciara Nightingale.