The door to my cell flew inward with a crash as if a battering ram had struck the lock. A hinge shrieked, tearing out of the rotten wood, and a cloud of dust rose from the floor, clogging my lungs.
"Get your ass up, scum. Now."
Garret filled the entire space. He reeked of cheap ale, wet dog, and stale sweat. He didn't wait for me to stand—his massive hand clamped onto my shoulder, yanking me from the corner where I'd been trying to merge with the wall. His fingers dug into the bone so hard I heard my own joint crack.
"It hurts! Let go..."
"It'll hurt even more if you keep the Alpha waiting."
He threw me toward the threshold. I skidded on my knees across the sharp stone, feeling skin tear and hot moisture soak the hem of my old tunic.
"Where? The ceremony isn't until tomorrow... Ella said..."
"Ella talks too much." Garret spat on the floor right next to my face. "The girl they were preparing decided to kick the bucket early. The fever devoured her in an hour. You're number one now."
The world tilted. My heart hammered against my ribs so hard my ears rang. A replacement. I was a replacement. Ella's words—those quiet whispers about a "sickly bride" that I'd taken for empty ghost stories—collapsed on me like an avalanche.
"No. No, I can't. I'm... I'm just a servant. I'm not of the circle."
"You're of the circle now." Garret grabbed me roughly by the collar and dragged me down the hallway like a slaughtered carcass. "The Alpha won't cancel the Blood Moon just because one ewe croaked and the other's knees are shaking."
"Please, Garret..."
"Shut up. Your opinion weighs less than the shit on my boots."
We ended up in the laundry room. It was damp here, smelling of lye and boiling water, but instead of warmth, I felt only an icy draft wandering across the stone floor. Garret shoved me toward a massive vat.
"Strip."
"What? Right here?"
"I said strip. I don't have time for your false modesty. Either you take these rags off yourself, or I'll cut them off along with your skin."
My hands wouldn't obey. My fingers felt like useless sticks. I managed to pull the gray sackcloth over my head, standing on the cold stone and covering myself with my arms. The wolf inside Garret growled—a low, vibrating sound that made the hair on the back of my neck stand on end. He didn't look at me as a woman. He looked at me as an object that needed to be cleaned before use.
He grabbed a bucket of water by the hearth and splashed it over me. The water wasn't just hot—it was scalding. I screamed, recoiling, but he grabbed my hair, forcing me to stay put.
"Scrub. Harder. I want every trace of the kitchen gone. You should smell only of soap and fear."
Garret threw me a piece of coarse gray soap that stank so sharply it made my eyes water. I scrubbed my skin until it was red and raw, feeling the lye sting the small scratches. Water ran down my body, mixing with the dirt and the tears I couldn't hold back.
"Faster, you cow."
"Why all this?" My voice broke into a rasp. "If I'm just a replacement... why the washing? Why this circus?"
"The ritual requires purity. Even if the vessel is empty, it must shine."
The laundry room door creaked. Liam entered. He carried a bundle of dark fabric. His steps were silent, like a predator's, but his energy lacked the blunt aggression Garret radiated. Liam stopped, looking at me. Something strange flickered in his eyes—not pity, no, something deeper. A comparison. He looked at my face, my eyes, and for a moment his pupils dilated.
"Garret, the Alpha wants you at the gates. There's a hitch with the patrol."
"Damn them." Garret turned to the boy. "Get her home. And make sure she puts this on."
He pointed at the bundle and, with one last shove to my shoulder, walked out, boots clattering.
Liam stepped closer. He placed the fabric on the bench. It was a dress. Simple, made of coarse linen, the color of dried blood. No embroidery, no ornaments. Clothes for someone whose name wouldn't be remembered after sunset.
"Put it on. Need help?"
"I can manage."
I pulled the dress on. The fabric was prickly; it bit into my clean skin, reminding me that I was merely meat for this ceremony. Liam stood nearby, never taking his eyes off me.
"You don't look like them," he said suddenly.
"Like who? The brides?"
"Like those who have been rotting here for centuries."
He took a step forward, almost touching me. His hand reached toward my face but stopped an inch from my cheek.
"Good luck, Alina." His whisper was barely audible, cold as winter's breath. "You're going to need it more than all of them combined."
"Why are you looking at me like that?"
"Your eyes. You have the same eyes..." He cut himself off, his jaw tightening. "Just go. Time is almost up."
He turned and left, leaving me alone in the empty, lye-scented room.
I went out into the corridor where Ella was already waiting. She looked as if she were the one being led to the executioner's block. Her hands shook as she rushed to me and grabbed my shoulders.
"Oh god, Alina... Oh god..."
"You knew," I pulled away, looking into her eyes. "You knew that girl got sick."
"I hoped they would choose someone else! One of the Beta's daughters, one of those who... who dream of this!" Ella sobbed, covering her mouth with her palm. "But the Alpha... he pointed to you himself."
"Why me? I'm nobody."
"I don't know. I swear, I don't know."
She pressed against me again, and this time I felt her fear. It was clammy, suffocating. She wasn't afraid for me—she was afraid of the situation, of the wrath of those above. Her embrace was an attempt to hide, not to support.
"Let's go," she whispered. "We have to go. If we're late, they'll kill us both right here in the hallway."
We walked through the castle, which now felt foreign to me. The walls pressed in, torches smoked with black soot, casting ugly, jerky shadows on the stones. Every sound—a creaking floorboard, a distant clang of metal—made me flinch.
"The wolf inside me growled low, impatiently..."—the words I once heard from an old cook surfaced in my mind. I had no wolf. I had only emptiness inside and a coldness spreading through my veins.
"Ella," I called out as we approached the massive oak doors leading to the courtyard. "Do I have a choice?"
She stopped and looked at me with such unbearable sorrow that I wanted to hit her.
"There is no choice, Alina. There never was. We are grass under the paws of beasts. All we can do is not scream too loud when they trample us."
"I don't want to be grass."
"Then become stone. Close yourself off. Feel nothing. It's the only way to survive out there... if one can survive at all."
The doors flew open.
The night air hit my face. It was thick with the scent of pine, blood, and something heavy and musky. The scent of the Pack. Dozens, hundreds of eyes glowed in the darkness of the courtyard. Werewolves stood in dense ranks; their energy was crushing, squeezing the air from my lungs. It was a wall of muscle, fangs, and a primal thirst for power.
In the center of the courtyard, a circle was drawn. The earth inside it looked black, scorched.
"Go," Ella gave me a light nudge in the back. Her hand vanished instantly, as if she were afraid of catching my fate.
I took a step. Then another.
Every inch of the way was a struggle, as if I were wading through thick tar. The internal monologue in my head turned into an incoherent scream. Run. Jump over the wall. Die in the forest, but not here. Not in this circle.
But my legs kept moving. The instinct for self-preservation paralyzed my will to resist, replacing it with dull submission.
I saw the tops of the pines, black against the blood-red moon. It hung low, huge and pulsing like an open wound in the sky.
"Is the sacrifice ready?"
The Alpha's voice. A deep, rumbling bass that made the castle windows rattle. I didn't see his face, only a massive silhouette on the dais, surrounded by the senior Betas.
"Ready, my Lord," Garret answered from somewhere on the right.
I approached the edge of the circle. My feet touched the line, and a convulsion racked my body. It wasn't magic, at least not any I could feel—it was pure, concentrated terror. My knees buckled, and I barely stayed upright.
I looked at my hands. They were shaking so violently I couldn't clench my fingers into a fist. The fabric of the dress vibrated in time with my tremors.
One step.
I crossed the line.
Silence crashed down upon the courtyard. Even the torches stopped crackling. In that silence, my own heartbeat sounded like the thundering of a drum. I stood in the center, a small spot the color of dried blood on the black earth.
"Begin," the Alpha barked.
I closed my eyes, but the red light of the moon bled through even my eyelids. My body no longer belonged to me. It had turned into a mass of trembling flesh awaiting a blow. Or a bond. Or death.
In that moment, I understood everything. I understood why that girl chose to die of fever. She was smarter than me. She chose a way out.
And I stood here, in the sacred circle, and my whole life—all my petty grievances, dreams of freedom, memories of my mother—all of it turned to nothing. I was just a function. A replacement. A void that the pack decided to fill with itself.
The shaking became uncontrollable. My teeth began to chatter. I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to hold onto the remnants of my sanity, but reality was slipping away.
"Look at me," a voice commanded from the darkness.
I opened my eyes.
The Blood Moon was at its zenith. The ritual had begun.
I saw no way back. The corridor I had come from had vanished into the shadows. Only the circle remained, the cold stone beneath my feet and the scent of the approaching beast.
"Do it," my voice sounded surprisingly steady in the ensuing silence.
I raised my eyes and met the gaze of the one standing at the very front. My reflection showed in his pupils—a small figure in red, ready for anything.
The ceremony had begun.
I was ready to burn.