Chapter 2.
1941 Words
The dress clung uncomfortably to Freya’s thin frame as she worked in the kitchen, stirring the pot of stew that would feed her family. The scent of herbs and simmering meat filled the air, but instead of pride, she only felt the familiar ache of exhaustion pressing down on her shoulders. Even in something new, she was still the servant.
The door creaked open.
Amanda strutted in, her curls bouncing, her lips tinted with color. She looked at Freya as though she were filth standing too close to her shoes.
“You. Come.”
Amanda snapped the words, seizing her wrist without waiting for a response.
The spoon slipped from Freya’s hand, clattering against the pot. Her stomach knotted. She wiped her palm nervously against the fabric of her skirt but followed. Resistance only ever ended with bruises.
The moment they stepped into the hallway, Freya noticed it. Enzo stood tall in a polished tunic, his hair neatly combed back. Amanda’s dress shimmered faintly in the candlelight, elegant and well-fitted. Richard and Lycril wore garments meant for occasions, their posture regal, their smiles poised.
Freya faltered. Why are they dressed like this?
Then she saw him.
A tall young man stood speaking with her father, his shoulders broad, his aura sharp and commanding. Even without knowing, Freya could sense the power thrumming through him—Beta.
Before the man’s eyes could lift toward her, Lycril’s head snapped around. Her lips curled in horror, as though Freya’s very presence was a disgrace.
“Excuse me.”
She murmured to the young man, her tone falsely sweet. Then she strode over, her heels striking against the stone floor.
Before Freya could take a breath, Lycril’s hand clamped around her arm.
“What are you doing here looking like this?”
She hissed under her breath.
“Do you want to shame us?”
She dragged Freya down the corridor, away from curious eyes, and shoved her toward the small washing basin.
“Wash your face. Fix your hair. You look like a stray. You are not going to humiliate me in front of the Beta.”
Freya’s hands trembled as she splashed the cold water against her face, rubbing the dirt from her cheeks, pushing her tangled hair back with trembling fingers. When she looked up, her eyes landed on the cracked mirror propped against the wall.
Her reflection stared back at her—a girl of eighteen, but her skin was pale, her lips dry, her eyes shadowed by years of silent suffering. Scars traced faint lines across her arms, reminders of every whip and slap.
Eighteen.
She had waited for this age with hope that had burned like a fragile flame inside her chest. Eighteen was the year a werewolf found their wolf. Eighteen was the year fated mates appeared. She had dreamed of it since she was a child—that her wolf would come, that she would feel whole, that somewhere, someone was waiting to look at her not with disgust, but with love.
But the mirror showed her truth. There was no wolf. No mate. Just the unwanted omega with hollow eyes and a bruised heart.
Tears pricked at the corners of her vision, but she blinked them away quickly. Lycril would never allow weakness.
“Hurry up!”
Lycril snapped, yanking her away from the basin.
“The Beta doesn’t have time for your daydreams.”
She tugged Freya back down the hall, her nails biting into her skin. When they reached the gathering again, Lycril leaned close, her voice low and venomous.
“Stay in that corner.”
She ordered, pushing Freya toward the shadows of the room.
“You are not to speak. You are not to move. Do not disgrace us.”
Freya obeyed, pressing herself against the wall, her head lowered.
From her corner, she could see Richard’s broad smile, Lycril’s elegant curtsy, Amanda’s eager simper, Enzo’s prideful stance. And standing before them—Beta Xavier, strong, commanding, the man whose name already bound itself like a chain around her fate.
Freya’s heart pounded.
Whatever bargain her father had made, she could feel it pressing closer, tightening like a noose.
---
Richard’s booming voice carried across the hall, smooth and practiced.
“Beta Xavier,” he said with a bow of his head, “it is an honor to host you in our humble home. Please forgive the lack of grandeur—times have not been… kind.”
Xavier’s sharp gaze swept the room, taking in the ornate garments of Richard’s family, then flicking briefly—almost dismissively—toward the corner where Freya stood half-hidden. His presence filled the air, heavy, commanding.
“I am not here for grandeur.”
Xavier replied, his tone low, controlled.
“I am here for what was promised.”
Richard’s grin widened, his chest puffing with false pride.
“And I am a man who keeps his word. You will find that I have done everything to ensure the arrangement is… satisfactory.”
Lycril stepped forward then, her smile polished, her voice dripping with charm.
“Our family has long respected the Northridge Pack, Beta. When my husband received word of your interest, we were honored. Truly. You will find no deceit here.”
Freya’s stomach twisted. Interest? Arrangement? Each word was a blade carving at her chest.
Xavier’s dark eyes studied Richard, then Lycril, as though weighing the truth of their words. Finally, he spoke.
“I don’t care for flattery. I was told there would be no delays.”
Richard chuckled nervously, his hands rubbing together.
“No delays, of course. Everything is in order. You shall see for yourself soon enough.”
Amanda stepped closer, curtsying sweetly, her eyes shining with eagerness.
“It is such a blessing for us to host someone of your stature, Beta Xavier. The honor is all ours.”
Xavier’s expression did not soften. If anything, he looked impatient, his gaze flicking once more toward the shadows where Freya stood.
Her breath caught in her throat. Though he hadn’t called her out, she felt as though he could see straight through her—through the rags she had worn minutes ago, through the bruises she tried to hide, through every secret her father wished buried.
Richard followed his gaze and quickly stepped in front of her view, his voice loud, rehearsed.
“Why don’t we discuss this matter further over wine, Beta? Please, this way.”
Lycril nodded eagerly, her smile tightening as she cast one last sharp glare toward Freya.
“Stay put.”
She hissed under her breath as she swept past.
Freya lowered her head again, her fingers digging into the fabric of her dress. What arrangement? What promise? Why does it feel like every word they say is sealing my fate?
From her corner, she listened as their footsteps faded deeper into the hall, carrying their lies and bargains with them.
And though no one had spoken her name aloud, Freya knew.
The promise… was her.
The silence that settled in the grand hall after their departure was thick and cold. Freya remained pressed against the wall, the rough stone scraping through the thin fabric of her dress. She could hear the muffled cadence of voices from the adjoining study—her father’s oily persuasion, Lycril’s chiming flattery, the Beta’s low, intermittent replies that cut through like a cold blade.
Each laugh from her father felt like a hammer striking the nail of her fate deeper.
She let her gaze wander across the room they had so hastily vacated. The polished table, the empty wine glasses that had never been offered to her, the lingering scent of Amanda’s cloying perfume. This was the stage upon which they had performed their charade of a respectable family. And she was the flaw in the backdrop, the stain hastily shoved into the shadows.
A sudden, sharp crack of laughter echoed from behind the closed door. It was Enzo’s voice, triumphant and cruel. A fresh wave of dread washed over her, cold and suffocating. What were they agreeing to in there? Was it merely a trade of gold for a body? Or was there something more, something worse, hidden within the fine print of her father’s desperation?
Her eyes stung, but she refused to let the tears fall. Crying was a luxury for those who had hope. She had none. Only a chilling certainty that when that door opened again, her life would no longer be her own.
The handle turned.
Freya’s heart slammed against her ribs. She straightened her spine as much as she could, forcing her trembling hands to still at her sides. The door swung open, and Beta Xavier emerged first, his expression inscrutable, a storm held carefully behind his eyes. Richard followed, his face flushed with a mixture of relief and greed. Lycril, Amanda, and Enzo trailed behind them, their faces wearing masks of satisfaction.
Beta Xavier’s gaze found her immediately, as if he had known exactly where she stood in the darkness. This time, his eyes did not flick away. They held hers, assessing, weighing, stripping away the last vestiges of her invisibility.
Richard cleared his throat, a wide, performative smile stretching his lips.
“Freya, my dear,” he said, the false warmth in his voice making her skin crawl.
“Come forward.”
Every instinct screamed at her to run, to melt into the stones at her back. But she was rooted, a rabbit caught in the gaze of a wolf. Slowly, she pushed herself away from the wall and took the few steps that felt like a march to the gallows.
She stopped a few paces away, keeping her eyes downcast, as Lycril had taught her.
“Beta Xavier,” Richard announced, his hand sweeping toward her as if presenting a prize horse.
“As agreed. This is Freya.”
The words hung in the air, final and absolute.
Xavier took a single step toward her. The space around them seemed to shrink. He didn’t touch her. He simply looked, his silence more terrifying than any accusation.
“Look at me,” he commanded, his voice quiet yet leaving no room for disobedience.
Freya’s breath hitched. Slowly, fighting against a lifetime of training to make herself small, she lifted her head. Her eyes met his—a deep, unforgiving gray, like the sky before a winter storm. In them, she saw no cruelty, but no kindness either. Only stark, unyielding purpose.
He studied her face, the lingering redness on her cheek, the haunted shadows under her eyes, the defiant set of her jaw beneath the fear. His gaze was a physical touch, scrutinizing every flaw, every mark of her hardship.
After what felt like an eternity, he gave a single, slow nod. It wasn’t approval. It was acknowledgment. The acknowledgment of an acquired asset.
“The terms are settled,” Xavier stated, turning his head slightly toward Richard, though his attention seemed to remain, unsettlingly, on her.
“She leaves with me at first light.”
A sharp gasp escaped Amanda, quickly stifled. Lycril’s smile was victorious. Richard nodded vigorously.
“Of course, Beta. Of course. She will be ready.”
She. As if she weren’t standing right there. As if her consent, her terror, her very soul were irrelevant to the transaction.
Xavier’s eyes finally released hers, shifting back to her father.
“See that she is.”
With that, he turned and walked toward the main entrance, his footsteps echoing with finality. He did not say goodbye to the others. The discussion was over. The deal was closed.
- Writer
