Clawed by Betrayal

CHAPTER FOUR: THE RITUAL

River's POV

The next morning—or maybe it was night, who could tell down here—we were yanked from sleep by the unmistakable sound of boots stomping down the corridor.

Rudra stirred beside me, still curled on the ground. “Ah, that must be the breakfast bell,” he muttered. “Spoiler alert: It’s fists. They’re serving fists.”

Before I could even smirk, the door to our cell screeched open, the stench of unwashed fur and rotting meat hitting me like a slap.

Two guards stepped in, one pointing straight at me. “Her. She's the newest member and must be marked today.”

My stomach dropped.

“Nope,” Rudra said, scooting slightly in front of me. “Bad choice, mate. She’s a biter. Total liability.”

The guard responded with a swift kick to his ribs. Rudra grunted but didn’t cry out. He just rolled onto his back with a grin. “See? You’ve already lost control. She’s contagious.”

They weren’t amused.

The second one hauled me up by my chains, snapping the locks free. My legs barely worked, wobbling like branches in a storm. Pain sliced up my spine as I was dragged out into the corridor.

I glanced back over my shoulder.

Rudra gave me a lazy salute. “If you die, can I have your boots?”

The guard slapped me hard for looking back. “Move.”

“Stay calm,” Kiara murmured. “Let them think you’re broken.”

I did my best to follow her advice.

The light outside the pit stung my eyes. After days in the dark, it felt like staring into the sun. I squinted, blinking rapidly as the camp came into focus—chaotic tents, snarling mutts, a circle of bloodstained stones at its center.

That’s where they dragged me.

The crowd had already formed, buzzing with excitement. I could feel their eyes crawling over my skin. Some were bored. Some curious. Others eager, like they were waiting for a show.

A tall dominating looking man whom I assumed is the Rogue king, stood at the center, wearing his cruelty like a crown. His lips curved into a delighted sneer when he saw me.

“About time. Bring her.”

They threw me to my knees in front of the fire pit. My hands were now chained behind my back, my dress torn and crusted with dried blood.

The Rogue king walked around me, slowly, like I was some exotic beast he couldn’t wait to break.

“You’re late to the game, little wolf,” he said. “No shifting. No claiming. And you just now started speaking to your wolf? Sad. But it doesn't matter. We’ll carve your place here today.”

One of the guards handed him the iron brand.

I recognized the shape—it was the same one I’d seen seared into the others. A jagged M, twisted to look like claws.

Kiara growled low in my mind. “Stay strong.”

The Rogue king raised the brand over the fire. “You don’t belong to a mate anymore. Or a pack. Or even the Goddess.” The iron hissed as it heated. “You belong to me.”

I bit down hard on my lip as they forced my head to the side, exposing the curve of my collarbone.

The Rogue king approached.

And then I heard it—faint, echoing down the wind like a distant curse:

“Hey, Almighty king! You branding or barbecuing? ‘Cause you forgot the sauce!”

I blinked.

Was that—?

Rudra.

Even here, even now, he was mouthing off to the most dangerous creature in this camp. I couldn’t believe it.

The Rogue king paused, the brand inches from my skin.

“Who said that?” he snapped.

No one answered.

The Rogue king turned back to me and pressed the searing iron to my flesh.

The pain was instant. Blinding. My body jerked violently as the scent of burning skin filled the air. I clamped my jaw shut until I tasted blood.

“Don’t scream,” Kiara urged. “Don’t give them the power.”

I didn’t. Not once.

When it was done, they let me crumple to the ground like garbage. My breath came in short, ragged gasps, but I was still alive.

The Rogue king looked down at me. “Good. Now take her back. I want her ready for work by dawn.”

They dragged me away.

Back in the cell, Rudra’s face came into view through the haze of pain.

“Wow,” he whispered. “You smell like roasted regret.”

I gave him a look. “You shouted at the Rogue king.”

“I did,” he said proudly. “Figured it’d buy you half a second of distraction. Wasn’t much, but... you’re welcome.”

I wanted to cry. Instead, I laughed—raw and broken, but real.

Rudra grinned. “So. Officially branded, huh?”

I nodded, barely breathing.

“Congratulations,” he said, patting the floor beside him. “You’re now a certified prisoner of labor. But hey… you didn’t scream. That makes you a legend.”

And somehow, in the middle of all that agony, I believed him.

The next few days blurred together— work, blood, commands, pain, and silence.

They kept us in a rotation: dragged out to dig or to receive beatings, thrown back into our cells with bruises that bloomed like flowers over our skin. The food was barely edible. Water came in rusted buckets. The only warmth I knew was the presence of Rudra beside me—and Kiara, ever watching, ever quiet inside my mind.

“Slaves don’t talk,” one of the guards had said when I’d tried to speak to a girl with a ripped ear and haunted eyes. “They listen. That’s it.”

But I noticed things.

The way some of the others moved when the guards weren’t looking—tapping a finger against the ground, a glance exchanged too quickly, a shift in posture. It was subtle, like a dance only they knew.

“They’ve got a language,” Rudra murmured one day when we were in the field digging for something I knew nothing of. “The ones who’ve been here longest. They speak with their bodies.”

“Like wolves,” I realized.

“Exactly. Quiet communication. No sound. No risk.” He looked at me sideways. “You want in?”

I hesitated.

And nodded.

Over the next few days, Rudra started teaching me what he knew: a glance left meant danger was near; scratching your thumb across your palm meant help; a shift of the left foot—resistance brewing. It was survival through silence. Rebellion in disguise.

The others noticed me then. One by one.

The girl with the torn ear nodded at me during meal rations. An older man brushed against my shoulder and pressed a small piece of cloth into my hand—wrapped bread. I hadn’t eaten in two days.

No one said a word. But something passed between us.

I see you.

You are not alone.

Not anymore.

And then, it happened.

After another round of “digging,” I was too sore to sleep. My back ached. My skin burned from where they’d made us kneel on hot gravel. Rudra lay next to me, quietly humming something off-key. I didn’t even have the energy to ask what it was.

That’s when I heard the dragging.

A low, wet drag—something being pulled through the corridor outside our cell.

Rudra stopped humming. Sat up.

“You hear that?” he whispered.

I nodded slowly, heart already racing.

Voices echoed faintly, and then the metallic clank of a door—our door—sliding open.

The guards stood there, flanking something between them.

Someone.

They threw the body onto the floor.

The thud echoed across the cell like a death sentence.

My breath hitched.

It was the girl with the torn ear—the one who had shared her bread.

She wasn’t moving.

Blood pooled beneath her head. One arm was twisted wrong. Her wolf, what little presence I’d ever felt from her, was gone.

“No,” I whispered, crawling toward her.

“She was caught passing a message,” one of the guards said casually. “Thought she could play rebel.”

“She was just—” I choked, “—just surviving.”

“Not anymore,” the guard said. “And if anyone else is caught doing the same—” he looked directly at me, “—they’ll be next.”

They slammed the door shut and were gone.

Silence returned, heavier than ever.

I stared at the girl’s body, the smell of blood curling in my nose. That small cloth-wrapped bread was still tucked inside her sleeve.

I’d given her a hand signal this morning.

A simple scratch of my palm.

And she’d answered.

My fault.

Rudra’s voice broke through my spiral.

“River…” he said softly, “we need to burn the body. Before dawn. Or they’ll make you do it tomorrow, in front of everyone.”

My hands shook.

And then—Kiara spoke.

“This is no longer about surviving.”

“This is war.”