Abandoned Revenge

Chapter 5. Alina

The night before the ceremony was the longest and most tormenting in my life. The little room under the stairs seemed even tighter and colder than usual, the rough stone walls pressing closer, as if the castle itself was contracting under the weight of the Blood Moon, its red light seeping through the narrow cracks in the door and walls, casting b****y glints on the floor and my straw mattress. I lay on my back, my body aching from yesterday and the day before—knees bruised from endless hours on the stone floor, back sore from constant bending and scrubbing, hands red, fingers numb, skin cracked from cold water, wax, and rags. My cheeks still burned from Garret's bruises—a light throbbing with every facial movement, a reminder of my place in this world. But that was familiar, like breathing, like downcast eyes. The new thing—the fear in my chest, heavy, sticky lump that I couldn't swallow, exhale, or ignore. It grew with every heartbeat, with every memory of Ella's words repeating in my head like a verdict.

I didn't sleep a minute. I lay motionless, staring into complete darkness, where even the outlines of the walls dissolved into black. I listened to the distant sounds of the castle—heavy footsteps of guards in the corridors above, occasional barking of dogs in the yard, wind howling in the cracks like an omen of trouble. The scent of the room—my eternal prison: mold from old walls, dust from straw, my own sweat and fear, salty, pervasive, soaking everything. My heart beat unevenly, sometimes accelerating to pain in my chest, sometimes freezing for a moment, my body trembling not only from cold—from the thought of tomorrow, from the inevitability.

Thoughts swirled in one endless vortex: "They might take a replacement. You fit." Ella's words echoed in my head, repeated over and over, burning from inside. Why me? Young, healthy—yes, but omega. Orphan. Servant. Invisible one whom no one notices until floors need washing or blows need enduring. The Moon can't err so grossly. Or can it? Whispers about past ceremonies—rare but terrifying, passed among servants: the bond struck like lightning, not asking rank, status, strength. If an omega is chosen—public humiliation before the entire pack, before alphas, before him. Rejection loud, like a sentence. Or worse—a chain around the neck, hidden or open, dependence that breaks slowly.

I turned on my side, hugged my knees tightly, trying to warm myself at least a little, to stop the trembling. Nightdress—thin, torn in places—cold seeped under the fabric, goosebumps running over skin, n*****s hardening from chill. Inner monologue didn't stop, pounding temples: "Run. But where? Castle—prison with stone walls and guards at every door. Pack—judges, indifferent but merciless. Garret will find in any corner, punish double—with blows, hunger, humiliation. No choice. Never was."

Fear grew, body curling into ball, breathing ragged, tears burning eyes, but I didn't let them flow—not here, alone in darkness. Tomorrow—circle. Sacred. For the strong. And I—weak. Mistake.

Garret came at dawn—or earlier, when sky just started graying behind cracks. His heavy footsteps thundered down servants' corridor like thunder in silence, room door flung open with crash, hinges screeching plaintively. Torchlight in his hand blinded eyes, I sat up sharply, heart jumping to throat, hands instinctively covering chest, body trembling stronger.

“Get up, Graves,” he growled, scent of dust, sweat, and yesterday's ale filling room instantly, pressing, choking. Rough hand grabbed shoulder—fingers digging deep into skin, yanked up with force, pain flaring in shoulder and back sharply, body obeying itself, legs standing on cold floor, knees buckling for moment.

“What... Sir Garret?” I whispered, voice hoarse from sleepless night, eyes squinting from bright torchlight, tears from shoulder pain running down cheeks.

He didn't release shoulder—fingers clenched tighter, pain throbbing like fire.

“You're the replacement,” he said coldly, without emotion, like verdict, heavy pause so words sank deeper, so I felt each one. “One bride won't stand. Fever strong, burning her from inside, healer can't help. You're taken to circle. Alphas' order. Get up and don't delay, girl.”

World stopped for moment completely. Heart dropped to heels, breath caught as if air vanished, body trembled stronger, legs buckled, I'd fall if he didn't hold.

“I... can't,” I whispered, voice breaking completely, tears running hot down cheeks. “Please, sir... find another... I can't... omega... no place for me...”

Garret laughed short, rough, sound sharp like slap, echoing in room.

“Can't?” he repeated, hand clenching shoulder harder, pushed to door strongly, back hitting wall, pain flaring in spine. “You can and will, girl. Omega no place in circle—all know, pack will laugh. But Moon erred once with that bride—let err again. Or not. No choice for you. Move.”

He pushed me into corridor—body stumbled, legs weak, trembling all over. Ella waited by her room door, eyes full of horror and pity, hands clenched in fists so knuckles white.

“Alina...” she whispered, stepped closer, but Garret growled:

“You—help. Washing. Dress. Quick. No talking, or both get it.”

Ella nodded quick, took my hand—fingers warm, trembling, squeezed my cold palm.

Rough washing in cold servants' room—water from bucket icy, burning skin instantly, body covered in goosebumps, skin reddening, n*****s hardening from chill, breathing faltering. Ella washed back with rough brush, movements quick, tears running quiet down my cheeks, mixing with water.

“Hold on, Alina,” she whispered, voice broken, trembling. “If bond... not with you... or if with him... Kayl... he's cruel. Reject publicly. Break you.”

“And if not reject?” I whispered, body trembling under water, voice barely audible. “If chooses... omega? What then?”

Ella silent, brush stopped on my back for moment, heavy pause.

“Then... chain,” she said quiet, voice full of fear. “Hidden or open. Dependence. He'll break you differently. Slowly.”

Hair combed rough, Ella's fingers trembling, braided in simple braid—without adornments, without tenderness. Dress—white, thin, but simple like lower brides, fabric cold on wet skin, clinging instantly.

Garret waited at door, impatient, growling quiet.

“Enough,” he tossed. “Lead her. Guard waiting.”

Two guards—older Thorn brothers, muscular, scars on faces from battles—took under arms. Grip iron, fingers digging into skin, scent of blood and steel choking. My steps shuffled corridors, body trembling, dress clinging, legs weak.

Castle waking—servants whispering corners, gazes sliding over me—indifferent, but with hint of pity or mockery. "Omega in circle"—whisper behind back, like knives.

Entry to circle—in great hall under open sky through high arched windows. Moon shone red, huge, pressing, light flooding hall b****y hue. Pack gathering—alphas in black cloaks with emblems, brides in white, faces in shadows, gazes heavy.

Pushed into circle last—guards released arms sharply, strong push in back. Legs buckled, I dropped to knees—body itself, from fear and respect for ritual. Cold stone seeped through dress instantly, knees aching sharply like blow.

Heart pounding like in cage, echoing in ears loud. Trembling all over body—can't stop, hands clenched fists on knees, fingers white.

Awareness of inevitability—this end of my invisibility, end of illusion safety in servant humiliation.

Ritual began—and fear intensified to nausea.