Bound in Silver
1039 Words
The burning was absolute.
It wasn't a fire that consumed the flesh; it was a cold, toxic venom that crawled upward from my wrists, seeping directly into my bloodstream. Every beat of my heart pumped the liquefied silver deeper into my veins, wrapping heavy, suffocating chains around my inner wolf. Inside my mind, the magnificent, unspoken presence that had lived alongside my soul since childhood fell to its knees, whimpering before slipping into a dark, unresponsive coma.
I lay on the polished mahogany floor of the Great Hall, staring at the polished shoes of the pack guards. Above me, the celebratory music resumed. A upbeat, lively jazz melody floated through the air, completely erasing the horror of what had just transpired. The elite of the Crestwood Pack simply stepped around the clearing, returning to their champagne and high-society gossip as if I were nothing more than a spilled drink.
"Get her up," a sharp, feminine voice commanded.
Hands gripped my shoulders, dragging my limp body off the floor. My knees scraped against the wood until I was forced onto my feet. My vision swam, but through the haze of pain, I saw Camila approaching.
She walked with the grace of a woman who had just won a war, the diamonds around her neck catching the artificial light. Brandon remained on the stage, deep in conversation with a group of elderly board members, deliberately keeping his back turned to the woman he had just ruined. He didn't look back. Not even once.
Camila stopped a mere inches from me. The scent of her expensive lavender perfume warred with the metallic, b****y odour of the silver burning my skin.
"Look at you," Camila whispered, her eyes tracing the violent red welts forming around my wrists beneath the heavy metal cuffs. "A pathetic, penniless omega. Did you truly believe a cosmic anomaly like a fated bond would let you sit on a throne next to Brandon? In the real world, Seraphina, crowns are bought not destined."
I swallowed the metallic taste of blood rising in my throat, forcing myself to look her in the eyes. "Brandon loved me before he loved your father's bank account."
A vicious flash of anger crossed Camila’s face, but she quickly masked it with a cruel laugh. "Love is a luxury for the weak. And speaking of liabilities... we can't have you walking around with our crest, can we?"
She reached out, her perfectly manicured fingers catching the collar of my emerald gown. With a brutal tug, she tore the fabric downward, exposing my right shoulder blade.
There, etched into my skin, was the Crestwood pack mark, a swirling, silver-toned wolf crest that bounded every member to the pack's ancestral lands. Because of my bond with Brandon, mine had been tinged with a faint gold hue.
Camila turned to one of the enforcement guards. "The brand. Wipe her from our records."
My heart seized. "No... Brandon, no!" I tried to scream, but a guard’s heavy hand clamped over my mouth, stifling my cries into muffled whimpers.
The second guard stepped forward, pulling a specialized, thermal-silver rod from a velvet case. The tip of the device glowed with a sickening, localized heat designed to permanently cauterize and destroy supernatural skin tissue.
"Hold her still," the guard muttered.
I thrashed against their grip, but the silver cuffs had drained every ounce of my Lycan strength. I was as weak as a human.
The glowing rod pressed firmly against my shoulder blade.
An agonizing, white-hot scream tore through my mind as the heat melted the pack mark away. The smell of burning flesh filled my nostrils. The golden threads connecting me to the very earth beneath my feet were violently snapped. I felt the collective consciousness of the Crestwood pack, the shared thoughts, the safety of the pack mind, vanish, leaving me completely, terrifyingly isolated in a void of dark silence.
When the rod was pulled away, I sagged against the guards, my breath coming in ragged, shallow gasps. A charred, ugly scar now resided where my identity used to be.
"Beautiful," Camila purred, leaning down so her breath tickled my ear. "You are officially a rogue, Seraphina. No history, no family, and no rights. I personally requested the Council to fast-track your transport. I want you sold to the lowest, most brutal mining pack in the outer rims by sunrise."
She straightened up, wiping an imaginary speck of dust from her white gown. "Take this trash to the basement loading bays. The High Council transport caravan is already waiting."
The guards didn't hesitate. They dragged me backward out of the glittering hall, through the heavy velvet curtains, and down into the dark, concrete service corridors. The distant sound of laughter and clinking glasses faded, replaced by the low, ominous hum of heavy machinery and the biting chill of the underground levels.
We reached the subterranean loading docks. The air here was damp, smelling of exhaust fumes and stale rain.
Waiting in the center of the concrete bay was a massive, heavily armored transport vehicle. It was constructed of reinforced steel, its windows covered in thick, silver-alloy mesh. On the side of the vehicle was the cold, unfeeling emblem of the Lycan High Council.
The heavy iron doors of the transport groaned open, revealing a dark, cavernous interior. From within the shadows of the vehicle, I could hear the faint, heartbreaking sounds of weeping and the distinct clinking of silver chains.
I wasn't the only one Brandon and the Council had deemed disposable.
"Get in," the guard grunted, shoving me brutally toward the metal steps.
I stumbled, the heavy silver cuffs throwing off my balance, and collapsed onto the cold steel floor of the transport van. Before I could even push myself up, the heavy doors slammed shut with a deafening, echoing thud, plunging us into absolute, pitch-black darkness.
The engine roared to life with a violent shudder, and the caravan began to move, carrying me away from the only life I had ever known, and directly toward the auction block.
- Writer
