The Vows Of Vengence

The public humiliation

The journey to Damien’s pack lands was made in silence, though silence was hardly peaceful.

Selina sat stiff-backed on the black steed beside Damien, bound by both rope and fate. The escort of Blackthorn warriors marched around them like shadows, grim and expressionless. Every step they took further buried her pride, every beat of hooves driving the reality deeper into her bones—she was no longer just Selina Kane, daughter of the defeated Alpha.

She was a war prize. A conquered bride. The property of his enemy.

The tall iron gates of the Blackthorn Pack swung open with an eerie screech as the entourage arrived. Hundreds of wolves had gathered in the main courtyard. They stood tall, proud, tall and buff, dangerous soldiers. Men and women alike. Eyes sharp, filled with curiosity, and barely veiled contempt.

And then they saw her—bruised, restrained, and wearing her bloodied royal blue gown from the surrender.

A wave of whispers rippled through the crowd like wildfire.

Damien dismounted first, his movements calm and precise, like a man who had won a game of chess and was savoring the final move. Without a word, he reached up, grabbed Selina by the arm, and dragged her down from the horse with no more gentleness than one would show a bag of meat.

She stumbled, caught herself before she fell, and yanked her arm out of his grip with as much dignity as she could muster. Damien didn’t care. He smirked and turned to face his people.

“Brothers. Sisters. Soldiers,” he called, his voice echoing off the stone walls, deep and commanding. “The war is over. Alpha Kane has fallen, and his legacy ends here. His lands, his power, and—” he paused, turning toward Selina and curling his lip in amusement, “—his daughter now belong to me.”

A roar of approval and cruel laughter filled the courtyard. Some bared their teeth. Others clapped mockingly. And some just stared at Selina with amused pity, as though wondering how long she’d last.

Damien stepped toward her and grabbed her chin, forcing her head upward.

“Meet Selina Blackthorn,” he said coldly. “My wife. My property. And a reminder to every enemy that crossing me comes at a price.”

Selina’s stomach twisted.

His grip was firm, and his voice rang with cruel triumph. But Selina refused to let him see her break. Her heart was thunder in her chest, her pulse screaming for vengeance, and she knew that every eye in that courtyard was waiting for her to either bow... or break.

She took a breath, clenched her jaw, and stared straight into his eyes with a fire that refused to be smothered.

“You can rot in hell, Damien,” she said, voice steady and venom-laced. “You might have taken my name. My freedom. But you’ll never own me.”

The crowd gasped.

Even the elite guards exchanged glances, stunned by her boldness.

Damien’s expression didn’t change immediately, but his grip tightened against her chin for a moment before he let go. Slowly, he stepped back, lifting his hand to silence the murmuring crowd.

“You’ll learn,” he said, his voice calm but sharp as a blade. “Every fire burns out eventually.”

He turned to the crowd. “She is to be respected—as my wife. But should she step out of line... you know what to do.”

Then he gestured toward the omega guards standing nearby. “Take her to her chambers. Make sure she has nothing sharp, no windows, no way to run. And don’t waste the fine wine or silk sheets. A prisoner doesn’t deserve comfort.”

The guards stepped forward. Selina looked around at the crowd one more time. Not a single friendly face. Not a single ounce of compassion. And yet, she stood tall.

She turned toward Damien, raised her chin, and smiled.

“You’ll get bored of trying to break me,” she said.

Damien smiled back—but it was the kind of smile that promised storms.

“Maybe,” he said. “But I do enjoy a challenge.”

Then he turned his back on her.

Selina was led through the winding halls of the fortress—cold stone walls, torches flickering against the gloom, servants stepping aside with their eyes lowered. She held her head high despite the whispers and snickers that followed her.

When the heavy door to her assigned room creaked open, she stepped inside and was hit by a chill. The room was large but lifeless. Stark grey walls, a stiff-looking bed, and no windows. Just a flickering lamp on a cracked wooden table.

No silk. No warmth. No escape.

The guards unbound her wrists and stepped back.

“You may scream, princess,” one of them said mockingly as they left. “No one’s going to come.”

The door slammed shut behind her.

Alone at last, Selina took a shaky breath and looked around. Her fingers trembled, not from fear—but exhaustion. Rage. Heartache.

She dropped to her knees in the middle of the room and let herself feel everything for the first time.

Her father had given her away.

Her enemy had claimed her.

And she had just declared war in front of a whole pack of strangers with nothing but words and a spine made of pride.

She couldn’t cry. Not now. She wouldn’t let them win. But gods, it hurt.

After a long, still moment, she rose to her feet again and whispered to herself in the dim, cold light.

“You think I’m broken, Damien Blackthorn?”

She walked to the corner of the room, sat against the wall, and stared at the door.

“Wait and see what a shattered woman can do.”