The Challenge
984 Words
The Bloodfang Pack was a fortress built on discipline, dominance, and silence.
Selina learned that quickly.
Her first week as Damien’s wife—his prisoner—felt like being thrown into a pit of wolves. Quite literally.
The pack didn’t hide their disdain for her. Whispers followed her like shadows. Warriors snickered when she walked past. She was greeted with scoffs, not respect. To them, she was a traitor in a white dress. The enemy’s daughter. A trophy taken, not a Luna chosen.
Damien made no effort to protect her from their scorn. In fact, he seemed to encourage it.
“Wrong side,” he barked at her during breakfast one morning in the great hall, when she unknowingly sat near the warrior table.
Selina’s cheeks flushed with heat, but she didn’t move. She continued eating with measured grace.
He slammed his goblet down. “I said wrong side, wife.”
Snickers filled the room.
Silently, she stood and moved across the hall, her head held high. But her stomach churned with quiet rage. Every day was the same—public correction, subtle humiliation, and Damien’s cold indifference.
If she passed a warrior without bowing, she was reprimanded.
If she spoke too soon during pack discussions, she was silenced.
If she breathed the wrong way near Damien, his temper flared.
One afternoon, as she helped a young omega girl carry a tray into the hall, a warrior purposefully bumped into Selina, knocking the food to the ground.
Selina stepped back, her face stoic despite the food now staining her dress.
The warrior sneered. “Clumsy, just like her father.”
Before she could speak, Damien appeared behind her.
“You’re embarrassing yourself,” he said in a sharp, cold voice. “You can’t even walk straight without tripping over your own pride.”
Her lips parted in disbelief.
He turned to the others. “Clean it up,” he said to her. “On your knees.”
Selina met his gaze. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
The hall went silent.
Every eye was on her again, waiting for the inevitable.
Selina lowered her gaze—just long enough to hide the fury raging in it—and got down on her knees.
Her hands trembled as she picked up the broken pieces, the stew burning her skin, but still she said nothing.
She would not give them her pain.
She would not give him the satisfaction.
That night, in their shared quarters—if the word “shared” even applied to the separate corners they occupied—Selina could no longer stay silent.
She stood near the fireplace, her back rigid, her voice a blade.
“You’re a coward,” she said, her voice low but sharp. “You don’t punish me for what I’ve done. You punish me for who I am. Because you can’t face what really haunts you.”
Damien didn’t look up from the documents on his desk.
“You forget your place.”
“I never had one to begin with,” she snapped. “You made sure of that.”
He looked at her now, slowly rising to his feet.
“There are rules in this pack—”
“No,” she cut in. “There are rules for me. Humiliate the enemy’s daughter. Shame the Luna. Parade her bruises like medals. You think that makes you strong?”
His jaw clenched. “You’re crossing a line.”
“Then push me over it.”
They stood there in silence, the fire crackling between them, neither willing to back down.
“I will not cry in front of you,” she whispered. “No matter how hard you try to break me.”
She turned and stormed off into the adjoining bathroom, slamming the door behind her.
~~
Damien tried to return to his paperwork.
He stared at the ink, but the words blurred.
Her voice lingered. Her anger. Her defiance.
Coward.
He had been called worse.
But not by someone who looked at him like that—not with fear, but with fury. With understanding. As though she saw something beneath the surface.
He hated that.
He hated her.
And yet… he found himself walking toward the bathroom door a few minutes later, something gnawing at the back of his mind.
He didn’t knock.
He just stood there.
Then he heard it.
Not sobs. Not gasps.
Just one quiet, choked sound. A breath held too long. A tear not meant to be released.
And then another.
The sound of someone trying not to break—but breaking anyway.
Damien froze.
He could picture her inside. On the floor, curled against the cold tile, muffling her grief with trembling hands.
It shouldn’t have bothered him.
She was his enemy. A symbol of a past soaked in blood and betrayal.
But something about the silence behind that door twisted something deep inside him.
For a moment, he raised his hand—as if he might knock. Might say something. Might ask…
But he didn’t.
He lowered it.
And walked away.
~~
Selina stayed in the bathroom long after the tears stopped.
She sat on the floor, wrapped in a towel, her hands clenched in her lap. Her body shook—not from fear, but from fury. From the helplessness that clung to her like a second skin.
She hated herself for crying.
Hated him for hearing.
Hated the way the air had shifted just slightly before his footsteps had retreated.
He hadn’t said a word. Hadn’t tried to hurt her.
But somehow… that hurt more.
She stared at her reflection in the mirror across the room. Her eyes were red, her lips trembling. But there was still fire in them. Still the soul of a fighter.
“I won’t break for you,” she whispered. “Not tonight. Not ever.”
- Writer
