HIS MATE, MY DOOM

Chapter 2: They could strip my skin

DABRIA

“DABRIA! Where is that low-life creature?”

Madam Imogene’s shrill voice pierced through the silence of the pack house like a jagged blade. Her sharp heels clacked against the marble floors as she stormed through the halls, flinging open doors, her powdered face twisted in disgust. The air smelled faintly of lavender and rot—an ironic pairing, much like the woman herself.

I jerked upright, heart racing, the threadbare blanket still tangled around my legs. The cold floor met my bare feet like a slap. I barely made it two steps before Imogene found me.

“There you are,” she snarled—and then the slap came.

A c***k echoed through the corridor as her palm met my cheek. My head snapped to the side. The force sent me stumbling, landing hard against the wall before collapsing to the floor.

Pain bloomed across my face like wildfire, and I tasted iron. I reached up, fingers grazing the tender skin that would surely bruise into something grotesque by morning.

“Quit acting like some weeping little damsel,” she spat. “You think you’re special because of your blood? Because of who your father was?” Her lips curled into a sneer. “You’re a maid, and you will serve this pack like the rest of the help. You should be grateful we didn’t drown you as a pup.”

She spun on her heel, robes swishing like the wings of some bitter crow. I didn’t reply. There was no point. I pressed my lips shut and ran—

—to the kitchen, where the air was thick with smoke and spices.

I barely made it in time, grabbing a tray to join the procession of maids moving with silent obedience. We moved through the long hall toward the dining chamber, a grand room glittering in cruel elegance.

The ceilings arched high, adorned with golden chandeliers that glimmered like trapped stars. The table stretched across the room like a spine of power, carved from dark wood, gilded in gold, and able to seat fifty.

We moved like ghosts, heads bowed low, hands steady. I placed a tray of roasted meats and spiced fruits onto the table, my fingers brushing silverware so polished it caught my bruised reflection.

Then I felt his eyes.

My uncle.

Alpha Marcus sat at the head of the table, regal in posture, his gray eyes like frozen stones. His face bore the same cruel lines it always had—sharp cheekbones, lips thin with permanent disapproval.

He looked at me the way one might look at a smudge on polished glass.

His fingers tapped the table—slowly. Tap. Tap. Tap.

The sound was rhythmic. Menacing. Each motion was deliberate, the claw of his forefinger extending just slightly with every beat.

Claws.

The memory slammed into me like a blow to the chest.

Blood. So much blood.

My parents were on their knees in front of the pack. My father—brave and broken—his chin raised in defiance even as Alpha Marcus gripped his hair and yanked his head back.

There had been no mercy. Just one savage motion—his clawed hand piercing my father’s chest like paper.

He held up the still-beating heart like a prize. The pack roared. My mother wailed. I screamed until my voice tore.

The memory gripped me so tightly that I gasped aloud.

My hand slipped.

The porcelain jug shattered against the floor.

Gasps rose around the table. Silence fell, cold and suffocating.

I dropped to my knees instinctively.

“Forgive me, my Alpha,” I said, voice trembling. “Forgive me for being clumsy. I—I beg your mercy.”

The broken glass sliced into my knees, but I didn’t dare move. My body shook—not from pain, but fear. My palms pressed against the shards as I bowed low, blood already staining the floor beneath me.

“Imogene!” Alpha Marcus’s voice cracked like thunder.

The woman came scurrying in, lowering her head in apology.

“My Alpha,” she said breathlessly, “the girl is… undisciplined. I swear, I will train her better. This won’t happen again.”

“You said that last time,” he said coldly. “And the time before.”

“I’ll see to it personally,” Imogene promised. “Fifty lashes. She will learn.”

I tried to rise—

But a hand struck my face again. Harder this time.

The room burst into cruel laughter and judgmental groans.

“Pathetic,” someone muttered.

“Poor, sweet Dabria,” came a honeyed voice laced with venom.

Alyssa.

My cousin’s smile could rival sunlight, but behind her perfect teeth and rose-petal lips lay a festering soul. She leaned toward me, her golden curls bouncing as she scooped a piece of bread and scrambled eggs from her plate.

“If you don’t mind, I’ll share my breakfast with you,” she said sweetly. “I’d offer you a seat, but I wouldn’t dare disobey Father.”

She dropped the food to the floor beside me like one might toss scraps to a dog.

The scent made my stomach ache.

I lunged for the bread, stuffing it into my mouth with trembling hands. Salt and butter exploded on my tongue. My taste buds, long dead from years of stale crusts and bone broth, awakened painfully.

“Alyssa, you are truly the kindest soul in this pack,” Damien, the Beta, announced with pride. “One day, you’ll make a glorious Luna—with my son Lucien at your side.”

Applause followed. Alyssa beamed, cheeks pink with pretend modesty.

“You flatter me, Beta Damien,” she replied. “I only show concern for my sister. I will always love her.”

I dared to glance up—past Alyssa, past Damien—to Lucien.

He didn’t smile. His brow was furrowed, his jaw tight.

He looked at me the way one might look at a person slipping underwater, knowing he couldn’t save them.

Then Imogene’s hand wrapped around my wrist, jerking me to my feet.

“Out,” she hissed. “The Alpha doesn’t want your filth polluting his food.”

Later

“BOUND HER!”

Imogene’s shriek rang through the courtyard.

Two maids rushed to grab my arms, another tightened the ropes around my wrists, binding them behind my back with brutal precision. The hemp tore at my skin.

“You humiliated me!” Imogene spat, her face flushed red with fury. “In front of the Alpha! In front of everyone!”

I winced as she yanked my hair back, her breath sour against my cheek.

“Fifty lashes,” she whispered, eyes gleaming with satisfaction. “Then you’ll clean the training grounds. Maybe the warriors will enjoy spitting at you today.”

I closed my eyes. Not to block out the pain—but to survive it.

They could strip my skin.

But they would never take what was left of my fire.

Not yet.