The Mad Lycan’s Undoing

AYLA "Strip." Axel's voice cut through the thick air of his chamber as sharp as blade, and I stood frozen three steps from his bed. My hands trembled at my sides. “Tell them to leave,” I responded through gritted teeth. The other three wives were already sprawled across silk cushions near the window, with wine glasses dangling from their manicured fingers, poised like weapons they were just waiting to use. They watched me with cruel anticipation, their scarlet tintedlips curling into condescending smiles. “Then I will do all that you wish and more.” Axel bit back a laugh, dismissively waving his hand toward the door, almost as though I was a servant who'd brought the wrong meal, his eyes still fixed on the parchment in his lap. "Actually, don't bother," he added with a bitter laugh. "I'd rather f**k a wooden post, at least that wouldn't bite." The wives erupted into laughter. Sharp, cutting sounds that made my skin crawl. "Oh, Axel, you're wicked," the first wife, Celeste, purred between sips of wine. "But accurate." "Wooden hips and a lethal mouth," the second wife, Irene, added with a snort. "How does one manage to be stiff as a corpse and still draw blood?" My face burned. Every word was a slap I couldn't dodge. "Axel, please," I whispered, taking a small step forward. "I can try again, I've been practicing, I've been reading, I can be better." "Better?" He finally looked up, and the disgust in his eyes made my stomach drop. "Ayla, I've given you two years. Two years of the worst bedroom experiences of my entire life. My c**k has battle scars because of you." More laughter from the cushions. I wanted to disappear into the floor, fiddling my fingers. “It’s our anniversary today.” “The seventh.” “Fifth,” I corrected, my voice dying in my throat. “Our fifth anniversary. You don’t remember.” “I only remember things that matter. You're done," Axel said flatly, returning his attention to the parchment. "I'm done wasting my time on a wife who can't perform the one duty required of her." "But I'm still your wife," I stammered, desperation clawing at my throat. "I'm still your Luna, I still have value, I can learn, just give me more time." "Value?" Axel's eyebrow lifted, and something cold flickered across his face. "Let's not pretend you were ever anything more than decoration, Ayla. Pretty decoration, I'll give you that, but useless decoration nonetheless." He stood up, walking past me toward his liquor cabinet. The scent of his cologne made me nauseous. "New arrangements have been made," he said casually, pouring amber liquid into a crystal glass. "Debts have been paid. You should be grateful, actually, you're finally serving a purpose." I didn't understand what he meant. My mind scrambled to make sense of his words, but they felt like pieces of a puzzle I couldn't see. "What arrangements?" I asked, my voice barely audible. "Don't worry your pretty little head about it," he replied with a smirk. "Just know that your failure as a wife has at least bought me something useful." The third wife, Mara, laughed so hard she nearly spilled her wine. "Bought you something useful, oh, that's rich, Axel, you're truly cruel tonight." I stood there, frozen and humiliated, my throat tight with unshed tears. Axel waved me away again without another glance. "Get out of my sight, Ayla. Enjoy your last night of comfort." I turned and fled. The laughter of the wives followed me down the corridor like ghosts mocking my retreat. My chest heaved with shame and confusion as I stumbled through the dim hallways, my thin nightgown catching on rough stone walls. Enjoy your last night of comfort. What did that mean? Was he divorcing me? Casting me out? My mind raced with possibilities, each one worse than the last. The palace was quiet at this hour, only torches flickering along the walls to guide my path. I turned a corner toward my chamber, wiping furiously at the tears streaming down my face. I didn't hear the footsteps behind me. Suddenly, a rough hand clamped over my mouth from behind, yanking me backward against a hard chest. I screamed against the palm, but the sound was muffled. Panic exploded in my veins. Another hand wrapped around my waist, dragging me into a shadowed alcove. I thrashed wildly, my nails clawing at the arm holding me, but the grip was iron. The smell of peppermint vandalized my nostrils in seconds. Something else, too, with an unforgiving sharp and chemical scent, burning my nostrils as a damp cloth pressed hard against my nose and mouth. I tried to hold my breath, tried to twist free, but my lungs screamed for air. I gasped. The world tilted sideways. My legs buckled beneath me, and the last thing I felt was the cold stone floor rushing up to meet my face. Then nothing. *** I woke up in hell. Not a metaphor. Not an exaggeration. Actual hell. To the stench of unwashed bodies and fear so thick it coated my tongue. My head pounded. My wrists burned. I tried to move, but cold metal bit into my skin, chains rattling with every shift of my arms. I was CAGED. The darkness around me wasn't complete. Flickering torchlight from somewhere beyond revealed the bars of a massive iron cage, and inside, dozens of people pressed together like livestock. A woman beside me whimpered softly. A man across from me stared blankly at the ground, his face hollow. "Where am I?" I croaked, my throat raw. "Shut up," an older woman hissed from my left. "You want to get us all killed?" My heart hammered against my ribs. I yanked at the chains, the metal cutting deeper into my already raw wrists. "Someone answer me," I demanded, louder this time. "Where the hell are we?" A young girl, no more than sixteen, leaned close with wide, terrified eyes. "Lycan's Scum," she whispered, then paused, hesitating. “The home of the Mad Lycan King.” My blood froze. The name struck me like ice. Not him… Not that monster!