Bound by Blood, Freed by Love

ELLIE’S POV “Murderers don’t get breakfast.” The words cut through the stillness, sharp as a blade. Beta Dave sneered as he passed, kicking the tray of scraps away from my reach. “You should’ve starved to death years ago.” The words weren’t new. I didn’t cry out, because crying only made them grin. My knees were already numb from hours of scrubbing the cold stone floor, my palms raw and stinging. The iron bucket beside me sloshed as I wrung out the stained cloth and went back to scrubbing, working in furious little circles like my life depended on it, because it did. The scent of dried blood and old grease clung to the stone, no matter how hard I scrubbed. I’d been up since well before the moon dipped behind the trees, before the first wolf stirred in their den, before anyone cared if the floors were clean. That didn’t matter. Nothing I did ever mattered. I was twenty, but my body felt older. Bruised, barefoot, and dressed in a sack of rags that didn’t even pretend to fit, I had long stopped pretending I could be anything else. My reflection in the metal water bucket showed the truth plainly: hollowed cheeks, a busted lip healing crooked, a jawline once proud now always clenched. I didn’t look like the daughter of Alphas. I didn’t look like Ellie anymore. Beta Dave gave the bucket a sharp kick. Water splashed across my skirt and onto the floor I’d just cleaned. “Still slow,” he muttered, half to himself, half to the early risers gathering near the door. “Twelve years and she still can’t scrub a damn floor properly.” My stomach twisted with hunger, not a small ache but something sharper, deeper. I hadn’t eaten since yesterday morning. And even that had been scraps. The wolves of Moonshade believed punishment needed to be layered with silence, starvation, and shame. I blinked back the wave of dizziness and kept scrubbing. If I stopped, they’d have a reason and they didn’t need one to begin with. “Alpha wants the dining hall spotless before he comes down,” Dave said lazily, tapping the wall with the butt of his spear. “If he sees a single spot, you’ll be scrubbing with your teeth.” I didn’t look up. I didn’t speak. I hadn’t spoken in over a decade. Not because I couldn’t, but because the last time I tried, I bled. The stone was rough under my fingers, tearing into my already-battered knuckles, but I kept moving. I had learned to scrub with silence, to breathe as little as possible, to exist so quietly they forgot I was still alive. My stomach growled again, a hollow, painful sound that echoed in the high-ceilinged hall. I paused just long enough to breathe through the wave of nausea, blinking until the haze cleared from my eyes. The pack would be awake soon. I could already hear footsteps upstairs, the thuds of bare feet, the soft laughter of warriors stretching before morning patrol. Their voices were casual, unaware, like they hadn’t spent twelve years walking over a girl they once called sister. A girl who had once played in the courtyard with them, laughed with them, shared bread and honey and secrets in the dark. A girl who had once had a voice. But not anymore. Not since the poison, not since that night. I shifted to the next tile. A smudge of something red stained the corner. It was meat from last night’s feast. My fingers moved on instinct. Circular, circular, scrub and rinse. The cloth soaked up the mess, and still I kept going, even though the water was dark and foul and smelled like despair. Somewhere in the corridor, a door slammed. My spine straightened before I could stop it. The scent hit me before the voice. It was Wesley my brother, my Alpha. He always smelled of cold iron and pine smoke. Clean, controlled, and merciless. His boots clicked against the floor, steady and heavy, announcing his presence like the arrival of a storm. I dropped my gaze and knelt lower, pretending to be invisible. His voice came from behind me. “She missed a spot.” Laughter followed. One of the warriors snorted, then made a crude comment I didn’t catch. I didn’t lift my head. I didn’t move. “Let her fix it with her tongue,” someone said. A wave of cruel laughter broke out. My hands clenched around the rag. Still, I said nothing. Wesley stopped beside me. I could feel his gaze like a blade along my back. “Pathetic,” he muttered. “Even scrubbing floors is too much for a murderer.” A murderer! He always said it like a title. He crouched then, just close enough that I could see the tips of his polished boots beside my raw feet. “You hear me, Ellie?” he asked softly. But I didn’t flinch. He reached out and grabbed a lock of my hair, tugging hard enough to tilt my face toward his. I stared at the stone and not at him. His grip tightened. “Look at me.” I did. His eyes were gold-flecked and cold. Just like our father’s had been. But without the warmth and the honor. “You’re lucky I let you live,” he whispered. “You don’t deserve the breath you steal.” Then he dropped my hair and walked off. I let my head fall back down, face inches from the floor I’d scrubbed for hours. A single tear slipped down my cheek. It was not for me, but for the girl I used to be. The sun had barely broken the horizon when the pack began to file into the dining hall. Their laughter and chatter echoed off the stone walls, filling the space with a warmth that never reached me. I had cleaned every tile, polished every bench, and laid out the plates and cups without a word. I stood at the edge of the hall now, head bowed, hands clasped in front of me as I waited. Alpha Wesley sat at the head of the long table like a king, flanked by Beta Dave and the senior warriors. The rest of the pack filled in around them, rowdy and ravenous after early patrols. The smell of food made my stomach twist with longing. Trays of roasted meat, thick-cut bread, eggs fried in spiced fat. My mouth watered, but I didn’t move. I wasn’t here to eat. I was here to serve. “Ellie,” Alpha Wesley called, his voice slick with amusement. “Be useful.” I stepped forward quickly, trained like a hound. My arms ached from the morning’s work, but I ignored it. I reached for the pitcher of elder Berry’s wine and poured into his cup first, careful not to spill a drop. Then I moved down the line. No one looked at me. Or if they did, it was with sneers or mocking smirks. A few whispered things they knew I couldn’t answer. I wasn’t allowed to, not unless spoken to, not unless I wanted pain. I served them all. Wolves I’d once played with as a child, who now barely remembered I had ever laughed. Once I was done pouring drinks, I returned with the bread baskets. Then meat platters. Halfway through the table, a young pup Lina, barely older than I’d been the night my parent died reached too eagerly for a plate and knocked her cup over. It crashed to the floor, red juice splattering across the table and dripping onto the ground near my bare feet. The room fell silent. Lina gasped, her eyes wide, trembling. My heart dropped. Alpha Wesley rose from his seat slowly. “Well, look at that,” he said with mock disappointment, stepping over to the mess. “What a shame.” Lina’s mother tried to speak, but one glare from Alpha Wesley silenced her. And then, he looked at me. “Ellie.” I stepped forward, knees stiff. “You did this,” he said. I didn’t speak, I didn’t move, I didn’t even breathe. “You clumsy little thing. Can’t even serve a drink without causing trouble.” He reached to his belt and pulled the leather strap free. I did The strap came down across my arm with a sharp crack. A gasp rippled through the pack. But I stayed still, and then another lash. The fire seared through my skin. “This is for killing our parents,” Wesley said, loud enough for everyone to hear. I stared straight ahead, eyes burning but dry. Twelve years of pain, twelve years of guilt. And still, I did not speak.