Alpha's Undoing: Marked but Moonless

Chapter Three: Public Humiliation

The great hall was alive with warmth and sound, everything that Zara’s insides were not. Fire roared the twin hearths that flanked the long wooden room, casting firelight on the walls, but it did nothing to thaw the cold pit lodged in her stomach. Laughter echoed across vaulted beams, tankards clinked, and meat sizzled on platters carried by servants too exhausted to meet anyone’s gaze.

The scent of roasted venison and spiced mead hung thick in the air, making her stomach twist not with hunger, but with dread. She stood at the edge of the room like a statue draped in shadow, her hands pressed to her sides, and her head bowed just enough to appear respectful without seeming broken.

She didn’t look for him but she could feel Hunter’s presence like a storm cloud overhead, brimming with power, unmoved by his surroundings, and watching like a lion targeting a zebra.

When the Alpha finally stepped into the hall, silence followed like a curtain falling. Every eye turned. Hunter didn’t bask in the reverence, but he wore it like armor. Cloaked in dark leathers and a sleeveless wolfskin mantle, he looked carved from the very mountain this fortress stood upon; it was all hard, wild, and unforgiving.

Without a word, he crossed the room, mistresses in tow. Daphne, cold and regal in a blood-red dress that hugged her body so perfectly. Tori, all teeth and sharp eyes, her smirk aimed like a dagger at Zara. They walked like queens behind a god, each one dripping with pride and venom.

Hunter ascended to the high table, a massive throne-like seat at its center, and gestured to the long wooden benches arranged below. But he didn’t motion toward the one closest to him. Instead, he pointed Zara toward the lowest table that was set apart, closest to the doors where the wind crept in, lower than even the betas. It was even lower than the servant's own.

A sharp current of whispers darted through the room like birds fleeing fire, and Zara could feel the weight of every gaze pressed against her back as she moved toward it. Her legs were steady, but her face was so blank, and something inside her shriveled, coiled, then hardened.

She sat alone. A plate was set before her, cold bread, overcooked meat, and a bitter-smelling broth, but merely looking at it she knew she wouldn't be able to eat it, so she didn’t touch it.

Minutes passed, and the buzz of conversation returned, though now peppered with cruel glances and chuckles in her direction. Then they finally descended after all their patrolling around the hall.

Daphne and Tori, their heels clicking against the floor, their steps leisurely and maliciously graceful. They didn’t speak until they were close enough for their perfume to overwhelm the taste of the food. Daphne’s lip curled as she looked down at the plate.

“That doesn’t look very appetizing,” she said, loud enough for several tables to hear. Tori leaned over Zara’s shoulder and tipped her goblet just slightly but enough to spill crimson wine onto the food.

“Oops,” she said with a smirk. “Clumsy me.”

Laughter rose from the people. Zara stared at the ruined meal. The red bled into the bread like blood soaking through cloth, and still she didn’t move or say a word.

“Clean it up,” Daphne said, the command as elegant as it was merciless. “You’ve just made a mess.”

Zara turned her head slowly, her eyes meeting Daphne’s. There was no rage in them, only the quiet of a gathering storm. A stillness so thick it silenced the nearest tables. But Daphne did not back down. She tapped her shoe on the floor like she was speaking to a disobedient dog.

“Did you not hear me? Or do you want to be punished again?”

Zara looked down. The wine had spread across the stone beneath the table, soaking into the hem of her skirt. Her hands clenched in her lap. She could hear them watching, waiting for her to crawl. The silence grew unbearable, and the tension thickened like smoke in her throat.

But she didn’t kneel, instead, she rose. The scraping of the wooden bench against the floor rang louder than any insult. She pushed the plate aside and stepped away, her spine straight, head lifted. Her stomach growled softly, a betraying echo of her hunger, but she ignored it.

She walked past Daphne and Tori without a word, past the other tables, past the amused and confused stares, until the warmth of the hall faded behind her and the night air bit into her skin like tiny knives.

She wanted to cry but the fury was too much to even shed a tear, rage had begun to bloom inside her chest, a quiet, blooming thing with thorned edges and heat. Her stomach might have been empty, but her pride... that she would never feed to them.

She stood beneath the bare branches of a twisted tree, arms crossed, breath misting in the cold, when she heard someone approaching but she didn’t turn. The heavy sound of his boots on stone was as familiar now as her heartbeat.

“You didn’t eat,” Hunter said.

But Zara said nothing.

“You didn’t obey either,” he continued, his voice was so smooth, but lined with blades.

“Do you plan to starve yourself to death out of pride?” Still, she didn’t answer.

He stepped closer, until she could feel the heat of him against her back. Then, slowly, he leaned in, his nose brushing just above her shoulder. He inhaled deeply, then paused.

“You smell so wrong for a wolfless girl,” he murmured. His voice had changed, and as if her scent had disrupted a pattern he’d already memorized, he retreated.

Before she could react, before she could even think of what it meant… he was already close to the exit, and finally vanished back to where he came from.