The First Night

The walls of the palace whispered with the ghosts of the past. Cold. Unforgiving. A place where laughter had long been silenced, swallowed by the echoes of power and blood. Elara stood in the grand hall, her body stiff with tension. The torches along the stone walls flickered, casting eerie shadows that danced like spirits.

She wasn't supposed to be here.

She wasn't supposed to be alive.

The other six had perished within hours of arriving. No one spoke of how or why. The palace guards had simply dragged their bodies away, and the eerie quiet had returned. The truth was unspoken, but it clawed at her mind. She was nothing special. She was just another offering.

Then why had she survived?

She stood in the presence of the Alpha King—the monster, the legend, the executioner.

Valrik.

His name alone sent chills down the spines of even the bravest warriors. And now, his golden eyes burned into hers with the promise of destruction.

"Why do you still stand?" His voice was deep, rough, scraping against her like steel.

Elara swallowed. Every instinct screamed at her to lower her gaze, to submit. But something inside her—something raw, something defiant—held firm.

"I don't know," she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

A deadly silence followed. The air between them crackled with something dangerous.

Then, he laughed.

It wasn't the kind of laughter that softened a man. No, this was cruel, mocking, laced with the sharp edge of amusement at her suffering.

"You don't know?" he repeated, stepping closer. He was massive—towering over her, his presence suffocating. "Then let me make something clear to you, little banshee."

Banshee.

The word hit her like a slap.

She had spent her whole life running from that name. A cursed bloodline. A whispered legend. A creature not fully human, not fully anything. The people in her village had feared her. Her aunt's family had despised her.

And now, he was looking at her like he knew. Like he saw right through her.

Valrik leaned in, his breath warm against her cheek. "You were sent here to die," he murmured. "Just like the others. So tell me… why should I spare you?"

Elara clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms.

Because I don't want to die.

Because I have nowhere else to go.

Because I was sent here as nothing, but I refuse to be nothing.

"I…" Her throat closed up. The weight of his gaze was unbearable. "I don't know."

The truth. The only answer she had.

For a long moment, he said nothing. Then, with a sharp movement, he grabbed her chin, forcing her to meet his gaze.

A spark. A fleeting moment of recognition flashed in his eyes—something unreadable, something dark.

And then it was gone.

"Useless," he muttered, releasing her like she disgusted him. He turned away, his cloak billowing behind him. "Throw her in the servant's quarters. She will be of some use before she dies."

Before she dies.

Elara exhaled shakily.

She had been spared.

For now.

But something told her that living in the Alpha's palace was going to be a fate just as cruel as death itself.

—

The Servant's Quarters

The room was small, damp, and smelled of dust and old wood. The bed was barely more than a pile of thin blankets. The door creaked ominously as it shut behind her, sealing her fate.

Elara exhaled, leaning against the wall. Her limbs ached, her mind was foggy.

She had survived the selection. She had survived her first encounter with the Alpha King.

But what now?

A sharp knock on the door made her jump.

"Get up," a gruff voice commanded.

A woman stepped inside—tall, lean, with piercing brown eyes and a cruel smirk.

"You're the new pet, huh?"

Elara straightened. "I—"

"Doesn't matter." The woman tossed a pile of clothes at her. "You work now. Kitchen duty at dawn. Don't be late."

With that, she left.

Elara stared at the tattered dress in her hands.

She was no longer a girl from the village. No longer the niece her aunt had loathed.

She was nothing now.

Nothing but a servant in the house of a monster.

But monsters could bleed.

And she would find a way to survive.

Even if it killed her.

—

The Alpha's Watchful Eyes

Valrik sat in the shadows of the great hall, his fingers drumming against the armrest of his throne.

She had survived.

It made no sense. The others had been torn apart by the curse within hours.

But not her.

His golden eyes darkened.

There was something about her.

And he was going to find out what.

Even if he had to break her to do it.