Terrell's POV
The two-day ride to Hawkins' estate had been torture of a different kind - the kind where rage simmered beneath my skin with no outlet, no throat to tear, no bone to crush between my jaws.
I was furious with everything. Furious with this whole situation, and the fucking moon goddess for playing this cruel prank on me.
My warriors knew better than to speak. They'd learned long ago to read the signs: the set of my jaw, the way my hands gripped the reins until my knuckles went white, the deadly silence that meant one wrong word could cost them their tongue.
I wanted to kill something. Needed to kill something.
The beast inside me paced restlessly, demanding blood, demanding violence. It had tasted slaughter at the Hound pack village and now it hungered for more. Two days of riding had done nothing to satisfy it - if anything, the forced stillness had only sharpened its appetite.
When we finally crested the hill overlooking Hawkins' estate, I pulled my horse to a stop. The mansion sprawled below us, all stone and iron gates, surrounded by gardens and large hectares of lands.
Behind me, the slave trader cleared his throat nervously. "That's it, Alpha. Hawkins' estate."
I turned to look at him - this weasel of a man who'd sold the virgin nun like an animal. In as much as I didn't like her, she'd deserved better. He flinched under my gaze, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed hard.
"Thank you for allowing me to be of service, Alpha," he stammered, already backing his horse away. "I'll just be…"
"No." The word came out as a growl.
He froze. "Alpha?"
"You'll follow us in." I smiled, and I knew it wasn't a pleasant expression. "You're going to be of service until we retrieve the nun. After all, this is your mess to clean up."
The color drained from his face. "Of course, Alpha. Whatever you need."
I turned back to the estate, my smile widening. Maybe I would get my reason to kill after all.
"Move forward," I commanded.
*********
Angel's POV
Three days.
Three days since they'd dragged me through those iron gates. Three days since my life had become a nightmare I couldn't wake from.
I sat in the corner of the dungeon cell, my arms wrapped around my knees, staring at nothing. The stone walls were damp and cold, the air thick with the smell of mold and human suffering. Somewhere down the corridor, I could hear water dripping - a steady, maddening rhythm that marked the passing of each endless hour.
My family was dead. My sister, my parents, little baby Elijah who I'd never even gotten to meet. All gone. Slaughtered and burnt like animals.
And I... I'd been sold like cattle. Bought and paid for by a monster.
I closed my eyes, but that only made it worse. Because when I closed my eyes, I saw that first night. I remembered everything.
Three Days Ago - First Night
After Hawkins had introduced me to his son, he'd barked out orders immediately. Two guards dragged me away, my feet scraping against the ground as they hauled me toward the servants' entrance.
"Take her to the washing rooms," a cold female voice had commanded. "Master Hawkins wants her presentable."
The washing rooms. The words sounded so innocent, so normal. But there was nothing innocent about what happened there.
They'd stripped me right there in the corridor, four women with hard eyes and harder hands, pulling at my soiled dress until it tore. I'd tried to cover myself, tried to maintain some shred of dignity, but they'd slapped my hands away.
"Don't be difficult," one of them snapped. "You think you're the first girl we've prepared for the master? You're nothing special."
They dragged me into a large stone room where a wooden tub sat in the center, steam rising from the water. But before they let me near it, they made me stand on a drain in the floor.
"She's filthy," the head maid said, wrinkling her nose. "We'll need to scrub her clean before she even touches the master's water."
They brought buckets of cold water first, throwing them over me until I gasped and shook. Then came the brushes - hard-bristled, rough things that scraped against my skin like weapons.
"Please," I whimpered as one of them scrubbed my back so hard I felt skin break. "You're hurting me."
"Be grateful we're cleaning you at all," another maid muttered. "Most girls who come here don't get this treatment. Master Hawkins must have paid well for you."
They scrubbed every inch of me - my arms, my legs, between my toes, under my fingernails. They poured soap that smelled of lavender over my head and dragged combs through my tangled hair, ripping out knots without mercy. When I cried out, they only worked faster.
"The master doesn't like his girls to smell like peasants," the head maid said as she personally scrubbed my face with a cloth so rough it felt like sandpaper. "He likes them clean. Pure-looking, even if they're not."
After what felt like hours, they finally let me into the warm water. But even that wasn't relief - they climbed in with me, three of them, continuing to scrub and wash and rinse until my skin was pink and raw.
They washed my hair three times. They cleaned under my arms, between my legs, behind my ears. They left no part of me untouched, no privacy intact. By the time they pulled me from the tub, I was shaking so hard my teeth chattered.
"Much better," the head maid announced, examining me like a piece of meat. "Almost looks presentable now."
They dried me roughly with coarse towels, then rubbed scented oils into my skin - jasmine and rose, smells that made me want to vomit because they were covering up what had been done to me, making me smell pretty when I felt nothing but shame.
The dress they brought was white - pure white, like the ceremonial dress I should have worn for my nun's vows. But this one was different. The neckline plunged lower than anything I'd ever worn, and the fabric was so thin I could see the outline of my body through it.
"I can't wear this," I whispered.
The head maid slapped me across my face before I even saw it coming. "You'll wear what the master provides, or you'll wear nothing at all. Which would you prefer?"
I pulled on the dress with trembling hands.
They brushed my hair until it shone, pinched my cheeks to make them pink, and lined my lips with some kind of rouge that made them look fuller, redder.
"There," one of them said, stepping back to admire their work. "She almost looks pretty. If you squint."
The others laughed.
Then they led me through the mansion - up servants' stairs, down long corridors lined with rare artifacts and silk curtains.
Finally, we stopped in front of massive double doors carved with intricate designs. The head maid knocked twice.
"Enter," came a deep voice from within.