Chapter 6

Today was the day I was finally meeting Lucas, the father of the Lycan King, after a grueling month of training.

The vehicle glided down the shadowy path, its motor a soft rumble amidst the stillness. I positioned myself at the rear, the rogue beside me feeling like a chilling, oppressive burden. He hadn't said a word since we departed from the rogue pack, and I didn't have the courage to inquire about our destination. The atmosphere inside the car was heavy with implicit dangers, the sort that quickened your heartbeat and made your chest constrict.

The outside night seemed never-ending. The headlights created a slim route through the darkness, lighting up the sporadic tree or dark shape. I maintained my hands clasped in my lap, my nails pressing into my palms to prevent them from shaking.

We drove into a lot, gravel crackling beneath the tires. The rogue emerged and unlocked my door. "Go."

I complied, my legs rigid and shaky as I emerged. The structure in front of us was ancient and dirty, its exterior worn and tarnished. A dim neon sign buzzed overhead at the entrance, the Polish words unfamiliar to me.

He guided me inside silently, the faint light creating elongated shadows that appeared to trail us along the narrow corridor. The air had an odor of perspiration mixed with something metallic, reminiscent of old blood.

We halted in front of a door, and the rogue tapped twice before opening it. "Stay here," he commanded, his voice harsh.

I remained just outside the room, the door slightly open. Sounds floated away, muted yet clear.

"She’s prepared," the rogue stated.

“Alright,” responded another voice, calm and soft. “The client has been waiting.”

A moment of silence followed by a laugh. "Is she compliant, you claim?"

“like a dream. Doesn't say a word, doesn't push back. Flawlessly broken."

The words struck me like a blow, yet I maintained a neutral face. broken. The term weighed heavily in my heart, icy and stifling.

The door swung open suddenly, and I was pulled in. The abrupt motion caused me to fall to my knees. My hands struck the chilly, sticky ground, and I promptly rose, keeping my head down.

"Here she is," the rogue declared, his tone oozing with insincere pride. "Isn’t she gorgeous?"

I did not raise my gaze. I had no requirement to. I sensed the pressure of the man’s stare, intense and assessing as it moved across me.

"Stand up," a deep voice ordered.

I stood up gradually, my actions deliberate, my head remaining lowered.

The man in front of me was tall, his stature dominating the space. His hair was gray at the temples, his face marked by age yet still robust, authoritative. He radiated strength, the type that compelled you to retreat while simultaneously attracting you.

He moved nearer, his aroma a blend of pine and a deeper, earthier scent. It pulled at the borders of my recollection, yet I couldn’t determine why.

"Is she mute?" he inquired, his voice tinged with contempt.

"Indeed," the trafficker responded swiftly. “However, she possesses great skill.” Ideal for your requirements.”

The man's lip twisted faintly, his contempt evident. "A silent wolf. Useless."

I tightened my fists by my sides, the keen points of my nails digging into my flesh. Remain silent. Remain motionless. Endure.

The smuggler chuckled uneasily. "She is compliant, I guarantee you. Want to see?"

I sensed the air change, the space becoming more silent. The man signaled for the trafficker to depart.

"Leave," he remarked.

The door shut with a certainty that caused my stomach to churn. We were by ourselves.

"Come over here," he said, his tone gentler yet still authoritative.

I advanced, my actions instinctive. Over the past month, I understood what was required of me. Compliance. Delivery. Anything beneath that signified suffering.

He assessed me once more, his keen eyes slanting. “They’ve tidied you up nicely.”

I did not reply. Instead, I knelt down, the stance I had been instructed to adopt. It was robotic, empty, a way to endure.

"You recognize your position," he remarked, his tone nearly commendatory. "Great."

The hours slipped by in a blur of requests and adherence. His voice was calm, strong, resolute.

"Remain in that spot."

“Gaze at me.”

"Talk only when addressed."

I complied without hesitation, my body functioning like a marionette on cords. Every order took a slice of my spirit, but I didn’t waver. Flinching attracted attention, attention led to punishment, and I had no energy remaining for either.

Nothing escaped his eyes. The smallest pause triggered a flash of contempt on his face, a clenching of his jaw that had me breathless. When I fulfilled his expectations, which I did without rest, he offered a slight nod, as if I were merely a well-disciplined dog.

It was about staying alive. Only existence.

By the moment he guided me to dinner, my limbs seemed like heavy burdens. The restaurant was opulent, the sort of venue where gleaming wood and gilded chandeliers mirrored a lifestyle I had only observed from afar. The aroma of grilled meat and savory spices wafted through the air, causing my stomach to twist before I had even taken a seat.

Lucas motioned for me to take a seat, his hand a relaxed wave that conveyed a lot. No words, no recognition, only anticipation. I eased into the seat across from him, being cautious not to emit any noise. The table in front of us was broad, covered in white cloth, and arranged with shining silver utensils that I thought I didn't deserve to use.

He examined the menu, his actions measured and careful, as I gazed at the dish before me. As the waiter came over, Lucas placed his order without asking for my opinion.

“She’ll take the salmon,” he remarked dismissively, his focus remaining on his own choice.

I nodded, my voice stuck somewhere in my throat.

The meal came quickly, a true work of culinary artistry. The salmon was flawlessly cooked, its golden crust shimmering in the gentle light. It was supposed to be delicious, yet just seeing it made my stomach churn.

“Eat,” Lucas instructed, his tone more authoritative than advisory.

I took the fork, my hands shaking as I pierced a tiny piece of fish. The initial bite was light and buttery, yet it felt heavy in my stomach like a rock. I compelled myself to chew and swallow, the effort enormous.

"Could I be dismissed?" I gestured after several tormenting bites.

The maid who was standing close by looked at Lucas. He didn’t even glance away from his food as he gestured me away.

"Leave," he commanded brusquely.

The maid guided me out of the dining area and along a tranquil corridor. My legs felt shaky, making each step harder than the previous one. She visited a tiny restroom and gave me a cup of water.

“Have this,” she remarked, her tone laced with worry. “I’ll go get someone to assist.”

The water felt refreshing on my dry throat, yet it hardly alleviated the queasiness. Shortly after, an elderly woman showed up. She had a sturdy build, her gray hair gathered into a neat bun, her face marked by experience. Her keen gaze examined me from top to bottom.

“How long have you been feeling this way?” she inquired, her tone sharp yet gentle.

"A week," I confessed, my voice just above a whisper.

Her look soured, her eyebrows frowning together. "Stay here."

She came back with a little strip in her hand, one that I was all too familiar with. "Utilize this," she directed, her voice allowing for no dissent.

Perplexed but too exhausted to argue, I obeyed her directions. The minutes stretched endlessly as we awaited the outcome. When she eventually glanced at the strip, her expression relaxed, yet her eyes reflected a hint of concern.

"You're going to have a baby," she remarked without emotion.

The words struck me like a punch. The world rotated, and I clutched the rim of the sink to stabilize myself. My heart constricted as memories surged forth—the unknown man from the Polish hotel, his piercing stare, the coarse quality of his voice, his fragrance that remained long after he departed.

“No,” I murmured, shaking my head.

The woman put a reassuring hand on my shoulder. "It’s still early. You can conceal it for the time being."

Her tone was serene, yet the impact was overwhelming.

"What should I do?" I inquired, my voice breaking from the pressure of fear.

"You will survive," she stated plainly. “Conceal it. Hide it for as long as possible. Nobody needs to be aware at this point.”

The problem was how? Lucas would murder me if he learned the truth. That was definitely clear.