Bow Down, My Former Alpha

I heard the heavy footsteps before I saw him. Xavier's presence filled the narrow dungeon corridor, his Alpha aura pulsing with dominance and cruelty. Two guards flanked him, their expressions blank as they unlocked my cell.

"Get up," Xavier commanded, his voice cold as the stone beneath my feet.

My body trembled as I rose. Three days in the dungeon had weakened me, the wolf-suppressant drugs making my limbs heavy and unresponsive. The guards seized my arms, dragging me from the cell when I stumbled.

"Where are you taking me?" I dared to ask, my voice barely above a whisper.

Xavier's smile was sharp enough to cut. "To show you exactly what you missed out on."

They marched me through the packhouse, past wide-eyed omegas who quickly averted their gaze. No one intervened. No one even met my eyes. I was a ghost now, less than nothing in their world.

The guards stopped outside Xavier's private chambers—the Alpha suite I should have shared with him as his Luna. My heart clenched painfully as the door swung open.

Diana lounged across Xavier's bed, her golden hair spilling over silk pillows. She wore nothing but one of his shirts, which barely covered the essentials. Her eyes gleamed with malicious triumph when she saw me.

"Perfect timing," she purred, stretching languidly. "We were just about to start."

One of the guards produced a chain from his belt and secured it around my wrists before fastening the other end to a hook in the wall—forcing me to stand just feet away from the bed, unable to turn away.

"Watch and learn," Xavier said, his voice thick with satisfaction as he moved toward Diana. "This is what a real mate does for her Alpha."

I closed my eyes, but Xavier's hand shot out, gripping my jaw with bruising force. "Watch," he growled. "This is what you'll never have."

Tears streamed down my face as Xavier and Diana performed for me, their bodies entwined in the bed that should have been mine. Every moan, every whispered word was a knife twisting in my gut. The mate bond might be broken, but the phantom pain lingered, a cruel reminder of what I'd lost.

"You're pathetic," Diana whispered when they finished, her eyes alight with sadistic pleasure as she noted my tears. "So weak, so useless."

Xavier released my jaw with a contemptuous shove. "Take her back to her hole."

* * *

The next morning marked the beginning of my new life as the pack's living entertainment.

"Clean my boots," sneered Tomas, one of Xavier's favorite fighters, sticking his mud-caked footwear directly in front of my face. "With your tongue."

I hesitated, the wolf-suppressant drugs making it hard to summon even basic defiance.

"I said clean them," he repeated, shoving my head down toward the filthy leather.

Behind him, several other pack members gathered, snickering and placing bets on how long it would take me to comply.

"Come on, rejected," another called. "Show us how low you can go."

Slowly, feeling every ounce of dignity drain away, I extended my tongue and began to clean the mud from Tomas's boots. The taste was revolting, but resistance meant worse punishment.

Later that day, they made me carry firewood from the forest edge to the packhouse kitchens—a task that would have been simple for any werewolf, but with my strength suppressed, each log felt like it weighed a hundred pounds. My arms screamed in protest as I staggered under the load.

"Faster!" Diana shouted from her perch on the training field's edge. "Or there's no food for you tonight."

I stumbled forward, legs shaking, determined not to give her the satisfaction of seeing me fall.

* * *

"You need to eat more than this," Elena whispered, her weathered hands pressing a small bundle into mine as we worked in the kitchens. The elderly Omega had raised me after I was found abandoned on pack territory—the closest thing to a mother I'd ever known.

"Elena, if they catch you—"

"They won't," she insisted, her eyes darting nervously around the empty kitchen. "Besides, what kind of mother would I be if I let them starve you?"

Inside the bundle was bread—real bread, not the moldy scraps I'd been given—and some cheese. Tucked beside it was a small vial of salve for the welts on my back from yesterday's "accident" with a training whip.

"Thank you," I whispered, hiding the food in my pocket.

Elena squeezed my hand briefly. "Be strong, little one. The Moon Goddess sees all."

* * *

The town square bustled with activity as Diana finished her shopping spree. Four large bags dangled from my arms—designer clothes and luxury items she'd purchased to celebrate being Luna.

"Move faster," she snapped as I struggled to keep pace. "Some of us have a pack meeting to attend."

My foot caught on an uneven stone, sending me stumbling forward. One of the bags ripped open, spilling expensive bottles across the cobblestones.

Diana's shriek could have shattered glass. "Look what you've done!"

Before I could apologize or gather the scattered items, Marcus Thornfield materialized beside us, his face thunderous with rage.

"Incompetent slave," he growled, seizing a whip from his belt. "You'll learn respect for your Luna's property."

The first lash caught me across the back, tearing through my thin shirt and into flesh. I bit my lip until I tasted blood, determined not to scream.

"Second strike for dropping your burden," Marcus announced to the growing crowd of onlookers. "Third for daring to damage Luna Diana's purchases."

As the whip whistled through the air again, I caught sight of Elena in the crowd, her face pale with horror. Behind her stood Dr. Hendricks, his medical bag clutched tightly in white-knuckled hands.

Neither moved to help me.

No one did.