Traded to the Ruthless Alpha

I waited until the grandfather clock in the lower hall chimed two in the morning.

The keep was pitch-black, save for the dying embers of the central hearth. Clutched against my chest was the stained sweater and my dirty jeans, wrapped in a bundle so the sour grease wouldn't brush against the hallway runners.

At my father's house, bringing ruined clothes to the laundry meant kneeling on gravel while my mother lectured me on wastefulness. The servants here were kind, but I knew better than to test that kindness. Strangers always tired of burdening themselves for a stray.

I slipped out through the scullery door into the bitter night air.

Frost coated the stone pavers of the courtyard, crunching faintly beneath my socks. The detached washhouse was dark and freezing, smelling of lye soap and damp wood. I didn't dare turn on the overhead bulb, fearing the light might catch the attention of the perimeter guards.

Working by the pale moonlight filtering through the high rafters, I pumped ice-cold well water into a zinc washbasin.

The water stung like needles. Within seconds, my knuckles turned raw and white. I grabbed a block of harsh laundry soap and went to work, scrubbing the thick broth out of the wool fibers with everything I had. My fingers went numb, losing sensation until each scrape against the washboard sent dull aches shooting up my wrists.

Still, I didn't stop until the fabric was spotless.

I wrung out the heavy wool, hung both pieces over the drying line near the back boiler, and hurried back upstairs before my teeth stopped chattering.

I thought I had been careful.

I didn't see the kitchen maid standing by the pantry window, watching me carry my soaked bucket in the dark.

***

When the black sedan brought me to the university gates the next morning, the quad looked entirely different.

The usual bustling chatter had vanished, replaced by an uneasy, stifled silence. Small clusters of students stood near the stone pillars of the main hall, whispering behind raised hands and staring toward the administrative office.

A security officer in a dark uniform stood by the glass entrance, holding a clipboard.

Posted right beside the main directory was a sealed white notice carrying the official stamp of the regional council and the crest of the Blackthorn Alpha.

*Disciplinary Action: Code of Conduct Violations.*

I stopped, my boots glued to the pavement as I scanned the bold print.

Brielle and three other students from prominent pack bloodlines had been placed under formal investigation for aggravated harassment. Two of them had already received two-week suspensions, stripped of their campus privileges and barred from pack gatherings.

My stomach dropped into a cold pit.

Ronan hadn't believed my lie. He had gone straight over the heads of the university board, demanding an inquiry before the sun even rose.

For a single, fragile second, relief flickered through my ribs. I thought the nightmare was over. I thought the threat had finally backed down.

I was wrong.

"You think you're clever, don't you?"

The voice hissed from the shadows of the side colonnade.

Before I could turn, a rough hand grabbed the hood of my coat and yanked me off the main walkway, dragging me behind the heavy stone arches of the old arts wing.

Brielle shoved me against the rough brick wall. Her face was flushed crimson, her eyes wide with unhinged fury. Beside her stood two of the girls from yesterday, their jaws set tight.

"Brielle, stop," I gasped, clutching my canvas bag against my ribs. "What are you doing?"

"What am I doing?" Brielle took a step closer, jabbing a manicured finger hard into my collarbone. "My father got a call at dawn from the Alpha's enforcers. My record is flagged. I'm suspended from the spring summit because of you!"

"I didn't say anything to him," I said, my voice shaking. "I swear I didn't. I told him I dropped my tray."

"Liar!" she snapped, slapping my hands away from my chest. "You ran straight back to his bed and cried like a pathetic dog. You couldn't handle a little soup, so you had your buyer threaten our families!"

"I didn't report you!"

"Shut your mouth," the girl to her left sneered. "Look at you. You're weak. You're ugly. You're nothing but a worthless runt whose family traded her away like damaged livestock. You think Ronan actually wants you? You're just a pity case living off his handouts."

"What's going on here?"

A sharp, familiar voice cut through the damp air.

My heart seized. Dorian walked around the corner of the colonnade, wearing his expensive varsity jacket, his hands jammed into his pockets.

For half a second, the naive part of me hoped my brother had come to stop them.

Then he looked at me, and his mouth twisted in sheer disgust.

"Dorian," I whispered.

"Shut up, Maris," he said coldly. "Our father just got summoned by the regional council. Blackthorn is reviewing our pack's trade permits because of this childish bullshit. Do you have any idea how much embarrassment you've brought on our family?"

"She poured food on me, Dorian," I choked out. "She's been doing it since yesterday."

"Then you should have handled it quietly," he snapped, stepping right up to me, his shadow blocking out the light. "Instead, you drag our name into a public inquiry. You make us look like incompetent weaklings who can't even keep a tribute in line. You're a stain on our bloodline."

He turned his back on me and looked at Brielle.

"Do whatever you want with her," Dorian said flatly. "Just make sure she learns to keep her mouth shut."

He walked away without looking back once.

"Grab her," Brielle ordered.

Hands seized my forearms. I tried to pull back, kicking my boots against the stone, but the two girls twisted my wrists behind my back, pinning me against the cold wall.

Brielle grabbed my hair and dragged me down the narrow stairs leading to the basement maintenance corridor.

The lower level was deserted, smelling of dust, mildew, and rusted pipes. They shoved me through a heavy iron door at the end of the hall, slamming it shut behind us.

The room had no windows. A single bare bulb hung from a frayed wire overhead, buzzing faintly.

"Let me go!" I shouted, struggling against the grip on my arms.

A sharp slap cracked across my face. The force of it whipped my head sideways, the copper taste of blood bursting over my tongue.

"Kneel," Brielle hissed.

One of the girls kicked the back of my knee. My leg buckled, and I slammed hard onto the filthy concrete.

Before I could push myself up, Brielle reached into her leather tote and pulled out a heavy pair of silver utility shears.

My blood turned to ice. "No. Please. Brielle, don't—"

"You like acting like a high-and-mighty Alpha's bride?" Brielle sneered, grabbing a thick handful of my dark hair.

The blades crunched together.

The sound was sickening—a harsh, grinding shear of metal through hair. Long strands fell across my eyes, tumbling onto the grimy floor like dead leaves.

"Please stop!" Tears burned down my cheeks, blurring the room into smears of gray. "I didn't tell him! I swear on my life, I didn't tell him!"

They laughed.

Brielle hacked away in frantic, jagged clumps, tossing the severed locks into the dust. "Keep crying, Maris. Maybe your Alpha will hear you from across the valley."

The other girl pulled a smartphone from her pocket, aiming the lens directly at my face.

"Strip her jacket," Brielle ordered. "Strip all of it. Let's see how proud Blackthorn is when the whole campus sees what his precious tribute actually looks like."

Hands tore at my clothes.

I fought, thrashing my shoulders, but they pinned my wrists to the floor. My jacket was ripped away, the fabric tearing at the seams. Fingers grabbed the hem of my shirt, wrenching it over my head, followed by the rest of my outerwear until my bare skin pressed against the freezing concrete.

The camera flash flared against my eyes.

"Look at the camera, stray," the girl with the phone mocked. "Beg for it. Tell everyone how sorry you are."

"Please," I sobbed, my forehead pressed against the dirt, trembling so violently that my teeth clicked together. "Please, just stop... please..."

Deep inside my ribs, Wren roared.

My wolf clawed desperately at my consciousness, trying to force the shift, trying to rip through skin and bone to tear these tormentors apart.

*Fight!* she screamed in my mind. *Shift!*

Agony flared through my spine. My joints cracked, burning with the sudden surge of energy. But my body was too depleted. Nineteen years of starvation, exhaustion, and broken bones betrayed me. The shift failed, the spark dying out like water poured over dry embers. Wren collapsed inside me, whining in weak, helpless defeat.

I couldn't fight. I couldn't protect myself.

The will to resist drained out of my limbs. I gave up, curling my bare body inward, wrapping my bruised arms tightly around my trembling shoulders as the cold air bit into my skin.

Laughter bounced off the concrete walls.

Then, the laughter stopped.

A sound echoed from the far end of the maintenance hallway.

Heavy, thunderous footsteps.

The vibration traveled through the concrete floor, rattling the iron pipes along the ceiling. It wasn't the hurried stride of a security guard or the casual walk of a student. It was the crushing, measured cadence of an apex predator.

Brielle froze, the shears slipping from her fingers and clattering against the ground.

The room went dead silent.

My vision began to darken at the edges, the cold and the pain pulling me downward into a thick, suffocating fog. My head sank to the floor, my breath shallow and weak.

Through the haze, from somewhere down the corridor, a voice ripped through the dark, shaking the very foundation of the building.

"Maris!"

I couldn't hold on. My eyelids drifted shut, the darkness swallowing the room whole.

Right outside the locked door, the footsteps halted.

The air beneath the gap turned thick, carrying the crisp scent of balsam fir and mountain rain, suffocating in its absolute fury.

He caught it all through the wood—the metallic tang of my blood, the salt of my tears, and the stench of the strangers who had laid hands on his mate.

Outside that door, Ronan Blackthorn lost every ounce of his control.