Chapter Three

Natalia

The van screeched to a stop, gravel crackling beneath the tires. My stomach clenched as the doors swung open, sunlight slicing into the dim interior.

This was it—Night Walker territory.

They'd brought me to the heart of their stronghold: a sprawling, high-security compound surrounded by towering concrete walls, barbed wire curled like vipers atop them. Cameras blinked like eyes. Armed guards patrolled in tight, disciplined pairs.

It was cleaner and more modern than I expected—almost sterile—but the sense of malice hung heavy in the air. It wasn’t just a pack. It was a machine, built to consume and control. And I had just been fed into it.

Jeers greeted me the moment I was hauled from the van. Wolves lined the pathways, some laughing, others sneering. I kept my chin up, refusing to flinch. If they expected me to cower, they were in for disappointment.

They dragged me into a stark white building—administrative, cold, and reeking of chemicals. A woman in a lab coat waited inside, the lack of emotion on her face more chilling than any threat. She held a metal collar in one hand, a scanner in the other.

“Welcome,” she said blandly. “You belong to the pack now. Hold still.”

I barely had time to tense before she snapped the collar around my neck. A quiet click and a soft chime confirmed it had locked into place. My spine went rigid. The collar wasn’t just symbolic—it was a leash. A tracker. A declaration: You are property now.

“Name?” she asked, eyes never meeting mine.

I forced the words through clenched teeth. “Natalia, daughter of Alpha Alec of the Wild Crest pack.”

The title tasted like ash in my mouth. The woman didn’t even blink.

She scanned me without ceremony, pausing at my torso and abdomen. The scanner beeped. She nodded, almost to herself.

“Untouched. Virgin,” she announced to the guards like I was livestock. “Send her to lower residence. Domestic service and sanitation rotation.”

I didn’t react. Couldn’t. Not here, not yet. There was too much to take in—and too much I needed to learn. Information was power. Rage could wait.

They escorted me through the compound, and I took everything in—the training yards filled with sparring wolves, the gleaming armory stocked with weapons, the so-called "school" with barred windows and militant instructors.

This wasn’t a chaotic pack scraping for dominance. It was an empire. Efficient. Disciplined. Dangerous.

Finally, we reached a grim cluster of buildings surrounded by another fence—the slave quarters. Inside, everything reeked of sweat and despair. Wolves packed into tight rooms, their expressions hollowed by exhaustion and fear.

The guards handed me off to a woman with iron-gray hair and a jaw like stone. Agatha.

“Fresh meat,” she muttered, eyes narrowing. “You’ll start with kitchens and sanitation. Up before dawn. Work till you drop. Fall behind, you’ll feel it.”

She grabbed the collar at my throat and gave it a tug for emphasis.

She pointed to a bare wooden bunk shoved into the corner of a cramped room. “Sleep there. Training starts tomorrow.”

No welcome. No kindness. Just a place to collapse.

I dropped onto the mattress, bones aching and heart thudding. The other women gave me a wide berth. Newcomers brought trouble. They were waiting to see if I would survive the week.

I sat in silence, hands trembling slightly, and stared at the wall. I couldn’t afford to cry. Couldn’t afford to scream. But gods, I wanted to.

---

Days blurred into one another, each one worse than the last.

Wake before dawn. Scrub the latrines. Clean weapons caked in blood. Haul slop buckets, carry crates, polish boots. The work was designed to break us. Physically. Mentally. Spiritually.

Meals were gruel. Rest was a privilege. Watchers patrolled constantly, armed with electric prods and fists. They hit first, asked questions never. One mistake and you bled.

At night, I collapsed into my bunk too tired to dream—except when the dreams came anyway. My father’s torn body. My home in flames. James’ smirking face. The collar burned around my neck even in sleep.

But I listened. I watched. And I waited.

Whispers passed between bunkmates like contraband. Quiet, desperate voices exchanging knowledge like currency. That’s how I learned about the Alphas.

Triplets. Leo. Luke. Damien.

Each crueler than the last. They ruled with iron claws, fear, and spectacle. Public executions, ritualized punishments, forced displays of dominance. Even their own followers feared them.

But they had their weaknesses.

They indulged in beauty, in pleasure. A rotating harem of the most desirable slaves—those skilled enough to entertain and submissive enough to obey—were kept in luxury as playthings.

Some called it a reward. A twisted “escape” from the grueling labor.

I called it what it was: a gilded cage inside a dungeon.

I would never grovel for comfort. Never let them touch me. I’d rather suffer a thousand hours in the latrine pits than lie beneath one of those monsters with a smile on my face.

Let them think me weak. Let them assign me the filth and the fire and the floor to scrub.

I would endure.

And then, one day, I would rise from it.

And I would burn it all down.