Chapter 5 Forbidden

I used to believe that no matter how cruel life could be, there was always a glimmer of kindness somewhere. But here, in the Blood Moon Pack, kindness is a myth. A fairy tale. Something I no longer dare to hope for.

The moment Alpha Tyler enslaved me, I lost everything. My title. My dignity. My will to fight. I was once the Luna of the White Walkers Pack, a respected woman, a mother. Now, I am less than an Omega-nothing more than a worthless slave meant to serve those who once cowered before me.

My body aches as I scrub the stone floor of the packhouse kitchen. The rough bristles of the brush tear at my already raw skin, but I don't stop. I can't stop. The head Omega, a bitter woman named Lorna, watches me like a hawk, waiting for an excuse to punish me.

"You missed a spot, whore," sneers a young she-wolf as she walks past me, deliberately knocking over the bucket of water I've been using.

I freeze, my hands tightening into fists, but I don't dare retaliate. Instead, I lower my gaze and bite my tongue. I learned my lesson the hard way-the first time I tried to stand up for myself, I was beaten and starved for three days.

"Didn't you hear me, slut?" she hisses, grabbing a handful of my hair and yanking my head back. "Clean it up."

Laughter erupts from the wolves around us, their taunts echoing in the kitchen. I clench my jaw, forcing back tears.

"Yes, Ma'am," I whisper.

She smirks in satisfaction before shoving my head down and walking away. The sting in my scalp is nothing compared to the humiliation burning in my chest.

I force myself to move, gather the dirty water, and continue cleaning. Hours pass, my body moving on autopilot as I complete one task after another-scrubbing floors, washing dishes, serving meals, and taking insults with a blank expression.

The worst part? The younger wolves. The ones who should respect their elders, the ones I once helped train when I newly arrived now see me as nothing more than a joke. They shove me, spill food on me, and order me around like a dog.

By nightfall, I can barely stand, but my suffering isn't over.

Lorna approaches me with a twisted grin. "Alpha Tyler wants his room cleaned before he returns. You'd better not slack, pet."

I swallow the lump in my throat. I know what this means. The Alpha's room is the last place I want to be, but I have no choice. Disobedience means pain.

Dragging my exhausted body up the stairs, I push open the heavy wooden door to his bedroom. The scent of cedar and musk fills my nose. The room is large, extravagant even, but it feels suffocating. It smells like him.

On my hands and knees, I scrub the floor, my muscles screaming in protest. Every movement feels like agony, but I keep going, my mind blank.

I have no idea how long I have been cleaning when the door suddenly burst open with a loud bang.

I move quickly, dusting, straightening, making sure there's nothing out of place. Every second here feels like a nightmare.

I gasp and spin around.

Immediately, Alpha Tyler stumbles inside, his usually sharp golden eyes clouded, his movements sluggish. My breath catches.

"He's drunk." I thought.

That shouldn't be possible. Alcohol doesn't affect werewolves, unless...

"Wolfsbane," I mutter to my hearing alone.

Panic flutters in my chest. Why would the mighty Alpha Tyler be drinking something laced with poison? Did someone drug him?

He staggers toward me, his dark gaze locking onto mine. I instinctively step back, but there's nowhere to go. He is faster. Stronger. Even in this state, he could kill me with a flick of his wrist.

"Nikita..." His voice is low, slurred, almost... desperate.

I hesitate. "Tyler, you should sit down," I say cautiously, reaching out to steady him as he sways.

The moment my hands touch his arms, he growls and shoves me. I stumble backward, but before I can catch myself, he falls with me, his heavy body pressing me into the soft white bed beneath us.

His breath is warm against my skin, his scent overwhelming. A low gasp escapes my lips as his aura surrounds me, making my heart pound wildly against my ribs.

His face is so close, too close. The scent of alcohol and something else distinctly fills my lungs.

I can feel his cock hardening underneath his pants, throbbing in between my legs, and I swallow hard.

My body stiffens, my mind screaming at me to push him off, to run, to fight.

However, before I could react, his lips crashed into mine dominantly, and he began to kiss me with passion, quenching the anger coursing through my veins, and igniting hunger and passion.