Chapter 23 So tired
The room fell deathly silent, save for the sound of my labored breathing and Henry's strangled gasps. The kitchen staff rugged, sharp-eyed werewolves—scattered like leaves in a storm, their unnatural speed blurring them into shadows. I was left standing alone in the suffocating presence of the Alpha, surrounded by beings who were stronger, faster, colder than I’d ever be.
I didn’t need to look at Jaden to feel the weight of his fury; it radiated from him like heat from a wildfire, pressing into my fragile human skin. The very air around him crackled with restrained violence. Slowly, I let go of Henry, whose skin was unnaturally cold beneath my fingers. He slumped to the ground, clutching his bleeding neck, black-red blood seeping through his fingers as he coughed violently. My claws retracted—an odd side effect of my transformation here, not truly werewolf, not truly human just a distorted imitation.
I turned to face the Alpha, heart pounding so hard I could hear it in my ears, my mind racing for an explanation that wouldn’t land me in the grave.
“Well?” Jaden’s voice was calm—too calm. That razor-edge of control made my stomach twist. “Didn’t I tell you, Henry, to monitor this lady with my strongest warriors?” Jaden didn’t even glance at me. His cold, obsidian eyes were pinned to his werewolf lieutenant.
“Your warriors monitored me, but he attacked me first,” I replied before I could stop myself, my voice surprisingly steady despite the fear curling deep in my gut like barbed wire. “I defended myself.”
Jaden’s dark gaze slowly shifted to me. His lips curled into a smirk that didn’t reach his eyes. "Did I tell you to speak? And what the fuck do you mean by ‘defended yourself’?" he echoed, stepping closer with slow, deliberate strides, until his towering frame loomed above mine.
"From my werewolf lieutenant? In my court? You think you have the right to fight back?"
My jaw clenched. I stayed silent. Any answer would be the wrong one. My human instincts screamed at me to run, to shrink, to cower—but I held still. Proud. Defiant. A mistake, maybe, but the only one I could live with.
"You’re a human," he sneered, the word itself an insult on his tongue. “You’re alive because I allow it. You breathe because I tolerate your existence. And yet you repay me with this?” He gestured at the bloodied Henry, who staggered to his feet, fangs bared and eyes bloodshot with fury.
“Alpha,” he rasped, hatred twisting his pale features, “this—this human is dangerous. She—”
“Quiet.” Jaden’s command cut through the air like a blade, sharp and absolute. Henry’s mouth snapped shut with a choke. The Alpha's gaze returned to me, piercing and unrelenting. “You should be on your knees, begging for forgiveness.”
“I won’t kneel,” I said before I could stop myself. The words fell like stones in the silence. Gasps rippled through the air from the few who remained, their cold, marble faces turning toward me with expressions of shock—or amusement.
My heart thundered. Every cell in my body screamed at me to back down, to submit. But I refused to look away.
Jaden’s smirk faded. His expression turned cold, analytical—like he was trying to determine whether I was a threat or a toy that had cracked. “Brave,” he murmured, voice low and dangerous. “Or foolish. Tell me, human, what makes you think you’re above submission?”
“I’m not above it,” I said, each word scraped from the steel inside me. “But I won’t submit to someone who lets their court abuse others just because they can. If that’s what you call strength, then you can keep it.”
A hush fell, heavier than before. Jaden studied me like a collector examining a rare, flawed artifact. Then—unexpectedly—he laughed. A low, cold sound that curled around my spine like ice water. Even his laughter sounded unnatural. Inhuman.
“Interesting,” he said, more to himself than anyone. “You think you’re different. That you’re better than the rest. We’ll see how long that spirit of yours lasts.”
He turned to the silent guard who had escorted me earlier. “Take her back to my chambers,” he ordered, voice as empty as the void.
Not the whorehouse this time, at least.
The werewolves as usual gripped me and took me there.
I collapsed onto the bed the moment they slammed the door behind him. My body ached, but the loneliness hurt worse. Living with the other slaves, surrounded by whispers and stolen warmth, had been better than this icy silence. This was isolation. A beautiful prison built for one.
Just as sleep began to pull me under, there was a knock at the door. “I’m coming,” I mumbled, dragging myself to my feet. I assumed it was one of the pale, silent maids delivering my next meal.
But the girl who entered wasn’t what I expected.
She looked my age—maybe younger. Her skin, unlike the other werewolves’, still held a hint of life, a faint blush of warmth. No tray in her hands. No collar around her neck. She didn’t have the stiff posture of a maid or the predatory arrogance of a court member.
“Here’s your breakfast,” she said lightly. She turned and took a tray from the guard outside, then smiled at me with a kind softness that looked almost...human.
I didn’t return the smile. I kept the frown on my face like armor.
“Heard that you were starved for three days,” she murmured, setting the tray on the nightstand. Her voice was light, but there was something sad underneath it.
I sat on the bed, ignoring her.
“Huh! It’s okay, even if you don’t reply. I’m Zara, Jaden’s sister. I know how he’s treating you, so I’m not shocked by how you’re acting.”
She spoke more to herself than to me. But I listened.
She seemed nice. Maybe too nice. Maybe she was a spy. Or maybe she was the only one in this palace who didn’t look at me like I was food or filth.
“So you know that I’m here against my will?” I asked, finally breaking the silence.
“Yeah. I know everything,” she said, plopping down on my bed like we were old friends. “This is only the second time in history a human has been chosen as our queen.”
“Ugh,” I sighed. I was sick of this conversation. Sick of their fascination with my species. I reached for the tray and began to eat.
She watched me closely, as if every bite I took was a revelation. I could feel her curiosity, her awe, and maybe even her envy. My heartbeat. My warm skin. My fragility. Things none of them had.
“Karen,” she said softly after a while.
“Yes?” I turned to her, weary but listening.
“I don’t know if you know much about bearers,” she began carefully.
“As a bearer, you’re more special than regular werewolf females,” she continued.
“How?” I asked, despite myself. My interest piqued.
“You can conceive multiple times a year. For most of us werewolves, we can only get pregnant during rare blood moon cycles—only once or twice a year. And even then, it’s hard. Our bodies reject most attempts. Too strong. Too defensive.”
My stomach turned. I lost my appetite. I’d tried to get pregnant before—tried and failed. She was telling me I had some kind of supernatural fertility?
“Our pregnancies are short—four to five months but rare. And our bodies tend to destroy the male’s seed. Rapid healing, aggressive immunity. That’s why birth rates are low.”
She kept talking, even though I said nothing.
“You’re lucky,” she whispered. “Your body was gifted. You can heal quickly. You can carry life. You could give birth to four… even eight children.”
I swallowed hard and crossed my legs instinctively, my chest tightening at the thought.
“I want to nap,” I said, setting the tray aside.
Her face dropped, disappointed. But I didn’t care.
I was tired, tired of their world, their rules, their obsession with my body.
Tired of being the only one who still bled red.