Epilogue--Bella 1
Epilogue--Bella 1
Bella's POV
Mud caked under my fingernails as I clawed through the slop they called food, fighting to get my share before the larger slaves pushed me aside. Three months in this hellhole had taught me that hesitation meant starvation. I shoved my elbow into the ribs of a scrawny man reaching for the same chunk of gristle, feeling a hollow satisfaction when he wheezed and backed away.
"That's mine," I snarled, snatching the meat and retreating to the corner where my mother huddled.
Mother's eyes had sunk deep into her skull, the once-pristine skin now leathery and spotted with dirt. Her perfectly manicured nails—her pride and joy back at Silver Moon—were broken stumps, blackened with filth. She accepted the morsel I offered without a word of thanks.
This was what we'd been reduced to. From Alpha's family to werebear slaves.
I still heard Aria's voice in my nightmares: "I hereby banish Bella and Aurora to the Werebear Territory wilderness." The self-righteous bitch had everything now—the Alpha position that should have been mine, her perfect little family, her power restored. While I... I had this.
The fetid stench of unwashed bodies filled our cramped quarters—a crumbling stone structure with a leaking roof and dirt floor where many slaves were packed like sardines. The werebears viewed wolves as natural enemies. Finding us abandoned at their borders had delighted them. Two she-wolves from a prominent pack, delivered like a gift to become their property.
"Drink," Mother rasped, passing me a chipped clay cup filled with murky liquid. I didn't question where she'd gotten it—probably by trading sexual favors to the guards. It was our survival strategy now.
I gulped the brackish water, ignoring the gritty sediment that scraped my throat. When I lowered the cup, I caught my reflection in the remaining liquid—a warped, distorted version of myself peering back.
Even through the murky surface, I could see that my features remained striking. My high cheekbones and full lips stood out, despite the layer of grime. My eyes—once bright with ambition and cunning—still held their intensity. I touched my matted hair, remembering how it used to shine like polished mahogany when I bothered to maintain it.
The werebear leader, Cole, came to mind. I'd seen him from afar—a hulking brute with shoulders twice the width of any wolf alpha, his face perpetually twisted in a sneer beneath a thick black beard. Rumors circulated among the slaves about his appetites: his penchant for collecting female slaves to warm his furs, raping them, using them until they broke, then discarding them for fresh meat.
Most slaves feared being summoned to his quarters. But as I stared at my reflection, an idea crystallized.
"I'm still beautiful," I whispered, tracing my finger along my jawline.
"What nonsense are you muttering now?" Mother snapped, her voice a shadow of the imperious tone she once commanded.
I turned to her, excitement bubbling beneath my exhaustion. "We've been thinking about this all wrong. We don't need to be slaves forever."
Mother snorted, the sound harsh and unladylike. "Enlighten me, daughter. How do you propose we escape our situation?"
I leaned closer, lowering my voice. "Krassus takes bed slaves."
Her eyes widened with horror. "You can't be serious. Those girls return broken—if they return at all."
"But they eat better while they last," I countered. "They sleep in warm beds, wear clean clothes. It's better than this." I gestured at our squalid surroundings.
"You'd whore yourself to that animal?" The disgust in her voice made me laugh.
"As if you haven't done worse to survive here," I shot back, watching her flinch. "Besides, I'm not just any slave. I'm still an Alpha's daughter. I know how to please powerful men."
"Was," Mother corrected bitterly. "You were an Alpha's daughter. Now you're nothing."
Her words stung, but I ignored them. The plan was already forming in my mind. I would make myself noticeable, desirable. I'd use the one currency I still possessed—my body—to elevate my position. Perhaps I could even become his favorite, gain enough influence to improve our situation permanently.
Over the next week, I began implementing my plan. I washed whenever water was available, even if it meant fighting for it. I stole a small piece of red cloth from the laundry pile and fashioned a band to tie back my hair. When the guards marched us to our work assignments, I made sure to stand taller, move with the grace I'd once possessed as a pack elite.
My efforts didn't go unnoticed. The guard who supervised the laundry detail began to linger near me, his beady eyes following my movements. I offered him subtle smiles, made sure to bend lower than necessary when gathering clothes. Small favors followed—an extra bread crust, assignment to indoor work instead of the backbreaking field labor.
"What you're doing is dangerous," Mother warned one night, after I'd returned with a small piece of soap—a treasure beyond measure in our circumstances.
"What I'm doing is surviving," I retorted, using the precious soap to scrub my face. "More than surviving—I'm planning our ascension."
Mother shook her head. "You sound delusional."
Perhaps I was. But delusion was preferable to despair.
My opportunity seemed close when I overheard guards discussing Krassus's growing boredom with his current favorites. My pulse quickened at the news. If he was seeking new entertainment, I could position myself accordingly.
Then she arrived.