Epilogue--Bella 2

Epilogue--Bella 2

Bella's POV

The new shipment of slaves included a girl who immediately drew every eye. Her hair, even matted with dirt, gleamed like white gold in the sunlight. Her eyes, when she dared raise them, were the clear blue of a summer sky. Her skin, though smudged with travel grime, was clearly flawless beneath.

She couldn't have been more than eighteen—younger than me by several years—with a willowy frame that somehow hadn't been destroyed by whatever hardships had brought her here.

I hated her instantly. Something about her delicate features and quiet dignity reminded me of Aria. The same self-righteous posture, the same air of unearned superiority.

"She'll catch his attention," I hissed to Mother as we watched the new arrivals being processed. "Look at her—she's exactly what Cole would want."

Mother assessed the girl with calculating eyes. "Then we must ensure she doesn't remain desirable."

The solution was obvious. That night, while most slaves slept, Mother and I cornered the girl near the water barrels where she was trying to wash her face.

"What's your name?" I asked sweetly as Mother blocked her escape route.

Her voice trembled. "Lina."

"Lina," I repeated, reaching out to touch a strand of her hair. "So pretty. Too pretty."

Fear flickered in those blue eyes as she realized her danger. "Please, I don't want trouble."

"That's unfortunate," I smiled, "because trouble has found you."

I knocked the small cup of water from her hands, watching with satisfaction as she flinched. "Think you're better than the rest of us? Think you can stay clean when everyone else suffers?"

Lina backed away, her shoulders bumping against the rough stone wall. "I wasn't—I didn't—"

"You didn't what?" I circled her like a predator. "Didn't think someone would notice how you preen? How you try to catch the guards' eyes?"

The resemblance to Aria intensified when she lifted her chin slightly—that same defiant gesture I'd seen a thousand times. My hand shot out, gripping her jaw painfully.

"Tomorrow, you'll be assigned to clean the cooking area," I hissed. "The oil vats. They're still scalding hot when they need scrubbing."

"But that's—"

"Your job now," Mother interjected, her voice cold. "Unless you'd prefer something worse?"

Lina's eyes widened with understanding. In the slave hierarchy, cleaning the oil vats was notorious—the heat burned hands raw, the fumes damaged lungs, the heavy scrubbing broke backs.

"And if you tell anyone we requested this special assignment for you," I warned, pressing my thumb harder into her cheek, "we'll make sure you disappear entirely. Understand?"

Tears welling in her eyes, Lina nodded.

"Good girl," I patted her head condescendingly. "Now get back to your pallet. Your pretty hands won't stay that way for long."

Mother and I returned to our sleeping area, settling on our thin pallets with a sense of accomplishment. For the first time since our banishment, I felt something like my old self—powerful, in control.

"That was well done," Mother murmured, an unusual note of approval in her voice.

I smiled in the darkness. "I haven't lost my touch after all."

In the days that followed, I made Lina's life a living nightmare. When she was assigned to scrub floors, I'd deliberately walk across her clean sections with muddy feet. When she reached for food during meals, I'd step on her fingers, grinding them into the dirt. Each time, I'd whisper "Just like Aria" in her ear, relishing how she flinched at the unfamiliar name.

The oil vat assignment proved particularly effective. After just two days, her once-soft hands were red and blistered, the skin peeling away in painful strips. Her golden hair lost its luster from the constant exposure to greasy smoke, and the hem of her ragged dress was singed from proximity to the fires.

Despite our efforts, Lina still drew attention. Though her appearance had deteriorated, her underlying beauty remained discernible. Worse, her obvious suffering seemed to intrigue rather than repel certain guards. I overheard one commenting that Cole enjoyed "breaking the spirited ones."

Panic gnawed at my insides. Had our torment actually made her more interesting? The thought was unbearable.

That evening, I was ladling watery gruel into my bowl when I caught fragments of conversation between two of Cole's personal servants.

"...blonde one caught his eye when they arrived..."
"...likes them a bit roughed up sometimes..."
"...inspection tomorrow..."

My stomach clenched. All our efforts might have been for nothing.

I returned to Mother with the news, finding her unusually agitated.

"We must do something more permanent," she whispered, her eyes darting around to ensure we weren't overheard. "Tonight, while she sleeps."

The implication was clear. We couldn't risk merely tormenting Lina anymore—we needed to eliminate her entirely.

But when darkness fell and we crept toward the corner where the new slaves slept, Lina's pallet was empty.

"Where is she?" I hissed, scanning the huddled forms of sleeping slaves.

Mother's grip on my arm tightened painfully. "Someone took her already."

Dawn brought chaos to the slave quarters. Guards stormed through, kicking sleeping forms awake, shouting questions. Lina had vanished completely—escaped, somehow, despite the supposedly impenetrable security.

Cole himself appeared at midday, his massive frame blocking the sunlight as he entered our quarters. The slaves prostrated themselves immediately, pressing their foreheads to the dirt floor. I followed suit, but not before catching a glimpse of his face—contorted with rage, his bear-like features even more terrifying in anger.

"The blonde girl," he growled, his voice rumbling like distant thunder. "Who helped her escape?"

Silence greeted his question. No one dared speak, whether they knew anything or not.

"Very well," he snarled. "If I cannot have what I wanted, I will take what is available."

His steward moved through our ranks, assessing the cowering women with clinical detachment. I felt his eyes linger on me and raised my head slightly, enough to meet his gaze without seeming defiant. I had prepared for this moment—kept myself as clean as possible, arranged my hair to frame my face attractively despite its filthy condition.

When he stopped before me, I held my breath.

"This one," he declared, pointing to me. "She has... spirit in her eyes."

A rush of triumph surged through me as guards pulled me to my feet. I caught Mother's gaze as they led me away—her expression a mixture of horror and envy.

I was escorted to a stone building separate from the main compound, given a rough but clean shift to wear after being ordered to bathe in actual heated water. The transformation was remarkable—with the grime removed, my natural beauty emerged like a butterfly from a chrysalis.

As the sun set, I was brought to Cole's private quarters. The room was surprisingly luxurious—adorned with furs and trophies, illuminated by dozens of candles that cast a golden glow over everything. The werebear leader himself reclined on a massive bed, his powerful body barely contained by a silk robe.

"Come closer," he commanded, his voice gentler than I'd expected.

I approached with calculated hesitation, keeping my eyes downcast in a show of submission while ensuring my posture emphasized my figure.

"You're from the wolf pack to the south," he stated, not a question.

"Yes, master," I confirmed, using the title I knew he'd prefer.

He circled me slowly, appraising every inch. "Not as young as I usually prefer. But... interesting."

I swallowed my indignation at being called old. "I can please you in ways inexperienced girls cannot," I suggested, infusing my voice with promise.

A smile—predatory and cold—spread across his face. "Is that so? Show me."

With practiced movements, I let the shift fall from my shoulders, standing naked before him. His eyes darkened with appreciation, and for a moment, I felt the familiar power of knowing I was desired.

"Beautiful," he murmured, reaching out to trace my collarbone with one massive finger. "For a wolf."

The contempt in those last three words should have warned me. But I was too intoxicated by my apparent success to heed the danger signs.

What followed was nothing like I'd imagined. Cole didn't want a bed companion—he wanted a plaything to dominate and destroy. His idea of pleasure bore no resemblance to seduction or even normal rutting. It was pure, calculated pain.

The first blow came without warning—a backhand that sent me sprawling across the furs. Before I could recover, he was on me, his weight crushing the air from my lungs.

"Did you think I would be gentle with wolf scum?" he growled against my ear, his breath hot and reeking of meat. "Your kind slaughtered my brother's cubs during the last territory dispute."

I tried to speak, to plead, but his hand closed around my throat. Blackness crept into the edges of my vision as his grip tightened. Just before consciousness fled, he released me, allowing me a desperate gasp of air.

"Better," he purred, his face transformed with cruel delight. "I like to hear them beg."

And beg I did. For mercy. For a quick end. For anything but the torment he inflicted with methodical precision. Each time I thought it couldn't get worse, he found new ways to prove me wrong.

Hours passed, or perhaps days—time lost meaning in that chamber of horrors. At some point, I realized I was dying. My body, once my greatest asset, was breaking under his systematic abuse. Internal injuries made each breath a labor, and blood—my blood—stained the expensive furs beneath me.

In my final moments of clarity, a bitter laugh bubbled up through my ravaged throat. After everything—the scheming, the betrayals, the desperate clawing for power and position—this was my end. Not as Luna of a powerful pack, not even as a respected member of Silver Moon, but as a disposable plaything for a creature who saw me as less than nothing.

The greatest irony? If I had remained at Silver Moon, accepted my place as second to Aria instead of poisoning her, I would still be living in luxury and comfort. My ambition had been my undoing.

Darkness closed in as Cole grew bored with my weakening responses. The last thing I heard was his disgusted grunt as he called for guards to remove me.

"Disappointing," he muttered. "Wolves always break too easily."

My final thought, as life ebbed away, was of Aria. Not with hatred, but with a strange, detached envy. She had won after all. She had everything—power, family, freedom.

And I... I had nothing but the cold embrace of death, alone and unmourned in enemy territory.




Hey there, my amazing readers!

We've officially reached the end of this book's journey together. I can't believe we made it! Thank you so much for sticking with me through every twist, turn, and probably a few cliffhangers that made you want to throw your phone across the room. Sorry about that!

I know so many of you have been asking about Leo's story. I'm back with a brand new tale, and this one's all about Leo and that mysterious girl who escaped in Bella's epilogue.

The new story is called "Claiming Slave Omega As My Luna," and it's already live with over forty chapters waiting for you! Just search for it in the app and you'll find it.

Thank you for all your support, your comments, your theories, and just for being the best readers an author could ask for.

Much love,
Heidi ♥