Chapter 22 Teach her
Sleep didn’t come again that night, not with the adrenaline coursing through me like icy fire in my veins. My mind raced, calculating every possible move. If I stayed passive, they’d crush me like a brittle bone beneath their immortal claws. But if I fought, I’d have to be clever, careful. Alpha Jaden wielded ancient power the kind that bent centuries of loyalty and fear to his will. Harriet, with her webs of influence among the blooded elite, was no less dangerous. And the rest of the pack orbited their darkness, caught in their shadow like moths to a flame. The only way to survive was to find the cracks in their perfect immortal world and exploit them.
The first pale light of dawn crept through the barred window, the faintest hint of sun forbidden in this underground sanctuary where shadows thrived. With it came the distant murmurs of the pack stirring—soft whispers, low growls, and the subtle scrape of sharpened claws on stone. My body ached in ways that no mortal should, muscles tense from exhaustion and hunger that gnawed at me like a ravenous beast. But I pushed myself upright, leaning against the cold, damp wall. Whatever dark plans they had for me today, I’d be ready.
A sharp, deliberate knock on the door shattered the silence, followed by the unmistakable click of the ancient lock turning. I tensed, heart pounding not with fear but with a sharp surge of defiance. I half-expected one of the blooded girls or Alpha Jaden himself to stride in, but when the door swung open, it wasn’t them. It was a guard, his expression a mask of detachment, eyes cold as onyx. His skin was deathly pale, like the rest of them, but I—human and fragile—stood out like a beating heart in a crypt.
“Get up. You’re needed in the kitchens,” he barked, voice low and rough like gravel, motioning for me to follow.
I didn’t argue, didn’t hesitate. I needed to see more of this place, to map the twisting labyrinth of halls and shadows, to find those few if any who might sympathize with a lone human trapped among werewolves, or at least those who wouldn’t harm me outright. I followed the guard down the cold corridors, the faint metallic tang of blood and old stone filling my senses, my mind etching every corner and corridor into memory.
The kitchens were a chaotic mess of clattering pots, the sharp scent of frying blood meat, and the harsh voices of the pack’s servants, their tones a mix of resentment and weary submission. I was shoved toward a stack of grimy dishes, and the head cook, a grizzled woman with eyes sharp as a hawk’s and fangs just visible at the corners of her mouth looked me over with a snort of disdain.
“You’ll wash, you’ll scrub, and you’ll keep your mouth shut,” she snapped, thrusting a sponge and a bucket of soapy water into my hands. Her voice was brittle, a warning edged with centuries of hardened servitude. “You don’t, you’ll regret it.”
I nodded, biting back the retort that rose to my lips. For now, I’d play their game. For now.
As I scrubbed at the endless mountain of dishes, the water cold and rough against my skin, I listened. The kitchen staff gossiped freely, their voices low and urgent, blending with the rhythm of their work. I caught snippets—Harriet’s growing tension with another powerful werewolf, Alpha Jaden’s increasingly cruel commands, whispers of unrest among the human slaves and lesser-born alike.
It wasn’t much, but it was something. And it gave me hope. Because if there was unrest, if there were fractures forming in the pack’s iron grip, then I could use them.
After washing the dishes, they began sending me to deliver food to the upper class werewolves—the blooded aristocrats and fierce warriors who stalked the night with predatory grace.
“Bring my food quickly,” I heard a familiar voice bark as I walked back toward the kitchen’s cooking area. It was the beta himself—one of Jaden’s ruthless lieutenants.
Yesterday, he told Miss Daniella I wasn’t allowed in the kitchen, but here he was, ordering me around. I pretended not to hear him and kept walking.
“You’re just a human in this pack, and you’ll learn to respect me as the beta of this place,” he hissed suddenly, his grip clamping tight on my hair, yanking my locks roughly.
“Respect me?” I spat, hatred flaring in my chest.
I hated those words.
“Keep your hands to yourself!” I snapped, my voice sharp and cold. The other slaves—mostly humans like me—working nearby turned, mouths agape. This was going to be another fight. I didn’t want to face Alpha Jaden’s wrath, but I was tired of being disrespected, of being seen as weak.
“You really need to be taught a lesson,” he growled, teeth bared just enough to glint in the low light.
“I’m ready for it,” I retorted, surprising even myself. The gasps of the other slaves echoed softly in the cramped kitchen. “Be careful. I will beat the crap out of you.”
He chuckled darkly, ego shining in his cruel grin. “Ah, you’re still stubborn, even after everything. This time, I’m going to break you for good. Unlike Alpha Jaden, I’m not merciful.”
“Bite me,” I hissed.
Ugh. What a way to start the day. But I’d show him. Show them all. The true me.
“I’m waiting,” he sneered.
I ran my fingers through my tangled hair and looked away, the anger bubbling hotter inside me. I wanted to strangle him with my own hands. I was done being disrespected.
“This human doesn’t respect anyone. Alpha Jaden will surely put her down this time,” I heard a slave whisper, but I ignored her.
Instincts honed by desperation kicked in—I dropped my weight and buckled my knee hard into his crotch. He grunted in pain, clutching himself and loosening his grip. I followed quickly, driving my leg into his stomach with all the power I could muster. He flew backwards, crashing against the kitchen doorway with a heavy thud.
“What a bitch!” he growled, wiping the blood from his split lip.
When he raised his head, all I saw was red rage, fury, the fire of survival.
He staggered to his feet, clutching his stomach, limping toward me. I backed away cautiously. Male werewolves healed faster than humans, their strength and endurance centuries in the making. And I was no longer at my strongest—starved, exhausted, and alone.
In a flash, he was in front of me. Before I could react, he slammed me against a cracked mirror with brutal force. The glass shattered, shards slicing into my back. Pain seared through me, sharp and burning. I bit my lip hard to choke back a scream, but some omegas nearby—lesser werewolves—already fled the kitchen, afraid.
“A human like you won’t rule us,” he spat, pressing his boot down toward my head before pulling back to glare at me. “Now be a good slave and bring me food.”
I didn’t reply. I closed my eyes, but all I saw was his blood—red, hot, waiting.
The fire inside me boiled.
He moved fast—too fast. But I was angry, fueled by raw human rage. My instincts screamed.
I pivoted and slammed my knee into his crotch. Hard.
He grunted and doubled over, but I didn’t stop there. I brought my elbow up and drove it into his stomach, making him crash into the kitchen doorway with a loud thud.
“What a bitch!” he snarled, wiping at the blood trailing from his lip.
He staggered back up, slower this time, fury in his eyes.
Then he vanished.
In a blur of speed, he reappeared in front of me and slammed me back against a mirror with such force that the glass cracked behind my spine. A jagged shard sliced into my shoulder. I gasped, vision spinning as pain exploded in my back.
I bit the inside of my cheek until I tasted blood, refusing to cry.
“You humans are all the same,” he hissed, pinning me down with a boot to my chest.
The sound of fleeing footsteps echoed as the other human workers vanished from the room.
“A human like you won’t rule us,” he sneered. “Now be a good little pet and bring me my food.”
My pulse roared in my ears, but I didn’t respond. I just stared at the floor, pretending to surrender.
Then, I struck.
I twisted, using the slick floor to my advantage, and swept his legs out from under him. He hit the ground hard. I scrambled up and before he could move, I grabbed the edge of a pan and slammed it into the side of his head with every ounce of strength I had.
His growl choked off in his throat.
I stood over him, chest heaving. My hands trembled from adrenaline.
“Listen to me, Henry,” I breathed, bending slightly. “You’re fast, you’re strong, you heal in minutes. But I’ve got something you don’t.”
He coughed, glaring up at me. “What?”
“Men like you? They only know how to blabber. Don’t ever underestimate a human like me—that’s if I decide to let you live after this.”
He looked like he might spit a retort when a cold, deadly voice cut through the air.
“Alpha Jaden will kill you if you kill me…” he gasped through ragged breaths.
“Do you think I give a damn about him?” I hissed, even though fear tightened around my heart. I honestly feared Alpha Jaden and what he might do next.
“Who don’t you give a damn about?” The voice was ice-cold, razor-sharp.
I froze.
It was the Alpha himself.
Shit. I was dead.