I Pray To Never Be His Mate

Chloe POV

On the third day, my body finally gave out.

The silver dust in the air had poisoned my lungs, and my Inner Wolf was too weak to even whimper.

Two Warriors dragged me out of the dungeon by my arms.

My bare feet dragged against the stone steps, entirely numb.

They threw me like a broken doll onto the polished marble floor of the Pack's main hall.

The bright chandelier lights burned my sensitive eyes.

Hunter sat on the Alpha's throne at the head of the room, looking down at me like a god judging a sinner.

"Are you ready to submit and apologize to Ivy?" his deep voice echoed through the silent hall.

I slowly pushed myself up on my trembling, bruised arms.

I lifted my head and stared straight into his dark eyes.

"A noble White Wolf never bows to a filthy Rogue," I said, my voice barely a whisper, but steady.

Hunter's face became a mask of cold fury.

He hurled the crystal whiskey glass in his hand straight at me.

It shattered against the floor right next to my face.

A sharp piece of flying crystal sliced across my cheek.

Warm blood trickled down my skin, dropping onto the pristine marble.

"Ivy's wound got infected because of your dirty claws," he snarled, standing up from his throne.

"You will get on your knees and beg for her forgiveness."

I let out a dry, bitter laugh.

"I hope she rots in hell," I spat.

Hunter crossed the room in three massive strides.

He grabbed a handful of my tangled hair and yanked my head back, forcing me to look up at him.

His oppressive Alpha scent of pine and dark storms tried to crush my will.

"One day," I gasped, staring into his furious eyes, "the ghosts of the Silver Moon Warriors will tear you to pieces."

Ivy was sitting on a plush sofa nearby, releasing a heavy scent of sorrow to manipulate the room.

"Alpha," she sighed softly. "She is even using her own destroyed Pack as an excuse to act crazy. It is so disrespectful to the dead."

Her words worked perfectly.

Hunter's jaw tightened, his expression settling into the hard certainty of a man who believed he was witnessing a calculated, malicious performance.

He let go of my hair and stood up tall.

"Bring them," he ordered his Warriors.

A group of guards walked in, carrying piles of old, delicate dresses.

My heart stopped.

I recognized the soft fabrics and the faint, comforting scent of jasmine and rain.

They were my mother's dresses. The only things I had left of her scent. The only proof that she had once existed—that she had once held me in her arms, that she had once brushed my hair and whispered that I carried the most noble bloodline in our history.

Hunter turned to the five-year-old pup, Leo.

He handed the boy a pair of heavy, silver-plated scissors.

"Go ahead, Leo," Hunter said coldly.

Leo giggled excitedly. He grabbed the scissors and ran over to the pile of dresses.

He started snipping and tearing at the beautiful fabrics, ripping my mother's memory into shreds.

"No!" I screamed, my voice tearing my throat.

I dragged my weak body across the floor, desperately reaching out to stop him.

"Stop it! Don't touch her things!"

Leo turned and kicked my injured hand with his hard little shoe.

"I am destroying the bad woman's things!" he cheered, cutting a beautiful blue silk gown in half.

Hunter stood there, watching me with cold, dead eyes.

"She's your mother, Leo. If she won't act like a Luna, show her what happens to liars," Hunter commanded, his voice stretched taut over a current of something desperate, as if the words were meant more for himself than for the boy.

I looked at the shredded fabric covering the floor.

My Inner Wolf let out a devastating, mournful cry that shook my very soul.

My chest hurt so much I felt like I was suffocating.

I looked up at Hunter, tears finally spilling over my eyelashes.

"I will never submit to you," I whispered, my voice filled with a loathing so profound it felt like ground glass in my throat. "I will make you pay for this."

Hunter's face darkened completely.

"Throw her out to the territory borders," he ordered the Warriors. "Let the thunderstorm wash away her madness."

The Warriors grabbed me by my arms and dragged me toward the massive oak doors.

They threw me out into the freezing, torrential rain.

I hit the muddy ground hard.

Thunder crashed above me, shaking the earth.

The silver poison in my brain reacted to the cold, sending violent spasms of pain through my skull.

I had to get away. I had to go home.

I forced myself to stand up, my bare feet sinking into the freezing mud.

I stumbled toward the dark, endless forest, desperately trying to remember the path back to my parents' territory.

Behind me, the mansion loomed against the storm-lit sky—a fortress of warmth and light that had once been my home. But as I dragged my broken body into the darkness of the trees, I understood with cold clarity that I would rather die in the wilderness, alone and unmourned, than spend one more night under the roof of the man who had destroyed everything I loved. I did not know that before the night was over, he would destroy the last thing I had left—the memory of home itself. Nor did I know that his wolf was howling in his chest, clawing at the walls he had built around his heart, sensing that its Mate was slipping away.