Below the manor, in utter darkness, Camilla lay curled in the narrow cell. She was panting, each breath ragged like an athlete’s after a race—only she had raced with no finish line. Hunger gnawed at her stomach, and her throat felt as raw as sandpaper. The heat in the dungeon had climbed as the hours wore on, making the thick, fetid air even harder to breathe. She thought of Ash—her wolf, her friend—the only being who had ever shown her genuine kindness.

“I hope you are okay, Ash,” she whispered, her words fading into the dampness around her. “Please stay safe… I will never want you or your family to suffer because of me.” She tried to imagine her mind linking to his, but the cell’s darkness closed in so tightly it felt as though no thought could escape its walls.

Exhaustion finally claimed her, and she drifted into a restless sleep.

***

Suddenly, footsteps clattered outside her door, followed by the grating sound of hinges swinging. She bolted upright, the last of her energy surging in a rush of fear. A sharp wedge of light cut through the gloom as four maids in cream uniforms stepped inside, their faces a mixture of pity and duty.

“Pick her up,” one whispered.

They seized her elbows and hauled her to her feet. Pain exploded across her bruised legs as she blinked against the sudden brightness. She hung her head, swallowing hard against the taste of tears. “What… what is this?” she murmured, voice cracking, when their grip tightened even more.

Weak though she was, she let them guide her out of the cell, through winding corridors she barely recognized. Tapestries she had never seen before lined the walls—vibrant scenes of hunts and moonlit forests, woven so finely they seemed alive.

At last, they turned into a marble-floored passage that glittered with hidden lights. A pair of ornate double doors opened, revealing a bathroom so vast and luxurious it took her breath away. A heated marble bench ran beneath a carved stone window—though the glass had been frosted to obscure any view of the outside. A deep, clawfoot bathtub sat at the center, spouting torrents of steaming water into the air.

“You may step in,” the eldest maid said gently. “We’ll wash you.”

With strong, practiced hands, they stripped away her dirty tunic and helped her into the bath. The water was scalding—almost too hot—but the warmth seeped into her bruises, dulling their ache. She closed her eyes and leaned back, letting the heat carry her pain away. One maid washed her hair with fragrant soap scented with jasmine and honey; another worked scented lotion into her arms and legs, kneading until the knots beneath her skin surrendered.

When they finished, they led her across a hall to a vast walk-in closet. Racks of gowns in every color hung from gilded hooks: crimson silk, emerald velvet, shimmering gold, midnight blue. Camilla backed away, rubbing her arms. “No… Karina will kill me if she finds me here.”

A soft click sounded behind her. She turned to see Karina drifting into the room, her gown a sleek column of black fabric that hugged every curve. In one hand, she held a jeweled hairbrush; the other rested lightly on her hip. Her smile was slow and almost affectionate.

“Darling,” Karina purred, voice velvety. “Hurry. You look beautiful already. Pick one.” She swept her arm toward four dresses laid out on a marble bench: red, green, gold, and blue. “Don’t keep your father waiting.”

Camilla’s hands shook as she reached for the red silk gown. It glimmered in the soft overhead light, heavy and cool in her fingers. She let the maids dress her—slipping into the gown, tightening the corset until it felt like silk-wrapped iron around her ribs. They brushed her hair until it gleamed, applied light makeup to conceal the worst of her bruises, and handed her a long, gilded mirror.

She barely recognized the girl who stared back: cheeks flushed, lips softly tinted rose, eyes wide beneath arches of dark lashes. She looked—she had to admit—a princess.

***

Downstairs, Cameroon stood in the main hall, his tuxedo jacket fitted as perfectly as any tailcoat, yet somehow too tight around his shoulders. Karina sat on a velvet settee beside him in a black, figure-hugging gown that shimmered with onyx beads. Larissa and Lakisha hovered behind, both in matching red cocktail dresses that contrasted sharply with Camilla’s scarlet silk. Their smiles were unnervingly bright, their eyes bright with the triumph of a plan finally in motion.

Camilla stepped into the room, red gown rustling like a gentle breeze. Her father crossed the floor in two long strides and pulled her into a half-embrace. She stiffened, bracing herself. But his touch was soft, almost tender—softer than any she had ever known from him.

“My daughter,” he murmured, his voice strange and low. “Today, I accept you.”

Karina reached over and squeezed Camilla’s shoulder. “Alpha Killan is hosting a post–full moon celebration tonight. Your father insisted you join us.”

Larissa slid an arm around Camilla’s waist. “No more treating you like trash. You’re his blood.”

Lakisha placed a light kiss on Camilla’s cheek. “We’ll show you how to enjoy yourself tonight.”

Confusion churned in Camilla’s gut. Every detail of this moment—the polite bows, the whispered promises, the sudden warmth in her father’s voice—conflicted with the cruelty of the dungeon less than an hour before.

Outside, a sleek black SUV purred up to the manor gates. Camilla climbed in, stiff as a board, sliding onto the plush leather seat. The tinted windows turned the outside world invisible, and for the first time, she felt utterly alone. Her father and stepmother leaned forward, their voices low and soothing, but their smiles only deepened her unease.

The SUV wound through a moonlit forest, silver light filtering between the trees in shifting patterns onto the road. Finally, it emerged onto the Midnight Moon pack’s estate: a vast courtyard lit by torches in iron braziers that flared against the night. A wide marble driveway curved up to a mansion crowned with glowing purple lights. Gargoyles watched from their perches, and carved columns soared to support an arched portico.

The SUV slid to a stop. Karina linked arms with Camilla, guiding her out. The double doors swung open into a great hall alive with music and laughter. Crystal chandeliers blazed overhead, scattering prisms of light across the black-and-white marble floor. Guests in finery drifted through the room, their voices rising and falling like wind across a chime.

Camilla followed her family into the glittering throng. Her pulse fluttered so fast she could feel it at her temples. Then, like a sliver of ice sliding into her spine, she saw him.

Alpha Killan stepped from a cluster of admirers. Tall and regal in a tailored purple suit that matched the pack’s lights, he carried himself with unshakeable confidence. His ice-blue eyes roved the hall until they locked onto Camilla. For a heartbeat, the noise around her dimmed to a hush.

Killan approached with slow precision, greeting Cameroon and Karina with measured nods. Then his gaze swung back to Camilla. “And this must be your daughter?” he asked, voice smooth as polished ebony.

Camilla forced her chin up, her throat tightening. “Y-yes,” she managed.

Her father extended her hand. Killan took it firmly; his grip was warm, surprisingly strong. He looked down at her hand, then back into her eyes, as though searching for something hidden in the depths. Camilla felt herself involuntarily withdraw.

Karina’s gentle laugh floated through the moment. “She’s… not used to strangers touching her.”

Killan’s brow lifted in interest. “Interesting.” Then, with a deliberate nod, he turned and melted back into the crowd.

Camilla exhaled—though it felt more like a shudder. The sudden attention had left every gaze in the room trained on her. She felt their eyes like needles, pinning her in place. Heart pounding, she slipped away through a side door into the gardens.

Moonlight spilled across marble fountains and trailing flowering vines. The air smelled of night-blooming jasmine and wet earth. She sank onto a cool stone bench, pressing her fingers to her temples as her left eye fluttered in an uncontrollable twitch.

Her thoughts drifted back to Ash, the one person who had ever cared without a single hint of cruelty. “I hope you’re okay, Ash,” she whispered into the quiet night. “Please stay out of trouble because of me.” She closed her eyes, and for one fragile moment, the world felt still.

Then frantic voices shattered the hush.

“Camilla! We need you right away!”

Her father’s voice—sharp, panicked—cut through her reverie.

She sprang to her feet, smoothing her gown with trembling fingers, and hurried back into the manor.

The grand hall lay in a sudden hush so complete it pressed on her eardrums. Guests stood in a wide circle around Cameroon and Karina, their faces ashen. Larissa and Lakisha hovered behind them, their earlier triumph drained away and replaced by a white-hot fear.

Camilla halted midway across the marble floor, confusion coiling tight in her belly. “Father? Mother?” Her voice quavered as she stepped closer. “What happened?”

Neither of them answered. Their eyes stared past her, fixed on something beyond the far wall, something Camilla could not yet see. Their faces were drenched in horror, their mouths half-open as though words had died in their throats.

A chill crawled up Camilla’s spine. She clenched her fists, feeling the weight of every eye in the hall now shift to her.

Her mind raced. What could have caused such terror?

Gathering every ounce of courage she had left, Camilla forced herself forward, determined to face whatever unspeakable sight waited beyond those gilded doors.