The only sound in the Great Hall should have been the delicate, high-pitched screech of silver scraping against fine bone china. It was a rhythmic, civilized sound—the hallmark of a pack that prided itself on its refinement. The butler, a man who had mastered the art of being a shadow, moved with mechanical grace, tilting a crystal decanter to refill Alpha Adrian's glass without spilling a single, ruby-colored drop.
But the silence was a lie.
CRACK.
The sound of the lash was wet and sharp, echoing off the floor-to-ceiling window that dominated the western wall.
Trinity sat perfectly still, her spine a rigid line of defiance. From her position at the table, the geography was a deliberate cruelty. If she looked at Alpha Adrian, seated at the head of the table, her gaze naturally drifted just past his shoulder to the Punishment Grounds outside. In the flickering, hellish orange of the torchlight, she could see the silhouette of the post, the arc of the whip, and the slumped, shuddering form of the man tied to the iron rings.
CRACK.
Every time she looked at Adrian, it was as if he were a devil on his throne, with a backdrop of suffering souls painted in shadow just behind him.
A ragged, desperate scream tore through the night air. It was a sound of pure, unadulterated agony—a plea for mercy that was answered only by the whistling wind and the heavy thud of the next blow.
Inside the hall, the atmosphere was thick with the scent of roasted pheasant, expensive port, and the underlying, metallic tang of fear. Aram was eating with a repulsive, primal hunger, his fork stabbing into his meat as if it were a fresh kill. Harlow sat opposite him, her expression a mask of bored elegance, though the way her fingers tightly gripped the stem of her wine glass betrayed her.
Every time the whip met flesh, Harlow's porcelain veneer fractured. She was a loyal wife, but this felt like too much. It was going too far. She cast a fleeting glance toward her husband, but no matter what she said to Adrian, he wouldn't hear it.
Adrian, however, was the picture of serene authority. He took a slow, deliberate bite of his dinner, chewing thoroughly as a second scream—shorter this time, ending in a choked, wet sob—filtered through the glass.
"You're not eating, Trinity," Adrian remarked, his voice smooth and terrifyingly conversational. "The pheasant is excellent tonight. A bit firm, perhaps, but then… everything is better when it has to struggle a little, don't you think?"
"I've heard it spoils the meat," Trinity replied, her voice steady and unnervingly calm. "I'm just… enjoying the view."
Her throat bobbed harshly as the words were forced out. She had become quite adept at these threatening dinners.
Adrian's smile did not waver, but the air around him became perceptibly colder. He lifted his glass of port, swirling the dark liquid. "A reminder of what happens when the collective chooses to defy the established order. A lesson in the importance of compliance."
"I have my doubts," Trinity said. "But then again, I've never been beaten or tortured so vigorously that my mind then turned to peace."
The idea that torturing so many would broker some kind of herd-like compliance felt ridiculous. Someone would crack. Someone would break. And eventually, you had to fight back.
"You don't need to think if you follow orders," Aram said between bites, bits of food falling from his mouth.
Alpha Adrian's lip quirked as he looked from Aram back to Trinity. "Quite wise! It is why he will make a great mate for you, Trinity. You would be perfectly matched."
The offense wasn't lost on Trinity. This was the third male—low-ranking, brain-dead, and vicious—that Alpha Adrian had pushed for her to mate with.
Aram leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with a possessiveness that made Trinity's stomach twist. He reached across the table, his thick fingers lightly touching the back of her hand. "I only wish to care for you, Trinity," Aram purred, a lie that hung heavy and obvious. "You would want for nothing."
Trinity gently, almost imperceptibly, pulled her hand away. She kept her gaze fixed on Adrian. "I'm not a cow that needs to be sold."
The silence that followed was deafening. Even the whip outside seemed to pause for a heartbeat. Adrian's eyes darkened into pinpricks of cold fury. He turned his head slightly toward Aram.
"Aram," Adrian said, his voice dropping into a tone of pure command. "You mentioned earlier how much you admire the history of this house. You should take a moment to explore the west wing. The portraits of the Alphas past... they are quite instructive on the nature of power."
Aram blinked, a piece of pheasant halfway to his mouth. "The art, Alpha? Now?" He chuckled, oblivious to the frost in the room. "Uh, sure, okay. Maybe next time? I haven't even finished the bird yet."
He went back to his plate, stabbing a potato with joyous abandon. Adrian didn't speak; he simply shifted his gaze to the butler. The butler moved instantly, stepping forward and sweeping Aram's plate away before the man could take another bite.
"Hey!" Aram protested, his fork hitting the empty tablecloth with a dull clack. The black in his eyes intensified as he looked at the puny butler, his wolf begging to rise to the surface.
"Since you have clearly finished your meal, Aram," Adrian said, his voice smooth as silk and twice as dangerous, "you should have that tour you so greatly desired. Now."
Aram looked at his empty spot, then at his Alpha. His wolf receded instantly. The dim realization of his dismissal finally pierced his thick skull. He stood, his chair groaning against the floor. "Right. Of course, Alpha. The pictures."
As Aram retreated, a piercing, shrill cry of a woman being lashed outside sliced through the room. Harlow flinched, her shoulders jumping in a sudden, sharp movement of empathy. Her breath hitched. She quickly reached for her linen napkin, delicately dabbing the corners of her mouth with trembling fingers.
"I find I have a sudden interest in the archives myself," Harlow murmured, her voice thin. "I believe I shall join Aram. The history of the pack is so... vital."
Alpha Adrian barely spared his mate a glance as she scurried away. Once they were gone, he leaned forward, the candlelight carving deep, demonic shadows into his face.
"Without the distractions, we should speak plainly," Adrian said, placing down his glass of port.
Trinity pushed her plate forward, her food still nearly completely untouched.
"I promised your father that I would take care of you in his absence—"
"You use my father's name to invoke your lies," Trinity interrupted. "Can we not speak honestly?"
Alpha Adrian laughed harshly. She was so bold. There wasn't a wolf in this entire territory that would dare cut him off or speak to him with such little reverence. But here she was—a little girl with the bravery of a soldier. If she wasn't a "defective," she would almost be the kind of child he would want.
"Okay. No lies. You are an agitator. I want you out of sight," he said, his voice hardening. "Far away from the politics of this pack, without the ability to control the masses."
With the emergence of defectives lately, she was amassing a small army in his eyes. Because of their family ties, they were allowed in the pack, but none of them were true pack members yet. If they didn't take the pledge, they were outliers he could not afford.
Trinity smiled, but it had no warmth. "How formidable I must be in your mind. No one is rallying behind me, Alpha Adrian. You were out there. You heard. This is a miscalculation. If you're worried about a leader, it isn't me."
Trinity looked out the window. The Alpha couldn't see it, but she could. The only one amassing power was Ryan. He looked like an Alpha out there—proud and strong, taking punishments for others. The newly turned wolves were rallying around him; they all looked to him for confirmation of what to do next.
She was the outsider, standing on the fringes, despised by everyone. The wolves hated her because she was defective, believing her responsible for the pup's death. The defectives hated her because they felt she received unfair treatment, absolved from physical punishment. And the Alpha hated her for the imaginary threats playing in his mind.
"I can't make everyone see sense. I'm not omnipotent," Adrian said, leaning in. "So let me be even more direct. This will not stop until you are mated to a low-level pack member. The whippings, the fear... all of it. You want your people to be safe? I leave discretion in your hands."
Author's note:
Took a minute to remember what I wanted to happen next. My notes got a bit messy over the holidays.