Lycan Ardor stepped out of the bathroom, a towel slung carelessly around his chiseled frame, droplets of water still clinging to his skin. But it wasn’t the cool air that sent a shiver through him—it was something else. A strange warmth pulsed in his chest, a sensation foreign and unsettling. It wasn’t pain, nor was it power. It felt... emotional.
He frowned, gripping the edge of the sink as fragmented memories of Jasmine flitted through his mind—her eyes, her voice, her defiance. Something about her had slipped past his defenses, stirring a longing he didn’t know he was capable of. For a creature of war and control, it was deeply unsettling. He scowled at his own reflection, as if his steel-gazed eyes might offer clarity.
“Jeanne,” he muttered, summoning his Luna.
But even as he called her, a storm was already forming inside him—one that could not be ignored.
---
Weeks passed. For Jasmine, they were weeks of torment.
Being marked as the favored breeder came with chains of its own. The other women, bitter and envious, turned their backs on her. Their venom seeped into every whispered insult and every sneer. She became a symbol of what they could never have, a threat in a game she never chose to play.
Still, she endured—clinging to a fragile hope that one day, her suffering might end.
She didn’t know that someone was watching. That behind the cold walls of the palace, Ardor’s gaze followed her. What began as mere curiosity grew into something far more dangerous. He would summon her under trivial pretenses—fetching scrolls, arranging his chamber—just to feel her presence near him. Each interaction was a silent battle between his instincts and a yearning he couldn't name.
She made him feel human. And that terrified him.
---
Then came the day that changed everything.
“You’re being summoned to the elders’ meeting,” an older breeder announced, her voice as icy as the stone corridor.
Jasmine rose from her thin mattress, unease settling deep in her bones. Her limbs felt heavy. Dread whispered to her with every step she took. Her heart pounded, her breath came in short gasps. Rumors about the Lycan King's hidden prison—the Skull Home—flooded her mind. Torture. Blood. Death.
Still, she walked.
Behind her, two towering men emerged like phantoms. She turned, startled. Their eyes gave no hint of mercy.
“What is it?” she demanded, stepping back instinctively.
“We were ordered to deal with you,” the taller man said softly, almost regretfully—before his hand shot forward and wrapped around her neck.
Jasmine clawed at his grip, gasping for air. “Who—who sent you?” she rasped.
“Someone bigger than you.” The second man raised a clenched fist—and brought it down across her head.
Darkness swallowed her.
She woke to agony.
Slaps cracked against her cheeks, dragging her from unconsciousness. Her head lolled, eyes fluttering open to a hellish sight—bones, shadows, and ropes binding her to a pillar. She thrashed. The ropes bit into her skin.
“What is this madness?” she screamed, her voice raw. “Why are you doing this?”
“To make you suffer... and beg for death,” sneered the shorter man.
He raised a jagged piece of skeletal bone and struck her across the ribs. A scream tore from her lips.
The taller man approached next—his weapon a serrated jawbone. He dragged it slowly across her flesh. Blood followed.
Jasmine clenched her eyes shut, trembling, trying to separate her mind from her body. But the pain only escalated. She was doused in a familiar-smelling liquid. Alcohol.
Seconds later, her body ignited in a different kind of fire. Her screams pierced the darkness.
“What did I do?” she sobbed. “I didn’t mean to offend anyone. I-I apologize…”
Another slap. This one split her lip.
“We don’t have much time,” the shorter one muttered. He plunged a sharp bone into her shoulder.
Another stab—her thigh this time. Pain screamed through her body.
Blood soaked her skin, mixing with alcohol, searing her. Her voice grew hoarse, her vision swam. She was slipping.
But her spirit refused.
Looking down at the sea of skulls at her feet, Jasmine made a choice: I won’t be one of them.
She lifted her head with effort and forced a broken smile. “I didn’t ask for this,” she whispered. “I’m not an offender…”
The two men exchanged uneasy glances.
Then, a new voice echoed from the darkness—calm, composed, venomous.
“Untie her. Take her to the Thorns Garden. Tell the pack she tried to steal and fled. Threaten the breeder who brought her here. She will testify.”
Jasmine gasped. How long had that voice been watching?
“Tell me what I did,” she choked. “I deserve to know.”
The woman stepped into the flickering torchlight, pulling back her hood. An aging face twisted with scorn.
“Your crime is existing,” she sneered. “You stole the Lycan King’s attention. My place. I was the late king’s concubine. His breeder. I was to lead the royal line. But now... you.”
Jasmine shook her head, bloodied and disbelieving. “I never wanted that title. Why does it matter so much?”
“Because it's all I had!” the woman shrieked, slapping her again. “And you—you took it!”
Before Jasmine could speak again, a voice rang out near the prison gates.
“I think... I heard someone.”
Panic seized the old breeder. She fled through a hidden exit. The two men vanished behind her, leaving Jasmine tied, broken, alone.
She had to escape.
Her fingers trembled as she reached for a bone on the floor. She began to saw at the rope with what strength she had left. Every second felt eternal.
“I must survive,” she whispered to herself. “I won’t die in this graveyard.”
Finally, the rope gave way. She collapsed onto the blood-stained floor, crawling toward a patch of faint light. But her injuries dragged her down. Her vision darkened.
And then—silence.
Darkness took her again. But this time, it was not surrender.
It was a promise.
The storm has only just begun.