Chapter 5 The Wedding Ritual

• Lena’s body trembled as they dragged her forward.
• Her feet scraped against the rough stone, her arms wrenched in a bruising grip.
• The metallic taste of blood clung to her tongue, thick and bitter.
• No matter how much she swallowed, it wouldn’t leave.
• The night air was sharp against her skin when they stepped outside.
• The ritual ground stretched before her—an eerie, open expanse surrounded by towering black stone pillars.
• The pillars loomed like sentinels, their surfaces carved with ancient runes that pulsed with an unnatural glow.
• Fires blazed in massive iron braziers, their flames licking the air, casting long, flickering shadows across the space.
• The scent of burnt herbs filled the air, thick and suffocating.
• But beneath it, something fouler lingered.
• Blood.
• The pack stood in a wide circle, their faces twisted in anticipation.
• Hatred.
• Cruel delight.
• Lena’s stomach knotted.
• At the center of it all, the altar waited.
• A massive slab of dark stone, worn smooth by time, but forever marked by the crimson stains of those who had bled before her.
• Darius was already there.
• He stood near the altar, bare-chested beneath the firelight.
• The cruel glow illuminated the red runes painted across his skin.
• His gold mask gleamed, the intricate design catching the light like a twisted crown.
• His mismatched eyes locked onto her.
• Lena’s breath caught in her throat.
• The guards forced her to her knees before him.
• She barely registered the jagged pain as stone bit into her skin.
• "Begin," Darius commanded, his voice deep and final.
• The words sent a chill through her bones.
• A figure stepped forward from the shadows.
• An old woman, cloaked in deep crimson robes.
• Her gnarled fingers dripped with something dark.
• A witch.
• She moved with eerie grace, pulling a dagger from the folds of her robe.
• The blade curved like a crescent moon, its black surface pulsing with an unnatural glow.
• Lena’s heartbeat pounded in her ears.
• A guard wrenched her wrist forward, exposing it over a ceremonial bowl.
• She tried to pull back.
• The grip tightened.
• The dagger pressed to her skin.
• Cold at first.
• Then—pain.
• A searing, merciless cut.
• Blood spilled into the bowl, hot and red, pooling in its depths.
• Lena gasped, her vision swimming.
• The witch’s fingers smeared the blood across her forehead.
• Her collarbone.
• Her lips.
• "The bond is sealed in blood," the witch intoned.
• Her voice scraped like rust against stone.
• "Bound by flesh. Bound by fate."
• Lena’s body burned.
• It wasn’t just a wound—it was magic.
• Dark, binding magic.
• Darius stepped closer.
• He gripped her chin, forcing her to look at him.
• "You are mine now," he said, his voice thick with power.
• The crowd roared in approval.
• The witch lifted the bowl.
• Slowly, she tilted it.
• The remaining blood poured over Lena’s head.
• It dripped down her face.
• Soaked into her hair.
• Stained her skin in crimson.
• Then the witch turned to Darius.
• She offered him the dagger.
• His eyes never left Lena as he took it.
• "Now, my bride," he murmured.
• "Let’s see how much you can endure."
• Lena barely had time to brace herself.
• He cut his palm.
• Blood welled, dark and rich.
• He pressed the wound to her mouth.
• "Drink," he commanded.
• Lena froze.
• The scent of his blood was thick, overpowering.
• "Drink," Darius ordered again, his voice low, dangerous.
• The pack was silent.
• Waiting.
• Expecting.
• Lena clenched her fists.
• Every instinct screamed to refuse.
• To fight.
• But the magic coiled around her throat like an invisible noose.
• She couldn’t speak.
• She couldn’t deny him.
• Her lips brushed against his palm.
• The warm, coppery taste flooded her mouth.
• Bile rose in her throat.
• But she swallowed.
• A mistake.
• Fire tore through her veins, searing, scorching, branding her from the inside out.
• The pack howled in triumph.
• Darius smirked.
• "Good girl," he murmured.
• His thumb brushed over her cheek, smearing blood across her skin.
• "You learn quickly."
• Lena’s breathing was ragged.
• Her body trembled from the unnatural heat curling inside her.
• It sank deeper.
• Coiled around her bones.
• A shackle, unseen but unbreakable.
• The witch stepped forward again.
• She held a chalice filled with dark liquid.
• "The final seal," she announced.
• Lena barely had time to react.
• Darius took the chalice.
• He held it to her lips.
• "Drink," he said.
• "And you are mine in body, mind, and soul."
• His tone was almost mocking.
• Lena’s heart pounded.
• Escape.
• She had to escape.
• But her body refused to listen.
• The magic forced her lips apart.
• The liquid touched her tongue.
• Agony.
• A burning, all-consuming pain.
• It tore through her.
• Ripped her apart.
• And then stitched her back together in the same breath.
• Something foreign was being forced into her.
• Binding her.
• Lena fell forward.
• Her body convulsed.
• The pack cheered louder.
• Darius crouched beside her.
• He gripped her chin once more.
• Forcing her to look into his mismatched eyes.
• "Welcome home, wife," he whispered.
• And darkness crashed over her.
• ---
• A scream tore from Lena’s lips, raw and unrelenting.
• The pain was unbearable—fire coursing through her veins, tearing her apart from the inside out. It wasn’t just pain; it was something worse. Something unnatural.
• She writhed, her body convulsing as the magic took hold, binding her, reshaping her.
• But no one came to help.
• No one could.
• At the far end of the pack house, inside his private chamber, Darius heard her cries.
• And he smiled.
• He gripped Scarlet’s hips, his fingers digging into her soft flesh as he thrust into her.
• “Turn your back to me,” he commanded, his voice dark with hunger.
• Scarlet smirked, obedient as ever. She arched her back, pressing against him, her ass bouncing as she positioned herself for him once more.
• Darius didn’t hesitate. He grabbed her, his grip bruising, and slammed into her again.
• Lena’s scream echoed through the walls.
• It was agony. Despair.
• A sound that should have stirred pity in any man’s heart.
• But not his.
• Scarlet moaned beneath him, her cries of pleasure mingling with Lena’s torment.
• “Yes, Alpha,” she gasped between ragged breaths. “Harder. Take me the way you like. Rough. Make me yours.”
• Darius groaned, but it wasn’t Scarlet’s pleasure that spurred him on.
• It was Lena’s pain.
• Her cries were music to his ears, a twisted symphony that sent a dark thrill through him.
• Lydia Voss’s daughter was suffering.
• And that pleased him more than anything else.
• He pounded into Scarlet harder, his thrusts ruthless, driven by the knowledge that somewhere in this very house, Lena was breaking.
• And she would continue to break.
• Again and again.
• Until there was nothing left of her but pain.