I barely heard them. My gaze locked onto Owen, silently begging him to keep his word. But when our eyes met, all I saw was icy detachment—like I had never meant anything to him at all.
Then he raised a hand, silencing the crowd. "Stop the execution," he commanded.
Murmurs of confusion rippled through the pack.
"Owen," one of the council members hesitated, "the decision has been made. Execution is—"
"I have a better punishment in mind," he interrupted smoothly, his lips curling in satisfaction.
A chill crept down my spine.
"What exactly do you propose?" an elder asked cautiously. The other council members exchanged uncertain glances, sensing the shift in the air.
Owen turned to me, his expression unreadable, yet the malice in his gaze was unmistakable.
"Death is too easy for her," he said, his voice calm and measured. "She deserves something far worse."
The crowd stirred uneasily.
"Speak plainly, Alpha Owen," an elder pressed.
Owen exhaled, like he was savoring the moment, then delivered his verdict.
"Sell her," he said.
A stunned silence fell over the clearing before horrified whispers broke out.
"Slavery?" one elder scoffed. "That’s hardly justice!"
"If anything, it’s too lenient," another growled.
"You misunderstand," Owen said smoothly, his smirk deepening. "She won’t just be sold. She will be given to the Night Walker Pack."
Gasps echoed through the clearing.
A suffocating dread gripped my chest.
The Night Walker Pack.
A fate worse than death.
The silence that followed was suffocating, as if the entire courtyard had collectively lost the ability to breathe.
A sharp gasp escaped my lips before I could stop it. Even someone like me—who had been scorned, ridiculed, and treated as an outcast my entire life—felt sheer terror claw at my chest at the mere mention of that name.
The Night Walker Pack.
A realm ruled by the infamous Lycan King, a monster of a ruler whose name was whispered only in hushed, fearful tones. His reputation for brutality was legendary, and it was said that the severed heads of those who dared defy him were impaled along the borders of his territory as an ominous warning to all.
His warriors were demons of both strength and cruelty, and his captives—well, those unfortunate enough to be claimed as his slaves rarely lived long. The horrifying stories that seeped past those cursed borders were enough to paralyze even the bravest of wolves with fear.