PROLOGUE
A long time ago, dragons and werewolves lived under a fragile truce. But some werewolf rulers, driven by greed and envy of the dragons' fast-growing capital, wanted more.
They couldn't stand the way dragons ruled the skies and the realm, their supremacy between seasons and all other nations. So they set out to destroy them. They released a deadly disease, one that only targeted dragon women and infants. One by one, dragon mothers died.
Eggs never hatched. Mates went mad from grief. And many dragons withered and faded without their bonded mates. The weak ones were captured, locked in cages, paraded for amusement, and tortured in enemy dungeons for years. But the high-clan dragons never forgot.
When they rose again, they came with fire. And the war that followed nearly destroyed the realm. All realms became enemies to one another. The humans were separated from supernatural beings for their preservation and safety.
Their memory of a shared realm became only a myth told in scary stories and theories. Years after the betrayal, the dragons went into hiding. They built their kingdom in secret, away from wolves, away from humans. But they didn't forget what was taken from them.
With no dragon women left, they turned to humans. They bred with them, trained them, and raised them—not for love, but for war. All for an army strong enough for the next battle against their enemies.
--- CHAPTER 1
Lyra's POV
"Wake all of them up."
In my mind, I never left the battlefield. I was there—claws to bone, blood to soil. I could either die there and ascend as a god among gods, or win my battle and return home victorious as the next Alpha.
A sudden yank on my wrist, followed by screams, dragged me out of the nightmare I'd been trapped in. Straight into defense mode. The foreign presence and change of scenery had me raising my hands to protect my face, but they were bound.
Silver shackles.
The presence of silver on my skin felt like fire igniting beneath the surface, searing heat spreading through my veins. Every instinct screamed at me to escape this torture, but the chains were thick and far too heavy.Confusion settled in my chest.
Terrified and in immense pain, I took in my surroundings—and myself. Bare skin, stained and naked. Lying on cold, filthy ground. Surrounded by strangers, all women, chained, bruised, and broken. Some crying. Some silent.
All naked. All captives.
My chest tightened. This wasn't a battleground—at least not like I remembered. This was a slave depot. The forbidden metal had torn my skin open, spilling blood that now stained my body and the shackles around my wrists.
"Hey, gather all of them now! Load them up!" someone shouted in a language I knew too well—spoken only by humans. Realization struck me like lightning. They were all humans.
The absence of scent. Their skin. Where was I? How did I get here? The last memory I had was in the comfort of my room—not this. Not the disgust welling inside me as I saw more of these creatures. Humans. Still confused, the metal around my hands was yanked. Caught off guard, I face-planted into the floor.
The captors dragged me regardless of my inability to stand, regardless of the sudden weakness clouding my body. This hyperrealistic nightmare was starting to hurt. I wrapped my hands around the chain and tried to pull back, but my effort was futile.
Every bone in my body felt heavier than I remembered. My wrists—nothing left but open flesh and blood. I wasn't healing.
Digging my feet into the wet soil, I pulled back. Humans weren't exactly the strongest in the realm, but for all the wrong reasons, my resistance made no difference. "Bitch, move!" A kick to my back sent me crashing to the floor, my face deep in the mud.
The sourness was crude. The sudden weakness, the loss of strength—it was all foreign. Another kick betrayed my prayer. "Estel, please shift now," I called to my wolf, who had been oddly silent since I'd gained consciousness. But she didn't respond. "Estel?" My raspy voice was muffled by another kick to my stomach.
I hadn't bothered to look back to see who it was. It was already bad enough that I was here. One wolf among them was all that was needed for a bloodbath, yet their first instinct was to provoke me.
What sort of nightmare was this? "Estel," I called again, noticing how quickly my body was giving out. The constant kicks to my back and belly were now unbearable.
"Estel." I called out again, confused why I hadn't been saved from this torture.
Her silence made my heart race. The chains on my hands were tugged. My face dragged across the floor while the tiny rocks on the earth scratched my skin. The tangy taste of trampled soil mixed with blood and feces found its way into my mouth.
Everything ached.
"This bitch won't move!" a human female yelled from behind. Her voice only increased my agitation and paranoia. Soon I heard a male voice, and firm hands gripped my sore wrists.
My vision, blurred by dirt, caught only a glimpse of his face. The sky was ash. The wind sharp on my skin. And his face—decorated with scars, a patch over one eye, and a large hat shading me from the harsh sky. "Let me go!" I hissed.
Pulling at the cuffs, his fingers dug into my bruises as he attempted to haul me to my feet. My legs wobbled, but it didn't stop him from dragging me across the puddle. "What's going on back there?" "A slave is fighting." His hoarse voice grated against my ears.
Their language had never appealed to me, but his voice made my ears itch. "Damn it, put her down. We must get to Veyrax before dawn!" a man shouted with urgency.
At the sound of Veyrax, blood pumped through my veins and my head felt pressured. The name Veyrax was a trigger—to war, death, and fear. A trigger for anyone with ears.
A trigger that told me I needed to run and hide, not stay here, held and weak. "A storm is coming. We must arrive early or be caught beneath the sea!" the man concluded.
If I wasn't mistaken, this depot was headed to Veyrax. Veyrax was the dragon capital—the worst place to be as a wolf or human. But why would anyone be taken to Veyrax? All the fire dragons were dead. It was just a pile of forgotten memories.
Even so, I never wanted to step foot in that land. Not ever. Not now. Not in my wildest dreams. But this wasn't a dream. Dreams don't hurt. They don't feel this real.
I tried to jog my memory. The last thing I remembered was coming back from Emberfall. I'd just conquered the pack with my army and gone to my father's room to share the news about our success—usurping them, bringing back slaves and magic users.
Lannister, my twin brother, had been in the room when I walked in. He'd run from the battlefield after discovering the wolves of the north had acquired a new technique to kill and build armies.
They'd broken the rules by acquiring magic. I remembered my father scolding him for his cowardly behavior, telling the servants to prepare his robes for his final speech before he took his last breath.
I remembered being ushered into the royal room to prepare for my coronation. I was about to be crowned… A slap as hard as metal landed on my face, sending me to the floor, my ears buzzing.
"You fucking bitch!" A rough hand yanked my hair, dragging me up only to slam me back into the ground. Blood pooled in my mouth. "If you want to live another day," a voice growled in my ear, "you'd better behave like the rest of them. Do you hear me?" The one-eyed man pulled me down to his level.
A smug smile sat comfortably on his torn lips as he stared at me with lust in his cruel human eyes. His hands reached for my chest, cupping my breast and squeezing. Being lusted after by lesser beings repulsed every fiber of my being.
My forehead met his in a forceful impact, causing him to stumble back. His hat fell off, revealing the rest of his face. Bald-headed and demented. "Infidel!" I spat in wolf tongue—a word he couldn't comprehend but knew wasn't praise or adoration. His fist buried into my stomach, knocking the air from my lungs. More kicks followed, brutal and merciless. My ribs cracked.
The slaves near me collapsed as the chains pulled us down together.
Flames coursed through me like I'd jumped into a furnace. Kicked and beaten to a pulp, pulled to my feet—everything blurred. The silver around my wrists dug deeper into my skin. Something so provocative, yet Estel remained still. Quiet.
Dead.
I considered every possibility that could have led to this moment. I thought it was a dream, but I'd dreamt all my life—nothing ever felt this real. I'd seen visions, but never of this day.
This was real. I was a slave in human territory. It felt as though I'd been dumped into a beehive and told to stay still while they stung. "Now listen to me, little girl. If you want to keep breathing, keep still," he whispered in my ear before letting me go. I watched the human male walk back to his peers.
"Andrew told us all his slaves were subdued and well-trained. Why is this one different?" one man said with annoyance.
"Andrew didn't train her. She was sold to him by black market traders last minute before we came to collect. One of the slaves killed herself—he had to add her," another responded.
Black market. It didn't take long after overhearing that conversation for me to figure out what went wrong.
The black market was a secret market where wolves traded with humans without their knowledge. If I'd been sold to the black market, then someone from the pack had brought me there. Only wolves actively used the black market.
I remembered Lannister entering my room. He gave me a bottle of wine to congratulate me.
I remembered taking a sip as he smiled down at me. Those were the last memories I had.
That bastard. He drugged me.
My heart shattered. Whatever was in that bottle must have burned its way down my throat, and my body seemed to be healing—slowly. I clenched my fists, trembling, rage and grief mixing in my blood like poison. He looked me in the eye and told me he supported me.
He lied.
He sold me.
And now… I was on my way to Veyrax.