The Alpha Who Wanted Me Dead

The Dungeon Whip

"No—please!"

Regina's plea was swallowed by the sound of heavy boots echoing through the dark stone corridors. The warriors gripping her arms didn't even flinch. They dragged her down the winding steps with ease, her weak struggles doing nothing to slow them.

The dungeon smelled of damp earth and blood. It was freezing, the cold air biting into her fevered skin. Torches flickered along the walls, casting eerie shadows that danced like ghosts. She had never been here before, but she had heard the stories.

Slaves who entered rarely came out the same.

Fear coiled in her stomach, but she forced herself to stay silent. Crying wouldn't help. Begging wouldn't change anything.

The warriors shoved her forward. She hit the ground hard, her knees scraping against the rough stone. Then, she heard it. The sound of leather sliding through a warrior's fingers.

The whip.

Her body went rigid.

"You know the rules," one of the guards said lazily, as if he was bored. "When a slave fails, they are punished."

Regina clenched her jaw. She wouldn't cry. She wouldn't scream.

She refused.

But when the first lash struck, fire ripped through her back.

Her body jerked forward, her fingers clawing at the stone floor as agony seared through her skin.

The second strike came before she could catch her breath.

Then the third.

The fourth.

By the fifth, she could no longer hold back her screams.

Upstairs, in the grand halls of the Alpha's stronghold, Marco clenched his fists so tightly that his nails dug into his palms.

Regina's screams echoed through the stone walls. Each one was a blade to his chest. Each one was a reminder of how powerless he was.

"Enough!" he snarled, storming toward the throne room.

The guards standing outside hesitated but didn't stop him. They knew better.

Marco shoved the heavy doors open.

Alpha Sirus sat at the head of the room, sipping from his goblet as if nothing was happening. Warriors surrounded him, laughing, feasting—ignoring the suffering happening beneath their feet.

Marco's rage boiled over.

"Stop this."

Sirus didn't even look up. "Stop what?"

"You know what!" Marco's voice was sharp. Dangerous. "Call them off! She's done nothing to deserve this."

Sirus took another sip of his drink. "She failed to serve properly. She embarrassed me in front of my men. That is enough."

"She was sick." Marco's voice rose. "You knew that, and you still forced her to work. This isn't punishment—it's cruelty!"

Finally, Sirus looked at him. His cold, gray eyes—so similar to Marco's, yet so different—gleamed with amusement.

"Careful, boy," he murmured. "You're starting to sound like a man who has forgotten his place."

Marco didn't care.

He stepped forward, his hands trembling with rage. "If you don't stop this, I swear—"

"You swear what?" Sirus interrupted, standing to his full height. He towered over Marco, his presence suffocating. "You'll challenge me? Fight me? Kill me?"

Marco said nothing.

Because they both knew he couldn't win. Not yet.

Sirus smirked. "Ah. There it is. The realization that you are still just a boy, not an Alpha." He leaned closer, his voice dropping into something almost mocking. "All this rage for a slave. Why?"

Marco's jaw clenched. He didn't answer.

Sirus chuckled. "You are foolish, Marco. But I will offer you a deal."

Marco stiffened. He knew his father well enough to know this wouldn't be mercy.

"You want me to stop her punishment? Fine. I will." Sirus's smirk widened. "On one condition."

"What?" Marco's voice was barely controlled.

"You leave for Alpha training tomorrow. You will learn to lead, to fight, to become what this pack needs. And when you return, you will bring home a mate."

Marco's breath hitched.

"If you do not," Sirus continued smoothly, "then I will kill the girl myself."