June 10 2026, 1:33pm.
Nyx’ara was literally dragged out of her cell like a freaking criminal. Literally paraded around the pack under the scorching sun in her shabby dress torn at the edges and her blonde hair that now resembled a bird’s nest sitting atop her head.
Her eyes, which were hypersensitive to the sun, refused to open and her legs trembled as she forced them to move in front of her frail body. One after the other, one after the other, until she was covering distances and surging her way through the crowd of people that threw obscene insults and objects at her. But she paid them no attention.
Her mind was elsewhere.
Even after being released, the metal clasps around her neck and hands were still left intact and it was with these metal bands that the guards pulled her forward towards the building she still remembers was the throne house.
She was pushed unceremoniously to the burning floor which was almost as hot as a furnace when they arrived in front of the daunting building and her breath caught somewhere deep in her throat when familiar figures stepped out of the double glass doors and began to make their way toward her.
Her father.
Her brother.
Her stepsister and her mother.
And her mate.
They all glared down at her with unconcealed contempt. They all stood over her like she was nothing but a speck of dust on their boots.
They had no idea the extent of the damage which their actions had caused to her. They had no idea that she could barely hear words, sounds, or anything until it was sounding too close to her or being shouted right at her.
They had no idea that she had developed a stutter over the past years, as a result of all the hardships, all the cries, the humiliation and the heart-wrenching screams, and the times she lay on that cold damp floor of her cell praying for her death after being beaten to a pulp on their orders.
And they had no idea that she could barely see. That her vision was waning, blurring around the edges and burning whenever it was exposed to light just as blindness slowly crept up on her.
She was jolted out of her thoughts when a familiar figure crouched in front of her. Perfectly manicured fingers trailed soft lines across her face, her neck... her arms.
Her body trembled, recoiling into itself as the hands travelled further and further down her skin, and due to the feeling of disgust it sent crawling up her spine, she turned away, threw her head forward, and retched.
Her body heaved, shaking with both disgust and pain.
But nothing came out.
Heck, how could anything come out when she hasn’t eaten anything in almost two days now, save for that cake that her best friend Berlin had gotten for her this morning because it is her birthday?
Her head whipped up instantly when she heard the familiar sound of a person taking a sharp intake of breath. It was her stepmother. She cried; "Look at her acting disgusted when she is the actual filthy one!"
"Mom, stop!" Elara cried defensively, "...stop saying things like that to Nyx’ara. It will only hurt her."
The years Nyx’ara had spent being locked up in that cell almost made her forget about how self-righteous Elara always was. How she would always pretend to be kind and generous to her in front of others only to show her claws when they were alone.
She could remember when Elara once pretended to be timid, bowing her head as she tried to serve her a cup of steaming hot tea. Her ’fumbling’ stepsister then proceeded to spill it all over Nyx’ara’s lap, scalding her skin, but before she could even react, Elara fell to her knees, slapped herself twice on the cheek, causing it to bloom a vibrant red as she cried;
"I am sorry! I am really sorry!"
That pathetic act was what she had used in winning Flynn over and that was the first time he had ever struck Nyx’ara for Elara’s sake.
The memory made Nyx’ara’s heart burn but clamping down the feeling it evoked inside of her, she hissed; "Don’t t-touch m-me."
At the sound of her voice, Elara turned to look at her. Her eyes glazed with barely concealed hatred but her body did the exact opposite.
She tried to hug her.
Nyx’ara scurried backwards so fast that Elara stumbled forward, and maybe because she hadn’t expected Nyx’ara to move when she did, she fell face-first to the floor with enough force that a small corner of her face scraped against the ground until it drew blood.
The red liquid trickled down her very perfect face in small droplets. But that small droplet was enough to make everybody go wild. Their mother shouted, their father grunted disapprovingly.
Tristan, on the other hand, stomped forward, helped Elara to her feet in the same manner he used to help Nyx’ara before their father married Elara’s mother, then lifted his hand to smack Nyx’ara hard across the face. But before he could touch her, a gruff voice suddenly stopped him. It barked;
"Let her be!"
He frowned, turned around but bowed slightly at Flynn.
"She hurt Elara." He growled.
"I know," Flynn cut in, his voice sharp, cutting at the edges. "But because we already have more than enough punishment awaiting her, I think hitting her now is only a waste of time."
Something about those words made Nyx’ara’s heart stop. It made a chill run down her spine and made her body tremble so badly, she could barely hold herself upright.
She tried to look at him but the sun was making her hypersensitive eyes burn. So she lowered my head instead.
"W-what does that mean?" She stuttered,
At the sound of her voice, Flynn inched closer. She felt the exact moment his fingers grazed across her skin because her nerve endings all stood erect. His eyes bore into hers, so deeply that she feared he could see into her soul, and then he grimaced.
"You wanted me to let you go right?" He asked and she nodded quickly— very quickly.
"You asked me to reject you right?" He continued, only to be interrupted by Elara who gasped.
"She asked for that?!"
The way she pressed her hand to her chest in a posture of feigned shock made Nyx’ara utterly disgusted. She looked away.
"Yes," Flynn answered, not looking at her. And then to Nyx’ara, he said; "I will do all you’ve asked for, but in exchange, you’ll have to move out of Moonshine pack and to Stormborn pack."
The news made all the wheels in Nyx’ara’s head start spinning. She glared at him in complete shock and disbelief mostly because everyone knew that the Stormborn pack was known for its unique citizens. They were brave, fierce, and bordered between werewolves and Lycans. Their Alphas, a quadruplet (also known as DARK) with more scary stories than the boogeyman himself reigned with terror, grit, and strength.
They were a formidable set of creatures.
And they do not accept strangers the way other packs do.
So why the hell is she being sent there?
She frowned. "Why?"
Just then, a flicker of guilt crossed Flynn’s face. He gulped and glanced away as if he suddenly couldn’t bring himself to look at her.
From here, she could see the way his hands were clenched tightly into fists. They were ashen and looked painful. He drawled through gritted teeth; "Because you killed their sister."
Nyx’ara’s heart stopped. A frown made its way to her face and a sudden chill made its way up her spine.
She wanted to speak but at that moment, her throat felt tight— too tight that heat seared in her swollen gland. Hot tears burned at the corners of her eyes and after trying and failing several times to form words, she finally rasped;
"W-what do y-you mean? Wh-whose sister did I- I kill?"
"The quadruplets’ sister. You pushed her off one of the windows of the rooftop library, the same way you did to Elara three years ago. Now, they’re asking for your head and I cannot hold them back from taking that which they have asked for."
As the weight of his words settled, her ears began to ring. Betrayal and annoyance slammed into her body like a ton of bricks but she didn’t cry out or speak.
This was one of the moments when her body had decided to betray her by going numb.
She stilled.