( CrimsonMoon Pack - Servant's quarters)
"What the…"
Amara jolted awake with a curse as ice cold water shocked her skin like knives.
"Fu…fuck!" she hissed, jerking upright, gasping as the icy trail seeped into every pore. Her thin blanket clung to her like wet paper…already useless against the bite of dawn's chill… and now even more.
Sleep had been fleeting.
Blinking through her groggy, heavy and sticky lashes, she tried to see her tormentor.
The head maid stood smugly at her bedside with an empty bucket dangling from her hand, lips curved into a wolfish grin.
"Well, well…" the woman sneered, tilting her head. "The Alpha's little toy finally decides to wake up."
Amara tried to shake off the exhaustion clawing at her bones, but every muscle screamed from a night of tossing and turning on the hard, bug ridden cot.
Her eyes burned, her body stiff as a stone. She hadn't slept properly in ages… this wasn't new. However Rowan's bedchamber had softer beds, satin covers, plenty of air and ventilation… nothing like this rotting coop that now was her room.
She tried to push her tangled hair back from her face, but the maid's hand shot out, tangling in more strands instead. Amara winced as a strangled gasp escaped her…her head was yanked cruelly back.
"Get up, whore," the head maid spat, jerking harder until Amara's scalp prickled in pain. "You need a proper wash. You still reek of the Alpha's… night time fun."
The words dripped like venom, loud enough to echo through the entire narrow servant quarters.
A chorus of laughter followed.
The other maids stood at the doorway, watching the spectacle with gleeful eyes, whispering behind their hands as though savoring every second of her humiliation.
One of them giggled. "Careful, Martha. Don't break her. The Alpha might want another round."
Another added, "Or maybe he is already bored. Who knows? They never last long."
Amara's jaw tightened, nails digging into her damp blanket, but she stayed silent. She refused to give them the satisfaction of seeing her break.
The head maid…Martha…leaned closer, her breath hot and sour against Amara's ear.
"Pathetic little bitch," she hissed. "Don't think that the bed you warmed last night makes you special. You will still scrub floors with the rest of us."
And then she shoved Amara. Hard.
She stumbled out of the cot, bare feet slapping against the cold floor, her wet clothes clinging to her body like chains.
The laughter grew louder.
Martha raised Amara's chin with one finger,hardly touching her as if she was filth…her voice was sharp like a whip as she commanded. "Be at the Beta's house in ten minutes. The walls need sweeping. Unless you would rather I report your lazy ass to the Omega head himself."
For a moment, Amara's chest heaved, the urge to spit back something venomous burnt on her tongue.
But she exhaled instead…a deep, tired sigh.
What good would words do? They would only fuel their fire.
She turned, quietly pulling open the tiny trunk at the foot of her cot. Inside, folded haphazardly, was the brown solid jumpsuit every maid was obliged to wear for manual labor.
She stripped out of her wet dress, shivering and tugging the rough fabric over her skin. The material was scratchy, stifling. More like a prison uniform disguised as work clothes.
Behind her, the other maids tittered like vultures circling carrion.
"Look at her. She doesn't even fight back."
"Of course not. She knows she is nothing without Alpha's cock keeping her warm."
"Poor little mate, can't even hold her Alpha's attention without spreading her legs."
Amara's hands tightened on the jumpsuit's zipper, her teeth grinding as she pulled it up. She refused to give them her tears.
Who was she fooling… maybe her tears had dried up as well… there was only so much her body could produce.
When she straightened, surprisingly Martha was still standing there, bucket swinging idly at her side, grin carved into her face like a scar.
"Change of plan. Border," she repeated, voice sharp. "Now."
Amara met her eyes for the first time, her own gaze steady despite the sting at her scalp and the ache in her chest.
"Fine," she said softly, almost too calm. "But one day, Martha, if you don't mend your ways…one day, you will choke on your own poison."
The grin faltered for the briefest second, before Martha barked a harsh laugh. "Empty words from an empty bitch. Move your ass, whore. We don't have all day!" She tried to hit Amara with that empty bucket.
Amara stepped past her.
Not because the weight of her humiliation was pressing heavy on her shoulders…but because she couldn't stoop to their level…she held her head just high enough not to break.
Amara walked ahead with steady, measured steps, her wet hair still clinging to her cheeks…no time to brush or wash them…and the brown jumpsuit stiff against her delicate skin.
The snickers and whispers nipped at her heels like a pack of wolves, but she didn't flinch. They followed her from a distance, hurling all sorts of insensitivities in her direction. But she was almost immune to those… almost.
She had years of practice in silence. Years of learning to wear it like armor back in Rowan's pack. She had long since sold her joy, her pride… her innocence.
If she had survived that, she could survive this too.
"Look at her. Doesn't even blink.She's like a ghost…even so pale…"
"Maybe she is already dead inside."
"Or maybe she enjoys the Alpha's scraps too much to care."
Their laughter rolled over her back, but Amara kept her head forward, jaw tight. She wasn't completely unbothered…the part that was human…her nails still dug crescents into her palms…but she just refused to let them see her bleed.
The path stretched out until the servant quarters gave way to the outskirts, where the scent of pine and the misty mountain stream…mingled thick in the morning air. She took a deep breath… oh, she missed running carefree in those woods so much…Yet when she was right in front, her limbs were chained… she was like that bird in the cage, swinging from one's balcony.
And then…she saw it.
The ground ahead was stained deep crimson.
Blood soaked into the dirt, still wet enough to glisten under the early sun.
Amara froze for half a second, her chest tightening. Her nose picked up the copper tang immediately…this bloodbath was recent. Too recent.
Martha's grin widened as she pointed to the bloodied patch.
"There. Clean it." She commanded in her shrill voice.
Amara's eyes flickered to the ground, then back at Martha, her throat working as she swallowed. "…With what?" she asked, scanning the clearing. There were no brushes, no rags, not even a bucket left behind.
Martha only laughed with cruel satisfaction.
"With your fucking claws, whore. With your hands."
The other maids broke into peals of laughter, clutching each other's arms as though the sight of Amara scraping blood and gore from the dirt would be the greatest entertainment of their day.
One sneered, "Fitting, isn't it? She is closer to filth than to us anyway."
Another snorted, "Maybe she will lick it clean for the Alpha's approval."
Amara said nothing. Her lips pressed into a line, her eyes lowering to the crimson stained earth. She crouched slowly, letting her fingers hover over the bloody remnants of whatever had happened there…
Behind her, Martha's voice cut again, sharp as a whip. "You heard me, bitch. Get to work.Why are you still standing? Do you want lashing?"
And with that, Martha turned on her heel, leading the rest of the women in the opposite direction. Their laughter carried with them, trailing into the trees until only the sound of rustling leaves and Amara's own breathing remained.
She stayed still for a long moment, staring at the blood.
That disgusting scent burned her nose, pulling her back to too many memories…Rowan's fists, his punishments, the nights she wished she could disappear into the dirt.
But she didn't cry.
With a slow exhale, Amara pressed her palms into the earth… her fingers moved, trying to gather the filth… when suddenly, her entire body stiffened…Her ears pricked as she sat straight up…
Just up ahead… beyond the bush… Amara could swear she saw something rustling.