Rain POV
It was already night when I woke up, disoriented and aching all over. My body felt like lead, every bone screaming in protest as I tried to move. Something soft brushed against my wrist, and I looked down to see a glowing red thread wrapped tightly around both my hands and ankles. It pulsed like it had a heartbeat, glowing like fresh blood every time I so much as tried to tug against it.
"It'll never break," a soft voice murmured beside me. I turned my head with effort and saw a young woman—no older than me, maybe younger—watching me. Her eyes were hollow, like she'd already given up. "It's old magic. Bound by a curse. You're not getting out of it."
There were others. Seven of us in total, all bound the same way. We were huddled together on the rough, muddy floor inside what looked like a half-collapsed tent made of torn animal hides and branches.
"Where... where are we?" I croaked out. My throat felt like sandpaper.
The girl looked away, then back at me. "This is the territory of King Ramus. The Cursed Pack of Nocturnem Hollow."
My stomach dropped. "Nocturnem Hollow? That sounds like a nightmare."
"It is."
I finally turned my head enough to get a look outside the tent. A makeshift village stretched out before me, all built from mismatched, ragged tents. Wolves prowled the perimeter, some in their massive beast form, others shifted into their human skin. Their human forms looked just as monstrous—dirty, scarred, eyes hollow or crazed. String lights dangled from tree branches, casting an eerie yellow hue over everything. A massive bonfire blazed at the center, its flames licking high into the night sky. The scent of burning wood mixed with sweat and rot.
Young men beat on drums, the rhythmic pounding filling the air. Some women danced around the fire, their bodies jerking erratically. Half were in human form, half shifted—wolves howling to the rhythm, their fur matted and stained. It was chaos pretending to be celebration.
"Why are they dancing?" I asked.
"They're not celebrating," the girl whispered. "It's a ritual. They do it before every sacrifice."
My stomach twisted. "Sacrifice? What kind of sacrifice?"
She didn't answer. She didn't have to.
Suddenly, the drumming stopped.
A hush fell over the entire village. An old man, his skin wrinkled like aged bark and eyes sunken deep into his skull, stepped in front of the fire. He wore bones around his neck, and his long robe dragged in the dirt. He raised his arms.
"On this sacred night, we honor our protector, our provider, our eternal flame!"
A murmur of devotion echoed through the camp.
"Bow your heads for our leader, the Sovereign of Shadows, the Wolf of Endless Night, the Slayer of Seven Tribes, Chosen Mouth of Azrath, King Ramus!"
A massive tent opened. Two figures emerged. The first was completely cloaked in black from head to toe—King Ramus. Behind him was a tall man, striking in contrast to the rest. Young, broad-shouldered, with a face that might've belonged to a god if it weren't for the dead look in his eyes.
Everyone bowed, heads lowered to the dirt.
King Ramus took his place on a high seat carved from black stone, jagged and towering. His son sat at his right, unmoving.
The priest raised his hands again. "Tonight," he said, "we honor Azrath, who gives us meat in winter, strength in war, and shadow in the light. We offer him what he desires most—sacrifice from the heart. Bring the slaves!"
My heartbeat thundered in my ears.
"Bring forth the offering!" he bellowed, pointing toward us.
The guards dragged us one by one toward the bonfire. My body screamed as they yanked me up and threw me forward. I fell to my knees, barely able to hold myself up.
The priest held a long blade, its surface etched with runes that glowed faintly in the firelight. He pressed it against the first girl's chest. It glowed bright red.
"Accepted by Azrath!" he cried.
The girl shrieked, struggling, sobbing. Two guards grabbed her, beat her across the face when she resisted, and without hesitation, hurled her into the fire. Her scream tore through the night. The fire crackled louder as if devouring her soul.
"No! No, please!" the second girl screamed.
The blade glowed again. Another scream. Another body in flames.
Each one pleaded, begged, cried. It didn't matter. The guards were merciless. Some laughed. Some jeered. They threw each one in as if tossing logs into a hearth.
When it was my turn, the blade touched my chest.
Nothing.
No glow. No pulse of red. Just silence.
A ripple of shock spread through the crowd.
The priest frowned, tried again. Still nothing.
Whispers exploded around me. "What does it mean?" "Why doesn't it work?" "She's cursed!"
King Ramus stood slowly. "What is the meaning of this?"
"The blade refuses her," the priest said, his voice shaking.
The prince stepped forward. "Throw her in anyway."
Guards obeyed, grabbing my arms.
"Wait," King Ramus called. "Bring her to me."
I was dragged before his throne. He rose, removing his veil.
I flinched.
He was hideous. His skin sagged like melting wax, hair white and sparse, his eyes pure red and gleaming with madness. His nose hooked, teeth brown and jagged. His breath reeked of rot.
He reached out and touched my face.
"Beautiful," he murmured. "I haven't seen beauty like this in years."
He leaned in, sniffing my hair. I gagged, pulling away.
"She is not to be sacrificed," he said. "She is mine. I think I still have some strength left in me."
"I'd rather burn," I spat at him.
His hand whipped across my face so hard I hit the ground. My vision blurred. I could hear ringing in my ears.
"Why is she so weak?" he snarled.
An older man rushed forward, kneeling beside me.
"She's sick, my king. Very sick. She won't last long without rest and care."
"Then treat her. I don't care how long it takes. When she's well, clean her up. She will begin her duties as my newest wife."
I let out a weak, bitter laugh. "I'd rather die."
He grinned. "You don't have a choice."
"And those were the last words I heard… before they dragged me, beaten and broken, to whatever dark corner of hell they had waiting for me."