~Laia~

They say fate comes in different ways. Funny how mine shows up like a slow humiliating lineup. I'm being stacked with eleven others, blank faces, hollow eyes, and of course we're being sent to Redmoon. Twelve were taken, twelve must be redeemed. It's an old rule nobody remembers starting; they just pass it down like fact.

Today I'm one of them. Captive. A commodity. A slave, an object to be bought and used. They dress it up with words like "tradition" and "balance," but it's cruelty wrapped in ceremony.

Footsteps. It's almost dawn, maybe five in the morning if I had access to a clock. I try to steady myself, to stay goal-focused. Whatever it takes... I'm going. I'll fetch whatever it is Lysandra needs; I don't believe in this Moon Relic excuse, and start our life over. I'll get away. I only hope Lysander holds up her end of the bargain.

Footsteps, closer now. Fear crawls up my spine and the vibration in my legs makes them threaten to give.

I am so f*cking doomed.

My logical brain says run, it's not too late.

My legs want to move. My head screams to move. But my chest tightens and something cold and steady in me clicks into place: whatever this is, I'm already in it. And there's no dramatic last-minute escape. No heroic U-turn. Just the awful, strange clarity that I chose this, or that fate shoved me, and now I have to see it through.

Slowly I breathe in and out, trying to fill my lungs with as much as air I can get.

Shadows. Footsteps. Burly men burst into the shed we're shoved into, shriek after shriek ricochets off the walls. The door swings wide, and cold air from the yard pierces through us. A sharp exhale leaves me when I see their faces. There is no face, just a steel-colored mask so intricate I can see their eyebrows, the curve of the lips...

We're dragged outside. The cart is here. The ship is here. Our captors are here. Amusing, isn't it?

I stay on my feet, jaw locked. My voice won't break; it refuses to give them the satisfaction. I have nothing to scream about. I have nothing to cry for.

They push us toward the cart in a rough, practiced line. Hands clamp at my arms, leather straps bite into skin.

Was Liam ok last night? Lysandra just escorted me into the shed calmly explaining that all of us would be picked up at dawn. It was only a few hours away. I asked to go get my clothes, to explain whatever this madness was to Liam. But before the words had even left my mouth, Beta was there, throwing a bag of my own clothes at my feet.

I looked at Lysandra, assessing her. Every detail of this night had been planned. She nodded, I picked up the bag without a word, and we walked to the shed stinking of 11 bodies and fear.

"I will take care of Liam. Don't worry." Her voice was low, for my ears only.

Then the shed door opened, I stepped inside of the suffocating stink, and the door was locked behind me. Click, clack, click. Lysandra's heels clicked as she walked away, leaving the Beta at the door. I stayed unmoving by the wall next to the door, shaking.

The noise around me pulls me out of my thoughts.

My gaze slides over the masked men, some barking orders, some dragging feet to keep the others from screaming, and then it lands on one who doesn't seem to belong to their cruelty.

He stands apart, all black from head to boot, a piece of his inky hair touching the mask on his forehead. His hands are folded across his chest, calm as a statue. The mask.... It's carved into an impossible expression, half-smile, half-sneer.

Then my eyes lift and my step stutters. He's staring straight at me. Not like the others who look through me; he looks at me, like he's trying to read something I don't know about.

I blink once. Twice. Thrice. That should be a warning, right? Every part of him screams danger. His aura spills into his surroundings, almost suffocating the rest of us... All of him is dangerous.

He's tall, imposing, the wide shoulders blocking out the rising sun. We stare at each other for a long beat, like two animals sizing each other up before tearing into each other's throats.

And then, just like that, he looks away. His eyes slide past me, cold and deliberate, as if I've already been measured... and found wanting.

I scan the shore. Liam is not here. Did he wake up, scared to not have me there? Is he at school? Does Lysandra have him?

I don't look for Cael, I don't watch for his blond hair or the ever-present scowl. I don't think about him sleeping wrapped around Lysandra. I don't wonder if he's thinking about his mate being shipped away. Will we ever look into each other's eyes again or this is it?

A piercing scream fills the air. My gaze darts to the source, a woman lashing against the guards, her cries desperate, her arms reaching in the direction of a spot on the shore. Two children stand there, haloed by the morning winter sun .. The boy, no more than eight, is clutching his little sister's chubby hand in his, his lower lip trembling but eyes dry staring at his thrashing screaming mother.

Cael... He's standing right there staring like he's watching a movie. F*cking do something!

A body brushes against my shoulder moving past me urgently, and I see the dark masked stranger walking straight toward Cael, his steps determined and the line of the shoulders strained under the black shirt. His smell lingers just for a heartbeat penetrating my nostrils. Strong and calm like the giant unbreakable trees in our woods, with a sour undertone of... what is it? Pain?

From where I stand, I can't hear everything, but the tense low conversation floats just enough.

"We agreed on twelve. A dozen," Cael says, his voice low but enough for my straining ears to hear. "These two kids can't be part of them."

The masked stranger's response is steady, almost bored, though his eyes never leave the children. "You can't really think to separate the kids from their mother. Don't you have a mating ceremony coming up? It wouldn't be good for the pack morale to have orphans there."

I imagine a lifetime of scrambling for leftovers for these two children. The idea makes bile rise in my throat.

Cael's face doesn't so much as flicker. His voice is void, final. "Tradition is tradition. A dozen you asked for, a dozen was offered. We've lost twelve pack members already, and you don't mean to add more."

The masked wolf's voice drops an octave, his tone a dangerous half-growl, until their conversation is a knot of sound; no matter how I strain my ears, the words blur into white noise. From where I stand, Cael isn't budging an inch. He's a slab of calm cruelty.

Hatred floods me hot and fast. F*ck him. He knows exactly what will happen to those kids, and still he stands there, insisting on keeping them as if he'll ever care for them, not seeing they'll end up worse than stray dogs.

The second I get back, I'm taking Liam and ripping him out of this cursed pack.

~LAIA~

Who would’ve thought my new toxic trait is staring at a man I can’t even see fully? Not just any man, the Alpha of these masked strangers.

I should be minding my business, but my eyes won’t leave him. Every move seems to entice me; the way his muscles tighten and relax under his shirt, strong, powerful and controlled.

The mask might have succeeded in hiding his face, but definitely not the power he's seems to exude.

He moves across the training deck like the ship belongs to him. Every strike and turn is totally on a god mode, and nothing like the pack training sessions I’ve seen a hundred times. Those were practice. This is violence turned into art.

His fist cuts through the air faster than I can blink, each blow landing on a wooden dummy with a hollow crack, his kicks spinning with a grace that reminds me of kung fu movies. But this isn’t a performance.

I stand on the deck of the large ship pretending to look at the waves lapping at its side, and somehow, all I can think about is the women whispering earlier that he’s an illegitimate heir, not a true Alpha, surrounded by enemies circling him like sharks.

Trying not to make him catch me, I looked away.

I put my elbows on the wide railing and push the irritating piece of hair being abused by the wind behind my ear. It flies right back out.

For whatever reason, we’ve been left alone, not caged, not pushed around… just idle. And yet under a microscope. There are no phones I could use to call Liam. Do they even have reception in the middle of the sea?

It’s been two days on this godforsaken ship. They walk around barking orders and keeping the ship moving, still wearing their uniforms and masks. How do they not get sweaty with those masks glued to their faces? Minutes after that thought, a young slim warrior comes up to Alpha Damon, whispers something to him, and walks away after his Alpha's node. I watch him exhale a long breath, wipe his chest with a towel, and still… entirely. A heartbeat passes, then all the masked men as one, reach up to their faces and pull off the masks.

Did he just issue a mind-link order to all of his pack members here? On a ship with thick metal walls, away from his territory where he can feed off the land?

I freeze. My eyes find his face. No, not just a face, Alpha Damon’s face. That’s all I see. Cold. Distant.

Gray eyes that shouldn’t burn, but somehow do.

It’s insane. I feel fifty shades of messed up just staring at him. Who is this man?

His gaze locks on me. The wind from the sea whips at my hair and cuts through the thin clothes making me shiver. But I stand there like a statue. He just stares. Stares and stares until I’m convinced I’m losing my mind. Can’t he speak?

A low thunderous sound rolls across the deck and the warriors moved into what seems to be specific positions.

The ship groans as it kisses the dock, the sound of chains clanking and wood creaking fills the air.

One of the masked men, well with no mask anymore, steps forward, his voice calm yet commanding.

“Time to move.”

I stare ahead, and the first thing my gaze meets with is the fortress itself, a wall of stone, and steel carved into cliffs rising so high it swallows the sky.

We disembark in groups, the warriors dividing themselves as we continued on foot, marching straight into the heart of the fortress. I look back, and dozens of cars are slowly driving out from the bowels of the giant ship. A truck’s bed is fully loaded, heavy under the weight.

“Keep walking.” The bark is only half-hearted.

Moving deeper past the gates, my jaw nearly hits the ground. What I thought was just a fortress is nothing compared to what stretches before me. This is a whole pack, alive, sprawling, land hidden behind tall walls.

Whoever designed this place was a genius. And I'm suddenly wondering if these massive walls were built to keep enemies out… or to keep something locked inside?

Lining the street are the members of the Faceless Pack, rows of them standing shoulder to shoulder, watching us march in like a parade. Their stares are heavy, crawling over my skin like fire.

And the worst part? Most of those eyes are on me. I can feel their whispers moving through the crowd, soft murmurs, words I can’t make out.

***

Aristotle once said, ‘He who has overcome his fears will truly be free.’ Easy words, right? But the truth is, fear doesn’t just vanish, it feeds on the silence you don’t want to face.

It’s suddenly dawning on me… fear isn’t always about monsters or death. Definitely not. It’s about the quiet things. The fear of starting over again. The fear of being alone, day after day, without Liam.

I'll be a liar if I said my legs don't ache. A worse liar if I said I don't feel nauseated.

We’re in a big temple with white walls and tall pillars. Light streams through the open roof, making the marble floor shine. Silence stretches all around us.The room is so quiet that even a pin dropping would echo. The scent of incense and burning herbs fills my nose. I look up… Wolf statues line the walls, their eyes glowing faintly in the light. Whoever did the artwork did an incredible job, it’s haunting, gothic, yet beautiful.

At the altar, a woman with long white hair stands with her back to us. Her robe flows around her like mist.

Alpha Damon steps forward, the mask now covering his face. Interesting… I thought they only wore those masks in other pack territories.

He clears his throat, and the Priestess finally, slowly turns to face us.

Alongside eleven others, I stand still, not daring to make a sound. Her eyes are strange, ancient, almost glowing, and I doubt they’re mortal.

“I’ve done my duty, Selara. The Sacred Twelve are here,” Alpha Damon says, his voice cold and much more like a growl. He doesn’t sound like a man who talks much. From what I’ve seen, the only time he spoke more than a few words was when he tried to convince Alphason Cael not to separate the children from their mother.

Before the High Priestess can even respond, Alpha Damon turns on his heel and strides past like we’re invisible.

Don’t look, Laia. Yes, don’t look… You can do this.

The words pound in my head like a chant. Oh, fuck this. Is he really just going to dump us here and go back to his people like it’s nothing? Focus, Laia. Focus. That’s not why you’re here. Remember Liam. Get this done, then leave.

I peek from under my lashes, my hands clasped in front of me demurely, and see his grey eyes slide over me from behind his mask. He doesn’t pause, as his steps carry him too close to me. Another step and he’ll be right here. I hold my breath, I don’t need his Alpha scent in my head. His eyes don’t stray from mine, cold and intent. I watch him in slow motion as he takes the last step towards me, towards the door, and freeze… The back of his hand, his knuckles brush against my hip for such a short moment that I am not sure I imagined it. I press my eyes shut and forbid myself from inhaling. I won’t breathe in his scent, I won’t look him in the eyes any more. No, no, no!

The heavy door groans behind me, and the echo ricochets off the dark walls telling me the masked Alpha is gone. I gasp filling my lungs with needed oxygen and taste him on the back of my tongue.

~Laia~

Somehow being with the Masks felt better than in this hollow place.

My entire being is still focused on that closed door behind me. I stand there with unseeing eyes, my brain trying to imagine what he looks like as he walks away. Will he take off his mask soon or does he wear it in his own pack a lot?

High Priestess Selara, just as he called her, clears her throat bringing my attention back

"Welcome to the Faceless Pack. Take a seat."

Her voice is high-pitched, ringing through the chamber like the walls are made to resound her every word.

Two girls appear, both with long white braids, moving like shadows as they gesture for us to sit. My butt hits the cold stone floor, my eyes glued to whatever strange ritual Selara is stirring up.

Her hands move over a bowl, steady and precise, as she divides a dark concoction into twelve silver cups. My stomach knots when I count them, twelve. Always twelve.

"Drink," Selara says, her gaze piercing. "This is no ordinary water. It binds you. Swears your loyalty to this Pack. You already know this, the Twelve are ours. And from this moment, you will be part of the Faceless Pack. To serve. To protect. To obey. Now... drink, and seal your oath."

One by one, we rise and drink from the cups, the bitter concoction burning down our throats. We repeat the oaths after her, our voices a chorus.

When it's done, Selara doesn't dismiss us. I could tell she's got more to say. Great. Maybe she'll just skip to the point or, I don't know, drop a hint about what the Lysander-delulu relic could be. Maybe, just maybe she'll have my attention then.

She continues, "As you have sworn your oath, it is until death. Words spoken in this temple abide with you. They are not to be whispered. Not to be gossiped about. You are being watched..."

A shiver runs down my spine. I must say, whoever this lady is, she's scarier than the witch of any bedtime story I've ever heard.

"The Twelve. The sacred Twelve..." her voice is a laughter. I am surprised she doesn't cackle.

"Every decade... the morning moon bleeds. Every decade... the Twelve are chosen. And every decade... the Moon Relic cries."

Wait. Hold up. Did I just hear that right? My chest tightens, curiosity instantly activated. Forget fear, my interest is officially piqued.

Her moves are ethereal as she slowly walks up to us. One by one, she bows, her ancient eyes locking with each of us in turn. First... Second... Third... My heart kicks faster with every pause. I'm the tenth in the row.

"You are all needed," she says. "You are all important. In time, you will each be assigned tasks. My advice? Don't get greedy. Don't get pompous. Those who rise too high... often fall the hardest."

She's finally on me, her ancient eyes meeting mine. Is it just me or did she just flinch? Is there anything scary about my face? About my eyes?

Her hands meet mine, taking my hands in hers, the same way she has done with the others... Her touch is surprisingly warm. My breath stutters, chest tight, as though the air has been stolen right out of me.

Then, at last, she moves on to the next. Relief washes over me like a wave.

Oh, thank the Goddess.

Finally, she's done. Rising once more, Selara's robes whisper across the floor.

"Like I said, you will each be assigned to different tasks. Get settled, and feel welcome."

The two white-haired girls return, this time with other pack members trailing behind them. One by one, they're paired with us.

A girl approaches me, brunette hair, high cheekbones, about my height. She beams, cheeks stretching wide.

"Hi, I'm Zia."

"Laia," I answer, trying to return the smile.

Her eyes light up. "Woah... our names kinda sound alike."

I let out a soft laugh at her attempt of creating a joke, I'll need all the friends I can make here..

"You're assigned to scrub the ancient floors," she says cheerfully. "I'll show you around. Trust me, you'll love it here."

I eye her suspiciously. She's either going to ask me to scrub the toilets for her next, or play some "funny" joke on me soon, while her friends cackle from the shadows. At least my old pack assholes never bothered Liam, I made sure of that.

"Thank you" feels like the safest response... I don't know. That's just what my brain comes up with.

We walk through the pack grounds, Zia pointing at this and that, her mouth running non-stop. She talks and talks and talks... and honestly? I like it. She doesn't even care if I reply, and that saves me from awkward small talk.

One minute, I'm walking. Next, my steps freeze.

My eyes lock on that familiar masked guy, I could pick him out from a thousand faces. Funny how I've memorized everything about him. His eyes are on me too, a few paces away. His mask is off.

"Oh, come on, Laia. What are you staring at?" Zia calls.

I tear my gaze away and see her up ahead. Looking at my feet, I hurry to catch up with her.

How long is this staring competition going to last before I break?

Uncomfortable, unfamiliar heat licks up my spine with every step, and sweaty tendrils of hair stick to my neck. It's freaking middle of the winter. I pull on my collar, nudging some cold air under my sweater, and sigh in relief. Heat, heat everywhere... Must be that weird drink the so-called priestess gave us. I should have dumped it.

Zia gives me a long look, very unlike her chattery self. I cough, self-conscious under her scrutiny. "Lead the way."

In the distance I hear a male voice, a voice that shouldn't become so familiar to me, issuing orders on unpacking the cargo ship we all arrived on.