Valtira.
My voice was raw from an hour of screaming and cursing. Every word scraped my throat like sandpaper.
I hated the silence that followed. I hated that they had taken my voice from me—and that it was him who had taken it.
At last, I was dropped to the ground. My arms were yanked behind me, the grip bruising as they bound my wrists with coarse rope that bit into my skin like a venomous brand.
The sack was torn from my head, and harsh light flooded my eyes. I blinked hard, trying to adjust to the sudden brightness of the great hall where I now knelt.
When my vision steadied, I saw him—Alpha Zarek—standing on the dais above, his gaze cutting through me. The court surrounded him in silence, eyes filled with disgust.
“Bastards… all of you,” I spat, the words breaking into a cough.
