My alpha mate forced me to become a pack whore.

I exhausted all my shamanic power to save him, yet he slaughtered everyone in my pack—including my parents.

I begged Arthur to at least spare the infant in swaddling clothes.

But he fed the child's corpse to beasts before my eyes.

Then he drove ninety-nine acupuncture needles into my body, forcing me to become the cheapest whore in the entire werewolf camp.

"They say witches heal faster than mortals. Since you won't die, I'll make you wish you were dead."

What he didn't know was that I'd bled out every drop of my witch's essence while saving him.

Now I'm burning out like a dying lamp, with less than three days left.

...

The figure thrusting atop me got shoved aside.

Hands yanked me from the pile of werewolves in the military brothel.

They jerked my neck chain, hurling me into Arthur's alpha camp.

Though I landed on soft rugs, pain whitened my face—

—the needles dug another inch deeper.

A searing pain ripped across my scalp next.

Someone grabbed my hair, dragging me forward without mercy

until black boots filled my vision.

I knew those boots.

Trembling, I pressed my forehead to the ground.

"Your humble servant... greets the Alpha."

My submission earned no mercy from Arthur.

His boot slammed under my chin as he scowled.

"Filthy."

I swallowed my cry along with the blood in my mouth.

My heart felt kneaded into shreds.

Filthy?

Day and night in that brothel, enduring those beasts' violations—

—even during my monthly bleeding, it never stopped.

Now I reeked of their filth, feeling fouler than rotting sewage.

Arthur gripped my chain in disgust.

Ignoring my purpling neck, he wrenched my arm and slashed it open.

Blood sprayed, pooling on the floor from my elbow.

Witches' blood is a potent cure—

—a single drop could heal any illness.

Numbly, I watched him scoop one drop from the overflowing bowl to feed the feverish she-wolf beside him.

I never told him my blood had lost all power.

Mary clutched Arthur's sleeve, murmuring deliriously.

When the blood touched her lips, her eyes flew open, tearful.

"Arthur, I dreamed of the past again..."

"Fear nothing. No one can take you now."

He stroked her forehead with terrifying gentleness.

Watching their intimacy, I paled further as blood dripped from my raised arm.

She was the she-wolf he'd rescued from the city.

She'd brought him his parents' death warrant, claiming our witch clan thirsted for blood—

—that we'd enslaved hundreds of werewolves.

So Arthur took her under his protection, even finding her lost child.

They grew closer daily.

Mary seemed to notice me then, hatred flashing in her eyes.

She lunged up, striking my face.

Smack!

"You witch!

Witch Clan trash!"

I was kicked to the ground, the mottled marks on my body instantly exposed.

Miller froze, his expression darkening as he stared at me, lost in thought.

I frantically wrapped myself in my tattered coat.

Overwhelming shame swallowed me whole.

Meanwhile, Mary clung to Miller's arm, screaming hoarsely.

"Miller, just kill her!

!

Every witch clan member deserves to die!

They all deserve death!"

I shut my eyes, trembling as I curled into a ball.

Miller wouldn't kill me.

But he wouldn't let me go either.

True to form, he yanked my hair.

His amber eyes stared coldly, lips curling in a sneer.

"Want to die?"

Blood loss made my head throb and spin.

I lifted heavy eyelids, gazing blankly at Miller.

The wolf cub I'd once saved had twisted into something unrecognizable, lashing out at me with claws of hatred, eager to tear me limb from limb.

When I stayed silent, his eyes narrowed.

He poured a bowl of blood over my head.

Blood clogged my nostrils as I struggled to breathe.

Miller scoffed, tightening his grip around my throat.

My vision whited out instantly, hands clawing desperately at his fingers.

"K...kill me."

The words made him jolt.

His hand vanished from my neck.

The moment air rushed back, his boot slammed into my ribs, sending me sprawling.

My back hit a wooden stool, pain crackling through my nerves.

Tremors shot to my fingertips as the distant man gritted through clenched teeth:

"Diana Walker! Seeking death for release? Impossible!"

"Take her away. Finish what we started."

Hands grabbed my arms, dragging me like livestock.

Through blood-crusted eyes, I smiled at Miller's icy face.

Three days.

Even if I fought death now... I'd still be gone.

I lay on the cold haystack, my exposed thighs covered in malicious red pinches.

Ants gnawed at my skin, yet I felt no pain.

Such agony paled compared to all I'd endured.

The knife wound on my right arm refused to heal.

Moments later, I was dragged outside again, tightly bound to a wooden stake.

My cheek suddenly stung.

An arrow whizzed past my ear, embedding itself into the stake.

"Damn! Missed!"

Pamela gripped a longbow, pouting as she complained to Arthur beside her.

Arthur cradled a werewolf child, his expression gentle.

He pressed dried meat into the child's hands, then lifted his gaze to meet mine across the distance.

I frantically looked down.

My breathing grew ragged, fingertips digging deep into my palms.

Arthur himself had strangled our child and fed it to vultures.

Now he played the doting father to another.

I shut my eyes in anguish.

The mere memory of that tiny, lifeless form—

—made my world spin, heart wrenching violently.

"Let me teach you."

Three arrows thudded into my shoulder before the words faded.

Excruciating pain lanced through me instantly.

My face drained of color, bean-sized sweat droplets rolling down my temples.

The arrowheads burrowed between bones, pushing the acupuncture needles deeper toward my heart.

I watched helplessly as Arthur draped an arm over Pamela's shoulder.

Their necks nuzzled, breaths tangling.

This time their aim was true:

My heart.

Arthur curled his lips contemptuously, mouthing icy words at me:

Beg me.

Beg... you?

Bitter desolation flooded me as I swallowed blood.

Trembling, I closed my eyes, heart drumming wildly.

Death was the one mercy denied me now.

How could I ever beg you for release?

Pamela quivered with excitement, fingers loosening on the bowstring—

—only for Arthur to clamp down on her hand, halting the shot.

She bit her lip, glaring at me with pure revulsion.

Then she abruptly twisted her stance.

As the bowstring snapped, Arthur's eyes widened.

He shoved Pamela aside, lunging forward.

When the arrow veered off course, striking the stake beside me,

Arthur froze, his gaze inscrutable.

I slowly opened vacant eyes, staring into nothingness.

Still alive.

A beat later, Arthur recovered with a cold laugh.

"Killing her is pointless."

"Pamela, the witch is immortal. Unless you pierce her heart—torture her as you please."

I snapped my head up to see Pamela Jackson standing before me, dagger in hand, her lips curved upward.

She raised her arm high and drove the blade deep into my shoulder without hesitation.

Searing pain shot through every nerve, forcing a choked groan from my throat.

Another stab followed, plunging into my abdomen.

Blood gushed forth, soaking my robes crimson.

My mouth hung open, only pained whimpers escaping—too agonized to scream.

"Filthy wretch! This body's how you bewitched Arthur Miller, isn't it..."

She twisted the blade violently inside my womb.

Watching my torment, her face contorted with perverse delight.

"Now you're just used goods, trash men have worn out. Still hoping Arthur Miller would pity you?"

"He doesn't want you dead. Should I grant that wish?"

The knife tip dragged slowly across my chest.

I stared numbly at the glinting steel, my heart a barren wasteland.

My silence—no tears, no struggle, not even fear—enraged her.

Just as she poised to strike, a child's voice rang out behind her.

"Uncle Alpha! Little Feng wants to shoot the bow!"

Little Feng pointed at the bow taller than himself, cheeks flushed as he wheedled Arthur Miller.

Arthur Miller, lost in thought, ruffled the boy's hair and flashed me a smile.

Ice flooded my veins.

"Very well. Uncle will craft you a special bow from human bones."

"That barren hillside—I recall a witch clan corpse lies there."

My breath hitched. I stared at Arthur Miller in disbelief.

What was he saying...?

The only body on that hill was Nian Nian's.

"No... NO!"

But my screams went ignored. Men soon hauled the tiny skeleton forward.

The fragile bones curled inward, as if still floating in amniotic fluid.

My vision went red. Ignoring the hemp ropes shredding my flesh, I thrashed wildly.

"Don't touch him! I beg you, don't—"

Please.

The plea finally tore from my lips.

Arthur Miller's mouth quirked upward, triumph blazing in his eyes.

He arched an eyebrow at me.

Yet the next instant, he casually lifted Nian Nian's femur.

I watched them grind the bone slender, drilling holes.

Rage surged through my veins.

Suddenly, blood fountained from my mouth.

Before darkness swallowed me, someone cradled my face, voice raw with desperation:

"Untie her!"

"Untie her NOW!"

In the dim dungeon.

I opened my eyes to find Arthur Miller gripping my arm, veins bulging on his forehead.

The wound that should've healed quickly now showed faint signs of festering.

Something felt off to him.

Yet when our eyes met, he instinctively sneered.

"The Witch Clan Priestess is this blind? Just ordinary werewolf bones scared you stiff."

Still lying to me now?

How could I not recognize my own child?

I stared blankly at him as tears gushed out.

Agony, grief, humiliation—

They ravaged me like a raging storm.

Arthur froze, raising a trembling hand.

Before his fingers touched my cheek, I turned away, choking on sobs.

He'd always hated my tears—

Said they made his heart ache.

Yet that ache became a slap across my face.

The blow left my cheek swollen, blood seeping from my lip.

He stood abruptly, fury flashing in his eyes.

His gaze lingered on my wounds before jerking away.

"Diana Walker, no tricks."

"I considered getting a doctor. Seems unnecessary."

The bones in my fingers snapped.

I winced in silence.

Then looked up at his broader frame.

And smiled through bloodied lips.

"Arthur... you've changed."

He stiffened.

I glanced at my mangled fingers—

These hands had fed him medicine, stroked his hair, soothed him to sleep.

Even interlaced with his during intimacy.

Now reduced to this.

"Changed long ago."

"Had I known you'd slaughter my clan..."

Arthur coldly pressed down harder.

"...I'd rather have died."

"...than be saved by you."

I exhaled, done explaining.

He'd never believe me.

If he did, he wouldn't have massacred my family.

Wouldn't have strangled our newborn.

But Arthur...

If I met that bleeding boy again...

I'd still save him.

The weight vanished from my hand.

"Mary Jackson and I wed tomorrow."

The words stabbed my tattered heart.

He smirked.

"They say the Witch Clan Priestess can bless marriages."

"At noon's Auspicious Hour, I'll fetch you myself."

"You'll perform our Ritual Bowing Ceremony."

The cell door clanged shut.

I blinked dry eyes and let out a bitter laugh.

Tomorrow...

Doubt I'll last till tomorrow.

The scorching sun stabbed mercilessly at my skin.

I was roughly pinned on the sacrificial altar draped with Ceremonial Ribbons.

My wounds had long festered beyond recognition.

Pus oozed out steadily, emitting a foul stench.

The werewolf beside me wore disgust on his face, kicking me viciously.

The kick landed with brutal force.

I grunted, feeling my internal organs shudder violently.

Suddenly, gongs and drums erupted like thunderclaps.

I resisted looking up, but someone wrenched my chin, forcing my head around.

There stood Arthur and Mary dressed in shamanic robes.

My gaze locked on Mary's traditional embroidered skirt, pupils contracting sharply.

That bridal gown bore embroidered magnolia blooms in full glory.

Was... it coincidence?

My heart clenched painfully.

Then a bitter smile twisted my lips.

Even if it were coincidence, what concern was it of mine?

Arthur and I had pledged ourselves simply under open sky at the temple.

He'd asked tenderly what I desired most.

Smiling, I nestled against his chest and looked up.

"I want magnolias on my gown when we wed properly before heaven."

...

"Bow to heaven and earth!"

The pair knelt slowly, bending forward in reverence.

Simultaneously, a rough hand slammed my neck, smashing my forehead against stone.

A dull thud echoed as bone met cold ground.

Agony lanced through me, yet my face stayed blank.

"Bow to ancestors!"

They kowtowed solemnly before the ancestral tablet.

Metallic blood suddenly filled my mouth, trickling down my chin.

Everything blurred before my eyes.

Another muffled crack as my skull hit earth.

Crimson seeped slowly, staining the ground before me.

"Bow to each other!"

A smile crept across my lips.

The once-blinding sunlight now felt strangely warm.

Just then, the wedding flower between Arthur and Mary swelled monstrously in my vision.

Glaringly red. Painfully bright.

Blood-color surged like tidal waves.

It flooded across my eyelids, swallowing my sight.

That final bow—my head never lifted again.