Chapter 13: Coronation

Sofia sat quietly in the cold cell. The blindfold was gone, and for the first time since morning, she could see again. The light from the small window above fell across the floor, casting a pale glow on the stone walls. Her wrists were red and sore from the heavy chains.

She had been sitting there for hours. Her mind kept replaying everything—Damien’s offer, the angry shouting crowd, and her mother’s face filled with hate.

The silence felt heavy until she heard footsteps coming down the hall

She lifted her head weakly.

The cell door creaked open.

Lady Cara stepped inside, her long black gown sweeping across the floor. Her eyes, cold and full of hate, locked on Sofia.

For a moment, Sofia forgot how to breathe.

“Mother…” she whispered, her voice shaking.

Cara’s lips curled. “Don’t call me that,” she spat. “You lost the right to use that word the day you killed my daughter.”

Sofia’s eyes stung. “I didn’t—”

“Don’t lie!” Cara snapped, cutting her off. “You think because Damien claimed you, you’re safe? You’re not.” She took a step closer, her anger radiating like fire. “This isn’t over, Sofia. I will not rest until you are dead.”

Sofia pressed her back against the wall, her hands trembling. “Why can’t you believe me?” she whispered. “I loved Lola too…”

“Liar!” Cara hissed, her eyes glistening with rage. “You were jealous of her—of everything she had. But you won’t win, Sofia. You will never be free. I’ll see to it that you suffer every single day until the Moon Goddess herself takes pity on you and ends your miserable life.”

She turned sharply, her heels echoing against the stone as she stormed toward the door.

Sofia’s tears finally rolled down her cheeks. She wanted to scream, to tell her mother she was still her daughter, but no words came out.

For hours she remained seated in the cold cell. Then she heard it, faint at first, then growing louder.

Drums.

The rhythm echoed through the stone walls, deep and loud, like the heartbeat of the pack itself. She lifted her head slowly, her chest tightening as realization struck.

The coronation.

It had begun.

For a moment, her mind drifted back to the old days—when she and Damien would sit under the moonlight, laughing about the future. He had told her once, “You’ll never belong in the kitchen, Sofia. You’ll stand beside me, one of my inner warriors.”

She had believed him. Every word.

She had trained harder than anyone, pushing through pain and exhaustion just to make him proud. And now, while the drums celebrated his rise as Alpha, she sat chained in a cold cell, not as his warrior, not as his friend, but as his slave.

His sex slave.

Meanwhile, in Damien’s chambers, servants moved around him, adjusting the golden pins on his chest, the dark cloak that draped behind him.

“Alpha Damien,” the old attendant said with a respectful bow, “the council awaits.”

He nodded but didn’t move. His reflection stared back at him from the mirror, strong, composed, but empty.

Outside, the drums rolled again, loud and powerful. The sound should have filled him with pride. Instead, it felt like a countdown.

Suddenly Sofia’s face flashed in his mind. He closed his eyes for a moment, his jaw tightening.

“Ready,” he said finally.

The attendants stepped aside as he walked toward the door. The great hall was filled with his people, the elders, and the Moonstone throne that symbolized power. Yet even as he approached it, his chest felt hollow, like something was—or rather someone—was missing, and he sure as hell knew that someone wasn’t Lola.

Damien walked slowly, dressed in a dark cloak lined with gold. Every step he took made the crowd cheer louder. He could hear them calling his name—”Alpha Damien! Alpha Damien!”

The elders stood at the front, holding a silver crown.

One of them raised his hand and spoke, “By the will of the Moon Goddess, we crown Damien as Alpha of this pack.”

The crowd shouted with joy. The music grew louder. Flowers and silver dust were thrown into the air.

Damien bowed his head as the crown was placed upon it. He was now Alpha, but as he lifted his eyes, he didn’t feel proud. He felt empty.

People rushed to him. Warriors, elders, and daughters of other Alphas came to greet him. Some of the young women smiled sweetly, touching his arm or bowing low. One whispered, “The Luna’s seat is still empty, Alpha.”

He gave a small smile but said nothing. He could not imagine anyone else sitting in that place.

Hours later, the feast began. Tables were filled with food and wine. Music and laughter filled the air. But Damien barely tasted anything. He felt tired, heavy, and far away.

When the drums slowed and people started to leave, he stood up quietly.

“Enough for tonight,” he said.

The guards bowed. “Yes, Alpha.”

He walked back to his room, removing his crown. The firelight flickered on the walls. Everything looked beautiful, but it didn’t make him happy.

He sat on the edge of his bed and stared at the floor. Damien dragged a heavy hand over his eyes. He was utterly exhausted. The weight of the ceremony, the endless parade of well-wishers, and the crushing emptiness inside him had drained every ounce of his strength.

He pushed off the bed, letting the heavy, brocaded cloak fall to the floor with a muted thud. He needed to be alone, yet the silence of the large chamber was suffocating. He crossed to the window, staring out at the distant lights of the pack, which should have felt like his pack now, but didn’t. He was Alpha. He had power. But the sense of triumph was a bitter, hollow thing.

Suddenly a feeling went through him, sharp and unexpected. It wasn’t pride or sorrow, but a raw, animal craving. His mind went to the one person who wasn’t supposed to be on his mind, the person he had vowed to hate, yet the one he couldn’t banish from his thoughts.

Sofia.

He remembered patching her scraped knee himself because he didn’t trust anyone else to touch her.

He remembered snapping at warriors who stared too long.

He remembered telling himself it meant nothing.

But it had always meant everything.

His chest tightened painfully.

The memory of her beautiful face, the curve of her throat, the very taste of her—it was a vicious, demanding hunger. He wanted to feel the curve of her body in his hands, to feel his lips on her skin… He had craved her… All those years he had craved her, but it was a secret he would take to his grave. He craved her like a drug. Now, he didn’t have to keep the secret. He was the alpha. He could have anything, or anyone, he wanted.

He spun away from the window, the fatigue burning away, replaced by a ruthless desire. He pulled the bell rope sharply, the sound echoing.

A guard and a maid, both looking startled, rushed into the room.

“Alpha?” the guard asked, bowing low.

Damien’s voice was rough, edged with an authority that left no room for doubt or question. “Go to the holding cells. Release Sofia.”

He didn’t wait. He looked at the maid.

“Take her to the washroom. She has been hurt,” he said. “You will be gentle.”Clean her. Bathe her. Put her in a silk robe. Then bring her to me.”

The maid swallowed hard, her eyes flicking between the Alpha’s hard face and the guard, who had already turned to execute the order.

“Y-yes, Alpha,” she stammered, curtsying deeply.

Damien gave a curt nod, his jaw clenched, and walked toward his inner sitting room, where a bottle of expensive wine sat untouched. The emptiness was still there, but now, he had a distraction coming. He had the power to summon the one person his traitorous body and mind insisted on wanting.

He poured himself a glass of wine. He didn’t drink to enjoy it. He drank so he wouldn’t think.

He didn’t want to question what he was doing.

He just wanted Sofia in his room.

In his bed.

Just for one night.

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