Page 32 of A Mysterious Slave for the Lycan Prince

“I…it’s nothing special,” I mumble.

“It is.” She beams at me. “The red in it is gorgeous and adds that little something that makes it special. Together with your skin tone, you look almost ethereal.”

“My skin tone.” I grin. “You mean my withered, close-to-dying tone?”

My fellow slaves burst into helpless giggles while the other she-wolves look a little mortified.

“It’s the no fresh air and no sunlight rule,” Gina points out, making us all giggle some more. It’s our coping mechanism, and it’s all we have.

The girl who complimented me on my hair looks sad but resigned. Shaking off her sadness, her posture straightens, and her smile returns quickly as she says warmly, “You still look beautiful, regardless.” Pausing, she looks up and asks, “What’s your name?”

“Freya,” I answer, returning her smile.

“I’m Frankie,” she says, much to my surprise. I didn’t expect her to have such a cute and fun name. Taking a closer look, I can see her eyes sparkling with mischief. She seems like a fun person to be around. It’s a pity she is stuck in such a shit pack.

“How come we never see any of you around?” Gina asks them.

“Oh, most she-wolves aren’t allowed in the pack house,” Frankie explains with a grin. “Not that I miss it here. I’m glad that my so-called mate eats lunch and dinner here.”

“Our main task in life is to pop out a baby,” one of her friends explains.

“Oh, but Odette,” Frankie chimes in with a fake stern voice. “That’s called ensuring the bloodline!”

“Oh, forgive me,” Odette whines.

They laugh at their antics while I exchange a quick glance with Ryllis and Gina. It seems like they have their very own coping mechanism too.

“None of you is with your fated mate, right?” Gina asks.

Odette sighs. “Fated mates are not a thing here.”

“No kidding.” Frankie rolls her eyes. I’m starting to really dig her sassy attitude. “You know the weird as fuck ceremony we have when we shift?”

We all nod. The alpha gathers the whole pack and has those turning seventeen strip bare before they shift. The pack has to chant a weird song, definitely nothing that mentions the Moon Goddess. Then he instantly decides their fates…saying the Moon Goddess whispered to him who is worthy of being an actual pack member and who is not good enough and will be an omega, or worse a slave. Frankie’s right. It is a weird as fuck ceremony and creepy.

“It doesn’t end there,” Odette explains calmly. “When the rest of us turn eighteen, he has us gathered together again. They have another weird ceremony; only we don’t need to strip naked.”

“Just to our underwear,” Frankie grimaces.

“Then he lights several fires and chants something dressed in a weird ceremonial gown as if he is a priest,” Odette continues.

“And then he decides who the women will belong to,” Frankie adds, ending the story.

Ryllis and I exchange a look of disbelief. What the fuck? Who does Colton think he is?

Everything about this pack is so depressing. I’m sure Colton can only do as he pleases because there are no packs close by, and there are usually no visitors.

We all drop the depressive talk for now and chat about lighter things.

Frankie has food delivered to the room, lots of stuff we usually don’t get to eat. The other women clearly want to spoil us. I can only imagine how bad they feel for us and how much they pity us. I normally hate to be pitied, but they seem genuine. Until now, I honestly thought everyone in this pack was awful. It’s good to see that there are nice pack members around too. We spend the next few hours freshening up and taking baths. It’s rare for us to be able to wash ourselves properly, so we take our time. The she-wolves who are looking after us also encourage us to enjoy it. Afterward, we begin to try on all kinds of dresses. It’s hilarious because we make sure to start with the worst ones first.

I waltz in front of everyone wearing a tacky pink dress and wiggle my brows. “Do you think I’ll seduce our guests in this?”

Ryllis approaches me wearing an equal abomination in ochre that washes her out completely. “Mine is far better, I think.”

Odette rolls her eyes at our antics, but she’s laughing as well. “This is what happens when you let men order something. The beta and gamma were tasked with getting the dresses. Good thing Lord Arman had a last-minute say in what else they chose, or Alpha Colton would have a heart attack.”

Frankie sighs, her hand on her chest in an over dramatic gesture. “Oh, Arman.” She grabs a horrible yellow dress and presses it against her body. “Don’t we all wish to have a piece of him?”

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