The Marked Mate of the Lycan King.

Esmeralda Pov

The iron taste of copper and the sour stench of stale blood always clung to the corners of the kennel block, but today, the grime felt personal. I scrubbed the stone floor, my knuckles raw against the rough, freezing surface, careful not to look up. In this part of the Black Hills pack territory-the dregs, the slums, the place where failed omegas were shuffled off to die quietly, invisibility was the only comfort I could claim.

It had been four years since Alpha Damon Vane said those three words that ripped the ground out from under me: I reject you. Four years since my mate bond, which had felt like liquid gold in my veins, solidified into dead, useless iron.

"Well, look at the beast of burden. Still scrubbing for a crust, Esmeralda?"

The voice was thin and sharp, belonging to Luna Leona. She stood in the doorway, framed by the pale, winter sun, wearing silks that shined with the color of freshly shed blood. Damon had mated her six months after rejecting me, a tactical move to shore up his dwindling power. Leona was short on true Lycan strength, but long on cruelty.

I didn't pause my scrubbing. "Good morning, Luna," I murmured, my voice sandpaper-rough from disuse.

"Don't waste your breath on me. I just came to ensure you haven't misplaced the new whelp's bedding. It's too good for you, of course, but the pups need comfort." She sniffed dramatically, wrinkling her nose as if she smelled the failure radiating off me. "Honestly, Damon should have just exiled you. You're a stain on the pack. A living, breathing failure to his poor judgment."

The words were meant to sting, and they did, settling heavily in my chest where the Mate Mark used to burn.

I am not a stain, I thought, gripping the stiff brush. I am a survivor. You are just a parasite clinging to a failing Alpha.

But I kept the thought locked behind my teeth. Silence was safety.

Leona moved closer, her expensive boots clicking against the wet stone. "Oh, and your scars. Really, Esmeralda. Try to cover them. They distress the other omegas. A constant reminder that some wolves are simply born to be broken."

She wasn't talking about the small scars from Damon's previous punishment; she was talking about the deep, faint, almost silver-white lines that patterned my forearms, marks I couldn't explain and couldn't fully hide, marks that always seemed to subtly shift hue under certain lights.

I finally lifted my head, offering a vacant, blank stare. "Understood, Luna. I will procure a tighter sleeve."

Leona sighed, bored by my lack of reaction. She hated that she couldn't break the small piece of resistance that still lived behind my intense, brown eyes. "See that you do. The Alpha will be back soon, and I don't want him reminded of his trash collection." She turned, disappearing into the sunlight.

I sank back onto my knees, resting my forehead against the cold