The Alpha’s Human Sacrifice

3.

The world was still dark when Josephine was shaken awake.

She blinked, disoriented, her body heavy with exhaustion. The air was cold, the kind of biting chill that came just before dawn, and her thin blanket did little to stave it off.

“Josephine,” a soft but firm voice said. “It’s time.”

She turned her head and found herself staring into the lined face of the village healer. Old Mother Nara. Her silver hair was braided down her back, and her clouded eyes, though kind, carried a weight of resignation that made Josephine’s stomach churn.

“Come, child,” Nara said gently. “We must prepare you.”

Josephine didn’t move at first. Her body felt as if it had been weighed down by stone. But Nara’s hand on her shoulder was insistent, and with a deep breath, Josephine forced herself to sit up.

Her heart was pounding in her chest, and her mouth was dry as dust. She had spent the night crying, and though no tears came now, the hollowness remained.

The healer’s hand on her shoulder was firm. “Come now,” Nara urged. “The sun will rise soon, and we have much to do.”

Josephine nodded faintly, forcing herself to sit up. Her limbs felt heavy, uncooperative, but Nara’s steady presence didn’t allow for hesitation.

She had no choice.

The village was cloaked in mist as they stepped outside, the air biting with the chill of the early morning. Josephine wrapped her arms around herself as they walked, her bare feet brushing against the dew-damp grass.

The streets were deserted, though faint lights flickered behind shuttered windows. She knew the villagers were awake, watching. Waiting.

Nara led her through the village and into the woods, down a narrow path Josephine had never taken before. It wound between towering trees, their branches tangled and twisting overhead like ancient sentinels. The only sounds were the crunch of leaves beneath their feet and the occasional rustle of wind through the trees.

The path opened suddenly into a small alcove shrouded in mist.

The spring.

Josephine had heard of it in stories, whispered tales of a sacred pool said to be blessed by the ancestors. It was a place of cleansing, of renewal.

Today, it was where she would apparently leave her old self behind.

Her breath caught as she stepped into the clearing. The spring was smaller than she had imagined, its surface smooth and glassy, reflecting the faint light of the moon. Around it stood a half-circle of ancient stones, their surfaces carved with runes that pulsed faintly in the misty air.

The elders were already there, their lined faces solemn as they turned to greet her.

She swallowed hard, her gaze dropping to the ground as they looked her over. Their silence was oppressive, heavy with expectation.

“You must disrobe,” Nara said gently.

Josephine hesitated, her hands clutching at the fabric of her nightgown. She could feel the elders’ eyes on her, the weight of their expectations pressing down like a stone.

“Do not be afraid,” Nara said, her voice low.

Afraid. The word felt laughable. What was there to fear about this, compared to what came next?

Josephine took a shuddering breath, her fingers trembling as she pulled the gown over her head and let it fall to the ground.

The elders stepped forward then, their movements slow and deliberate. They worked silently, scrubbing her skin with coarse cloths dipped in the icy water of the spring. The herbs they used scratched and stung, the smell sharp and earthy. They moved with precision, leaving no part of her untouched.

Her hair was washed next, the tangles combed out with ruthless efficiency. Her nails were trimmed, her eyebrows plucked, every imperfection erased. Even the fine hair on her body was removed with wax, the sharp sting making her gasp.

By the time they finished, her skin was pink and raw, as if they had scrubbed away not just dirt but every trace of the person she had been.

Nara wrapped her in an ancient cloak, its fabric heavy and embroidered with strange symbols. The weight of it felt oppressive against her shoulders, its rough edges scratching at her already-sensitive skin.

“Hold still,” Nara said, kneeling to tie small brass bells around Josephine’s ankles. The sound of them jingling was soft and melodic, almost mocking in its cheerfulness.

“What are they for?” Josephine asked, her voice hoarse from disuse.

“To ward off spirits,” Nara replied simply.

Josephine didn’t question it further, but she also couldn’t help her eye roll.

“It is done,” the healer said, standing and placing a steadying hand on Josephine’s shoulder. “Come now. The village is waiting.”

The village square was alive with sound and movement when they arrived.

Josephine’s heart sank as she took it all in.

A massive bonfire roared at the center of the square, its flames licking high into the sky. Drummers surrounded it, their beats deep and rhythmic, the sound vibrating through her chest with every strike.

The villagers were gathered in a wide circle around the fire, their faces illuminated by its glow. Children clung to their mothers’ skirts, their wide eyes filled with fear and curiosity. Men stood with their heads bowed, their hands clenched into fists. They were silent as Josephine and Nara entered, their eyes fixed on her.

She kept her gaze on the ground, unable to bear the weight of their stares. But as she was led closer to the fire, she couldn’t help but look up, her eyes darting unconsciously through the crowd, seeking out the faces she had grown up with.

She found Cecily first.

Her sister stood near the front, her hazel eyes red and swollen, tears streaking her pale cheeks. Her lips moved faintly, as if she were whispering a prayer.

The twins, Marianne and Lila, were beside her, their identical faces streaked with tears. They clung to each other, their shoulders shaking as they sobbed.

Even Annalise was there, standing slightly apart from the others. Her arms were crossed tightly over her chest, her jaw set. She didn’t look at Josephine, but there was no satisfaction in her face now—only something cold and hard that Jo couldn’t name.

Her father stood behind them, his broad shoulders slumped, his gray eyes bloodshot. His jaw was clenched, his lips pressed into a thin line, as if he were holding himself together by sheer willpower. He didn’t cry—he refused to cry—but the pain in his expression was clear.

And then there was her stepmother.

She stood at the edge of the crowd, her green eyes calm and detached, her mouth set in its usual tight line. She looked at Josephine briefly, a flicker of something—satisfaction? Relief?—crossing her face before she turned her attention back to the fire.

The villagers began to murmur, their voices a low hum that sent a shiver down Josephine’s spine.

“She looks so young.”

“She has to be brave. For all of us.”

“Do you think he’ll take her?”

Josephine felt her stomach churn violently, her head spinning as the weight of their words pressed down on her.

Nara’s hand on her arm kept her steady as she was led to the center of the circle. The drummers’ rhythm grew louder, faster, as she approached the bonfire, until the sound was deafening.

The village shaman stood beside the flames, his staff raised high. His robes were adorned with feathers and beads, his face painted with the same symbols that now marked Josephine’s skin. He turned to her as she approached, his eyes gleaming with firelight.

“Ancestors, hear us!” he bellowed, his voice booming over the drums. “We offer our daughter, Josephine of Ashenford, to the Wolf of Midnight!”

The crowd murmured in unison, their voices low and reverent.

The shaman began to chant then, his voice rising and falling in a strange, hypnotic rhythm. He moved around her, his staff carving patterns into the air as he spoke. The elders joined him, tossing herbs into the fire that sent bursts of color into the flames—green, blue, gold.

The smoke curled around Josephine, thick and choking, filling her lungs with a bitter taste.

The drums grew louder, faster, until it felt as though the rhythm was coming from within her own chest.

“Accept her, Wolf of Midnight!” the shaman cried, slamming his staff against the ground. “Take her as your bride, and grant us your mercy!”

The flames roared higher, the heat licking at Josephine’s skin, until it felt as though the fire itself would consume her.

And then, through the chaos, she heard it.

The sound of hooves on the horizon.

The Alpha’s emissaries were coming.