The Alpha’s Human Sacrifice

4.

The girl in the mirror was a stranger.

Josephine stood stiffly, staring at the reflection of a woman she barely recognized. The ceremonial dress clung to her body, heavy and suffocating, the pristine white fabric pooling around her feet. The bodice, cinched tightly at her waist, emphasized the curves she had spent years ignoring, while the long sleeves clung to her arms like bindings. It wasn’t a gown meant to celebrate—it was a mockery of one, a cruel imitation of joy.

Her dark brown hair, usually untamed and wild, had been pulled into a strict bun, the strands pinned into submission with only a few tendrils escaping to curl rebelliously against her neck. Her face was bare of makeup. Shifters had no need for such things; their beauty was flawless, unmarred.

She wasn’t flawless. But she was beautiful.

It was an unusual beauty for Ashenford—sharp cheekbones, a delicate nose, full lips that now trembled under the weight of her grief. Her skin, pale and smooth, bore none of the sun-kissed hues of the farmers and merchants she had grown up with. However she was tall and strong, her body was lean from years of running through the village fields, her curves amble and evident. She used to swim too, back before the rivers had dried and the creeks had turned to dust.

Her father never spoke of it, but from the way his eyes lingered on her when he thought no one was looking, she knew her appearance was a painful echo of another.

Her mother.

The mysterious, lowly woman who had left Josephine wrapped in a handwoven blanket on the village chief’s doorstep. The whispers in the village said she had been a seductress, luring her father away from his wife. But all her mother left behind was her name, stitched into that blanket, and a face that haunted the chief every time he looked at his youngest daughter.

Her father never talked about her, but he didn’t have to. Josephine saw the truth every time she looked in the mirror.

Her glowing green eyes, brighter than any emerald, were the only thing she had inherited from her father. The rest of her—her high cheekbones, her tall frame, her untamable curls—belonged to her mother.

She hated it.

Now, as she stared at herself in the mirror, resentment clawed at her throat. She looked like a prisoner on death row, pale and hollow-eyed, her lips pressed into a thin line to keep from trembling.

Because that’s what she was, wasn’t she?

A knock at the door shattered her thoughts.

Josephine flinched, her gaze snapping to the sound. Before she could answer, Cecily’s voice came softly through the wood. “Jo? They’re waiting.”

Josephine didn’t answer.

The knock came again, more insistent. “Jo, please. It’s time.”

Her throat tightened, and she turned away from the mirror, smoothing the fabric of her dress with trembling hands.

“I’ll be there in a moment,” she said finally, her voice hoarse.

There was a pause, and then the sound of retreating footsteps.

Josephine took one last look at herself, a bitter laugh escaping her lips. A bride. That’s what they were calling her. But brides had a choice.

She had none.

The Alpha’s emissaries were waiting downstairs.

She had heard them arrive during the ritual—everyone had. The elders had hurried her away the moment the sound reached their ears, stripping her of the ancient cloak and dressing her in the ceremonial gown with quick, rough hands.

Now, they were here to collect her.

Her heart pounded as she descended the stairs, each step feeling heavier than the last.

The moment she reached the bottom of the stairs, the air in the room changed.

The emissaries stood in the center of the entrance hall, towering figures whose presence seemed to suck all the warmth from the space.

There were three of them, and not a single one looked remotely human.

The first was massive, well over six and a half feet tall, with broad shoulders that strained against the black leather of his armor. His face was sharp, angular, his skin pale and flawless, save for the deep scar that ran from his temple to his jaw.

The second was wiry, but no less imposing. His arms and chest were corded with muscle, and his dark, hooded eyes glinted with cruel amusement as he surveyed the room.

The third was the most intimidating of them all. He was older, his face lined with faint scars that seemed to glow faintly in the firelight. His amber eyes burned with an intensity that made her breath catch, and when they locked onto hers, she felt the weight of his gaze like a physical force.

How barbaric must the Alpha be, she thought, if even his emissaries look like this?

Her father stood stiffly near the back of the room, his shoulders hunched as if trying to make himself smaller. Compared to the emissaries, he looked like a twig, his thin frame utterly dwarfed by their towering forms. He didn’t dare look any of them in the eye, his gaze fixed firmly on the floor.

Cecily stood beside him, her hands clenched into fists at her sides. Tears streamed silently down her cheeks, but her chin was raised, her hazel eyes burning with a fierce determination.

The twins were pale, their faces ashen as they clung to each other. Marianne’s lips trembled as she glanced nervously at the emissaries, while Lila’s eyes darted around the room as if searching for an escape.

Even her stepmother, usually so composed, looked seconds away from bolting. Her hands were clasped tightly in front of her, her knuckles white, her gaze flitting between the emissaries and Josephine as if weighing her own safety against whatever lingering guilt she might have felt.

And then there was Josephine.

She didn’t tremble. She didn’t weep. She didn’t feel anything at all.

Whether it was because she had cried herself dry or because her body had simply shut down in the face of overwhelming fear, she couldn’t say. She just stood there, her hands hanging limply at her sides, her heart beating a dull, steady rhythm in her chest.

The blond emissary—the one with the long scar on his face—stepped forward.

“This is her?” he asked, his voice smooth but icy.

Her father nodded quickly, his eyes fixed on the floor. “Yes, sir. This is my daughter, Josephine.”

The emissary’s gaze swept over her slowly, and she felt the weight of his scrutiny like a physical force.

“She’s tall for a human,” he said, his lips twitching faintly.

The second emissary, the wiry one, grinned widely. “Bit of a fighter too, I’ll bet. She doesn’t look like a meek little lamb.”

“Enough,” the blond emissary said sharply, his tone cutting through the room like a blade. His silver eyes locked onto Josephine’s. “You will address me as Dren, and you will do as you’re told. Understood?”

Josephine didn’t answer. She didn’t even blink.

The room fell silent, the tension thick enough to choke.

Dren’s silver eyes began to glow, faintly at first, then brighter, until they burned with an unnatural light. His lips curled back, revealing elongated canines—sharp and gleaming in the dim light.

“You will answer,” he said, his voice low and resonant, carrying a barely restrained snarl.

Her heart stuttered once, the only betrayal of her otherwise stoic exterior. The emissary’s gaze pinned her in place, his inhuman features sending a shiver racing down her spine.

But she didn’t cower.

“Yes,” she said finally, her voice clipped.

Dren stared at her for a moment longer, the glow of his eyes dimming as his lips curved into a faint smirk. “Good,” he said, stepping back. “There might be some spine in this one after all.”

The second emissary let out a low chuckle, his yellow eyes narrowing with amusement. “Spine won’t help her much where she’s going.”

Josephine didn’t react. She wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.

Her father cleared his throat, the sound loud in the oppressive silence. “Her belongings are ready,” he said, his voice trembling slightly.

“We don’t need them,” Dren said dismissively, his gaze flicking to the small satchel on the floor. “The Alpha will provide what she needs.”

Her father flinched, his shoulders stiffening.

The third emissary chuckled, the sound low and grating. “That is,” he said speaking for the first time, his sharp grin widening, “if the Alpha keeps her.”

Josephine’s heart didn’t falter, though her hands tightened slightly at her sides.

The second emissary shared a glance with the others and let out a short laugh of his own. His gaze swept over the room, lingering on her father’s hunched shoulders and the trembling forms of the twins. “They really think she’s their savior,” he said mockingly, his voice dripping with disdain. “Pathetic.”

The word landed heavily, and the air in the room grew impossibly still.

Josephine inhaled sharply. Her chest rose and fell with a slow, deliberate breath, her eyes fluttering closed for the briefest of moments.

When she opened them, she moved.

Slowly, deliberately, she turned her back on the emissaries.

The suddenness of the gesture, the sheer audacity of it, shocked the room into silence. Even the emissaries—towering, fearsome figures who carried the Alpha’s command like a divine decree—paused, their inhuman eyes narrowing.

Josephine didn’t care.

She walked to Cecily first, her steps steady, the bells at her ankles jingling faintly with each movement. Her sister’s tear-streaked face crumpled as Josephine reached her, but Cecily stood strong, her hands clasped tightly in front of her.

Without a word, Josephine pulled her into a tight embrace.

“Thank you,” she whispered, her voice steady despite the lump in her throat. “For everything. For always fighting for me, even when no one else did.”

Cecily broke, her shoulders shaking as she clung to Josephine. “Jo,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I’m so sorry. I—I should’ve done more. I should’ve—”

“You did enough,” Josephine said softly, pulling back to look her sister in the eyes. “More than enough.”

Cecily nodded, though tears continued to stream down her cheeks.

Josephine stepped back, her gaze shifting to the twins. Marianne and Lila stood frozen, their faces pale and streaked with tears.

She nodded once at them, her expression unreadable.

The twins didn’t speak, but they didn’t have to. Their tears said everything.

Josephine didn’t spare her eyes further. She didn’t look to see the satisfaction gleaming in her stepmother’s cold gaze or the faint flicker of triumph in Annalise’s smirk.

She didn’t search for the regret in her father’s red-rimmed eyes.

It didn’t matter anymore.

She turned sharply, her dark curls bouncing against her neck as she faced the wolves once more.

“Shall we?” she asked, her voice firm, her chin raised.

The silence that followed was heavy, the wolves exchanging glances as though weighing her audacity.

Dren’s lips curved faintly into a smirk. “At least she’s not dull,” he said, stepping toward her. “Let’s go home, little lamb.”