Argh!" A sharp cry escaped my lips as I darted in front of my brother, shielding him from the lashing aimed his way. Pain rippled through me, but I clenched my teeth, refusing to let it show.

"That boy had the nerve to disregard the alpha of your district’s pack," snarled one of the warriors, his voice cold and unyielding. He gripped a long, thick whip, its leather glinting ominously under the dim light. His gaze flickered between me and the trembling form of my little brother hiding behind me.

"He’s only six!" I protested, my voice trembling but resolute. "He didn’t mean to—"

Before I could finish, a loud crack echoed through the air, followed by a sharp, stinging pain across my cheek. My hand shot up instinctively, pressing against the burning sensation. When I pulled my fingers back, a streak of crimson stained my skin. Blood. My blood.

The warrior loomed closer, his expression unreadable. "Do you want this to become a public spectacle?" he sneered, his words laced with venom.

"Punishment? I can assure you, it won't end well for you if you don't move aside, human," the warrior growled, his voice low and threatening.

I wanted to move, to run, but I couldn’t—not with my little brother behind me. I’d taken a punishment like this before, nearly two months ago. The memory of it still haunted me. My back bore the scars, a constant reminder of the pain, the weeks it took to heal. But I couldn't let him suffer.

"He meant no disrespect," I pleaded, my voice trembling but firm. "He was just playing. Please, he's just a child. Would you really stoop so low as to—"

A sharp crack split the air as the whip lashed across my arm. A sharp, burning pain shot through me, but before I could react, the lycan's fist collided with my jaw.

The force sent me stumbling backward. I spat blood onto the ground, pain radiating through my face, but I forced my head down in submission. It was the only way to protect my brother. His small hands clung tightly to the hem of my shirt, trembling with fear.

"To the courtyard!" the warrior barked.

My head snapped up at the command, dread pooling in my stomach.

"Run home and lock the doors! Stay with Mom!" I whispered urgently, my voice low but firm. My little brother hesitated for a moment, his wide, frightened eyes locked on mine, but then he turned and ran.

Before I could take another breath, strong hands gripped my arms. Two wolves flanked me, their claws digging into my skin as they dragged me away. I twisted my neck to catch one last glimpse of my brother’s small form disappearing into the distance, heading toward the safety of our home in the human district. Relief flooded me, and for a brief moment, a faint smile tugged at my lips. He was safe.

But that relief quickly gave way to dread. My heart pounded as I was forced forward, my feet barely brushing the ground. People began to gather, their stares heavy with pity and fear as I was dragged toward the stage in the courtyard—the place where punishments were carried out.

Once there, my wrists were bound tightly to a post, the rough rope biting into my skin. A thick leather strap was shoved into my mouth, meant to stifle my screams and protect my teeth from shattering under the pain. I bit down hard, my jaw already aching.

Humans were forced from their homes to witness these punishments, the crowd now thickening around me. It was a cruel tradition, one meant to instill fear and obedience. Even if you weren’t the one being flogged, the sight of it—the sound of it—burned into your memory. And knowing you could be next was almost just as unbearable. The moment the lycans deemed the crowd large enough, my punisher stepped forward, his claws gleaming in the light. Without hesitation, he slashed at my top, shredding it to pieces and exposing my scarred back to the audience. Murmurs rippled through the gathered humans, and I caught the sound of a few gasps—people who recognized me.

A leather strap was shoved into my mouth to stifle my cries. I bit down hard as the first stroke of the whip tore into my flesh, the sharp crack echoing through the courtyard.

By the twentieth stroke, my body was trembling uncontrollably. The searing pain in my back was unbearable, each lash feeling like fire branding my skin. I didn’t need to look to know my blood was running freely, soaking into the ground beneath me. Fifteen lashes were standard for punishments, so why had they gone beyond that?

When the twenty-ninth stroke landed, my legs gave out, and I sagged forward, my weight resting entirely on my bound arms. My vision blurred, and my head felt heavy. I had endured twice the usual punishment, and my body was failing me.

The final stroke rang out like thunder, but by then, I was too numb to feel it. Darkness threatened to pull me under as I hung there, broken and confused, unable to comprehend why this had been done to me.

The whip cracked through the air one last time, and an audible grunt escaped my lips. My jaw went slack, the leather strap falling from my mouth and hitting the floor with a dull thud.

Moments later, my bindings were released, and my body collapsed onto the bloodstained stage. I hit the ground hard, too weak to break my fall. Blood trickled steadily from my wounds, pooling beneath me and staining the wood.

There’s something you should know about wolves—they don’t care about nudity. Clothes are meaningless to them. When they shift, their clothes tear to shreds, and they return to their human forms completely bare. It’s a common occurrence, so seeing a naked torso—like mine now—barely fazed anyone. But that knowledge didn’t stop the shame burning through me as I lay there, trying to cover my exposed front with trembling arms.