Chapter 2: Flames of My Own Making

Helena;

I stood frozen on the blood-soaked ground, Valdman’s iron grip still tangled in my golden hair. The night sky glowed orange with the fires consuming my “Azalea’s” pack. Wooden homes and grand halls crackled and collapsed, sending sparks dancing into the darkness.

The screams never stopped. Men from the Iron Bloodline dragged warriors from the shadows and cut them down without mercy. Women’s cries pierced the air as soldiers ripped at their clothes, forcing them to the dirt in the worst ways imaginable.

My stomach twisted in protest. I wanted to look away, but I couldn’t. This was my writing. Every brutal detail I had lovingly typed out for tension and “realism” was playing out in front of me.

I tried to step forward, to do something, but Valdman’s fist tightened mercilessly in my hair, sending fresh sparks of pain across my scalp. My beautiful dress, the one Azalea had worn for her birthday celebration, was shredded from being dragged across stone and earth. Dirt and gravel plastered to my scraped knees and elbows. Every small movement made my flesh scream. Tears blurred my golden eyes.

‘Please… make it stop,’ Azalea’s soft voice whimpered inside my head. Her fear mixed with mine until I couldn’t tell which was which.

Valdman suddenly released my hair and shoved me forward. I stumbled, arms flailing as I crashed hard onto the ground. Pain ripped through my palms and knees. Small stones bit into already torn skin. I gasped, trying to push myself up, but two of his men grabbed my arms roughly and hauled me to my feet like I weighed nothing.

Valdman approached slowly with powerful calculating steps. The firelight danced across his scarred face and powerful build, highlighting the green eyes filled with pure, bottomless hatred. My breath caught. This was the monster I had created. The morally grey Alpha I had thrilled over while sitting safely at my desk in Los Angeles. I had written him as extremely attractive, cruelly obsessive, the perfect punisher of rebellious heroines. Now he stood before me, real and terrifying, and all I felt was sick regret.

‘What have I done?’ I thought, hating myself with a depth I’d never known. Reality and imagination were never supposed to meet like this.

Valdman snatched my jaw in one large, calloused hand, forcing my face up. His fingers dug in painfully. Then he spat directly onto my cheek. His men erupted in laughter around us.

“Azalea Wakefield,” he said with a voice laced with venom. “How does it feel to watch your pack burn to the ground?”

Tears streamed down my face, mixing with his spit. “You’re a monster,” I choked out. The words came out in Azalea’s soft, melodic voice, but the defiance was all me.

Valdman’s lips curved into a cruel smile. “Just like your father.”

“My father would never harm a fly!” I snapped back, Azalea’s stubbornness surging forward alongside my own anger.

He turned to his men, still gripping my jaw. “Did you hear that? The offspring of Wakefield claims he would never harm a fly.” Laughter boomed louder. His green eyes returned to me, burning with rage. “The audacity of a Lass, pretending she knows nothing of her father’s sins.”

His hand suddenly released my jaw and clutched my throat instead, yanking me against his broad chest. The heat of his body was overwhelming. Scars peeked from beneath his dark tunic. “I will make sure you walk on every thorn your father made me tread,” he growled, breath hot against my ear. “You will feel every bit of my pain before I finally end you.”

Fear crawled up my spine like ice. I hadn’t written this part. My story had only just begun with the attack. What else had I planned for Azalea that I no longer remembered in full? The uncertainty made everything worse.

Azalea’s anger scorched hot inside me, conflicting with my terror. ‘How dare he?’

Valdman stared straight into my eyes, his expression cold and possessive. “Get her ready. She shall be my bride.”

I glared back at him, the words spilling out before I could stop them. “I would rather die than be a bride to a monster.” That was Azalea’s words, not mine.

Then she spat directly into his face.

‘No! That was a stupid move, Azalea!’ I screamed inside our shared head. My modern panic clashed hard with her defiant pride.

Valdman slowly wiped the spit from his cheek with the back of his hand. For a moment, deadly silence fell. Then his palm smashed across my face with brutal force. Pain tore across my cheekbone. The world spun, and everything went black.

~~~~~

Beep… beep… beep…

My eyes fluttered open to the harsh glare of fluorescent lights. I was lying in a hospital bed, tubes in my nose and arms. The familiar smell of antiseptic hit me. Monitors beeped steadily. My mother sat beside the bed, faces lighting up with relief.

“Helena! Oh thank God, you’re awake!” She leaned forward, tears in her eyes, gently stroking my hair.

I tried to speak, to tell her everything. My laptop! The story! I need to delete it or change Valdman, make him less cruel, anything! But no sound came out. My mouth moved, but the words stayed trapped in my head. I was screaming internally, desperate, but she kept asking how I felt, if I was in pain, what I remembered.

It hit me then. I was in a coma. My body was here, broken from the truck, but my soul, my consciousness, was trapped in that nightmare I had written. Tears rolled down the sides of my face.

Just arrest me, I thought desperately. Let the police take me for killing Titus. Anything but sending me back there.

My mother smiled softly, still stroking my hair. “I understand what happened, sweetheart. I know why you killed Titus. It’s going to be okay.”

My heart monitor spiked wildly. The beeping accelerated. Darkness rushed in again.

~~~~~

When my eyes opened next, cold stone pressed against my back. Silver chains burned into my wrists like acid, the metal hissing against werewolf skin. Azalea’s body reacted to the silver, sending waves of searing pain up my arms. My scream came out shattered.

Valdman stood a few feet away, watching me with those cold green eyes.

“Is this the most you can do?” The words came out spiteful, Azalea’s stubborn fire taking control even as I begged internally for mercy. In our shared head, she added, Just kill me now. If I get even the smallest chance, I’ll drive a dagger through your heart myself.

Valdman rose slowly and walked closer. His presence filled the dungeon cell. One hand clutched my neck, squeezing just enough to remind me how easily he could end me. With the other, he took a thick iron collar from one of his men and forced it around my throat. It connected heavily.

“This is your new identity,” he said, disgust filling his voice.

His finger brushed my cheek almost gently, then he growled and stepped back. “Strip her,” he ordered his men. “Give her a hundred lashes until she breaks.”

And with that, he turned and stormed out without another glance.