CHAPTER 5: NO ESCAPE

-ZOYA-

I stare down at my wrists, mind replaying Ragnar's almost gentle movements as he wrapped a bandage over the cut while I stared at him, unable to think.

The room is empty but still feels cold, like it couldn't quite shake off the presence of the monster that was just in it.

"Bastard." My hands curl into a fist. Just what the hell was he?

I grab the knife he kept on the table. It feels colder now. The same weapon that just cut through my skin. My hand trembles slightly as I strap it to my belt.

I still can't shake away the fact that I was so powerless. That was what scared me. Not the deal, not his closeness.

"I need to get away from here, fast!' I mutter to myself, but even as the thought crosses my mind, a vein in my hand tingles. I clutch my wrist, gritting my teeth through the pain. What was happening to me?

I can't show weakness. No, not again. Somehow I have to find a way out. I have to survive.

Stumbling out of the room, I follow the faint light coming from the end of the corridor. Of course he lived in a dark crypt.

I stick to the walls like I've always learnt to. It's eerily silent; the only sound was my heavy breathing as I made my way down. Deep carvings and signs that I can't read are etched on the walls. Each symbol more cryptic than the last. There was no door... Not a single one. Only a flight of stairs leading downstairs.

The moment I reach the foot of the steps, my feet landing on the marble tiles, bright light flashes on my face from above.

I step back in shock.

In front of me stands a white wolf, huger than anyone I've seen, fangs out and claws ready to pounce. It licks its mouth like it's dinner time.

I should have stayed out in the room...

I curse under my breath, knowing that I wouldn't stand a chance. definitely not with a bruised hand.

Slowly back away.... I think, ordering my feet to move.

The form of the wolf shifts, enlarging until a tall slender man stands in front of me.

He shoves his hand into his leather jacket. He looks ordinary at best, black pants and boots. But there's something unnerving about his green eyes. He tilts his head to one side with a cruel smirk.

"Going somewhere, wolf?"

Wolf? I mutter under my breath, feeling that the term would be more suited for the man in front of me.

"Who are you?" My left hand grips the knife by my side.

His eyes follow my movements. He notices, of course he does. "A servant of Ragnar's, just like you."

"I'm no one's servant," I snap.

He looks at the bandage on my hand instead. "Try that again when the pact is fully formed. By then you'll be lying at his feet like an adorable cub, throwing yourself in front of silver swords for your master."

I glare at him. I don't mistake the smug little triumph in his voice.

He turns around, heading outside. At the doorway, he stops without turning back. "If I were you, I wouldn't try to escape." With that, he was gone.

I stand there for a minute.

Screw it. I need to get a phone and find out just where the hell I was.

I step outside. The air bites at my skin, reminding me that I was still in the faded jacket that I grabbed seconds before rushing to the pack house when my life was still normal.

Normal is an exaggeration.

Now the jacket is covered in dirt and dry blood, wet in some places. Even my pants feel like something that was dumped into a sewer, making me wonder just how Ragnar brought me to his godforsaken mansion. The dirty smudge of dirt on my feet looks like a sorry excuse for boots.

I needed a change of clothing more than I needed to escape.

First, it feels quiet. Too quiet. Mountains stretch endlessly through the distance and green clouds hand in the sky, like I was in another part of the word entirely. I look behind, seeing the building clearly now. An old castle with its two towers falling apart, set in the middle of nowhere.

Classic.

My ears pick up sounds coming from the distance. I go towards it instinctively. And ahead, just past a cracked archway, a group of men are training.

Not sparring. Not practicing. Fighting.

Everyone wearing ash uniforms, their faces expressionless... almost like...

I push the thought out of my head.

A battalion of army controlled by Ragnar?

I watch the men tear themselves apart. No teams, no order, men swinging weapons with the intention to kill. Unhinged. Fangs bared, wolves colliding with fists and blades. Dust kicks up around them, and blood stains the snow in pure chaos.

A battle for the last man standing. Nothing like the organized fights I'm used to in the rings.

I don't realize I'm paralyzed with shock until one of them pauses mid-attack. Then another. Soon, all eyes are on me.

The white wolf from earlier stands at the edge, next to a patch of snow, his gaze sharp.

He smiles faintly when he sees me. But there's nothing pleasant about it.

"If you're going to interrupt our training session, then you should be more than prepared to make up for it." He starts walking towards me, his hands shifting into claws. The sound of bones snapping fills the air as his form changes.

No one tries to stop him.

I pull out my knife... Just barely before a mass of fur slams into me, knocking me several feet in the air. I land on my side, spraining my injured hand further. The knife, my only weapon, spills out of my hand, landing inches from me.

Red.

I see red.

Something hard lands on me followed by the snapping of fangs.

Twenty-three years of survival flashes between my eyes.

"No!" I yell, grabbing the nearest thing, a rock, and bashing it into the white fur with all my might.

It lets up... Just a little.

A little is all I need to roll to the side, grabbing the knife and sending it into the air, aiming between the wolf's eyes.

He dodges.

"That's enough." A cold voice cuts through the air.

I look up, seeing Ragnar approaching, his scythe wielded in one arm, an angry glint in his eyes.

The wolf moves away from me, shifting back to human form.

How can someone shift so quickly and seamlessly?

Ragnar turns to face him with a scowl. "What is the meaning of this, Ryker? I've only just patched her up."

I stand up, feeling my anger rising again. Patched me up after slicing a dagger across my palm. I didn't need this motherfucker standing up for me.

Ryker grins, relaxed, despite the blood dripping from the side of his face where I hit him with the rock.

"I only wanted to see if she was worth the trouble. We're going to need everyone we can get for tonight's attack."