Chapter Five

"I asked you a question, Elora," Damon spat, taking a heavy step toward me. "Or did two years surrounded by scum ruin your ability to speak?"

I looked at him, really looked at him.

Years ago, Damon Cross was the boy who bought me sweet chestnuts in the market during winter. He was the boy who swore he would always protect me if I ever felt afraid. Now, looking into his hazel eyes, I saw only disgust and absolute, unwavering hatred.

"I am carrying candleholders because I was given work to do," I said, my voice completely flat. "Nothing more."

"Don't lie to me!" Damon growled, his knuckles turning white where his hand rested on his sword hilt. "You think I don't know how your mind works? You want Dorian to see you covered in dirt. You want Madam Evangeline to feel guilty for leaving you in Blackwood! You are trying to ruin Sienna's big day by parading yourself around like a victim!"

A low, tired breath escaped my lips.

"I don't care about the banquet, Damon," I said softly. "I don't care about Dorian, I don't care about this pack, and I certainly don't care about Sienna."

"Say her name with respect!" Damon snapped, his eyes flashing amber for a brief second as his inner wolf stirred in anger. "She spent the last two years crying over what you did! Feeling sorry for you. And yet, she still begged her father to let you come back! She has a heart of gold, while yours is rotten to the core!"

I stared at him, feeling a sudden, heavy exhaustion deep in my bones.

"I didn't do it," I said.

The words were quiet, almost drowned out by the wind rustling through the garden trees, but they hung heavily between us.

Damon froze. "What did you say?"

"I didn't sabotage the border defense array," I repeated, looking straight into his eyes. "I didn't break the seal, and I didn't cause those guards to die."

For a second, silence stretched over the marble pavilion.

Then Damon let out a dark, bitter laugh.

"You really are shameless," he said, shaking his head in total disbelief. "You confessed to the Council, Elora! You signed the confession paper yourself! Dorian saw it, Alpha Silas saw it, the entire pack knows! And now you stand here and lie to my face?"

"I signed it because Dorian begged me to," I whispered, the memory rising like acid in my throat. "Save my real sister, he told me. You owe us fifteen years, Elora."

"Shut up!" Damon roared, stepping forward and grabbing my upper arm in an iron grip.

A violent wave of panic shot through my blood at his sudden, harsh touch. My muscles locked, and I tried to yank my arm back, but his grip was relentless.

"Don't you dare drag Dorian into your sick lies!" Damon snarled, his face inches from mine. "You're a selfish, envious monster. You couldn't handle Sienna coming home, so you tried to destroy everything! And now you're back, spreading poison before the Lycan King even steps foot on the grounds!"

"Let go of me," I rasped, my breath catching in my chest as terror began to pulse behind my eyes. "Damon... let go..."

"No," Damon said, his eyes narrowing maliciously. "You need to sit in the dark and think about what you've done before you ruin anything else today."

He dragged me across the pavilion floor. 

I stumbled, my bruised legs barely keeping me upright as he hauled me toward the back of the pavilion, where a thick oak door led down to the estate's old stone archive room. It was an underground storage space, windowless, cold, and sealed off from the main house.

"Damon, no!" I choked out, absolute panic seizing my heart as I recognized the heavy iron lock on the door. "Not there... please! Don't put me in the dark!"

He ignored me.

The old archive room was only a few steps away, but the moment I saw that door, my body remembered before my mind could stop it. The thick oak, the iron hinges, the heavy lock, and the windowless walls were different from Blackwood, but my terror didn't know the difference.

In Blackwood, whenever an inmate disobeyed, they were thrown into the "Black Box", a pitch-black, windowless stone cell under the quarry for days at a time. Cold, suffocating, absolute darkness.

I had learned to fear the sound of a door closing more than the sound of a whip.

"No..." My voice cracked. "Damon, please."

"Stop acting!" Damon shoved me hard through the door.

I fell forward, crashing onto the damp, cold stone floor of the archive.

"Damon!"

I scrambled onto my hands and knees and turned just in time to see him pulling the heavy oak door shut.

For one terrible second, I saw the Black Box instead.

I saw the narrow stone walls. I saw the darkness swallowing everything. I felt the cold floor beneath my body and the invisible weight pressing against my lungs.

"Please!"

The door slammed shut.

SLAM!

The iron bolt slid into place with a heavy, final CLICK.

And just like that, I was back there.

Not in the Caspian Manor.

Not in an old archive room.

Blackwood.

Pitch blackness swallowed me instantly.

"Damon! Open the door!" I shrieked, scrambling to my feet and throwing my weight against the heavy wood. "Please! I can't breathe! Open the door!"

From the other side, Damon's cold voice sounded muffled.

"Stay in there until the banquet starts, Elora. Maybe a few hours alone will teach you how to behave."

His heavy footsteps receded down the stone corridor, fading into complete silence.

"Damon!" I slammed my fists against the door. "DAMON!"

I screamed as loud as my lungs could carry, then silence.

My breathing became shallow as the darkness closed in around me, heavy, thick, and suffocating. The cold air of the archive vanished, replaced in my mind by the stench of damp stone, blood, and silver dust.

My fingers curled against the wood.

I knew this smell.

I knew this darkness.

I knew what came next.

"Quiet, 409," the guards' voices echoed inside my head. "Nobody is coming for you. Nobody cares if you die in the dark."

"No... no, please..."

My knees buckled, and I collapsed against the base of the door.

I buried my head in my arms, pressing my hands over my ears, but the darkness was inside my head now. I couldn't feel my fingers. I couldn't feel my chest rising. 

My lungs burned for oxygen, but every breath felt like drinking broken glass. Violent, uncontrollable tremors racked my body as loud, desperate sobs tore from my throat.

"Mother...please..." I whimpered into the stone floor, curling into a tight ball and shielding my head from the invisible blows. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry... don't leave me in the dark..."

Seven hundred days of fear came crashing back all at once. Every breath was a battle I was losing. My vision blurred into pitch blackness as cold terror choked the air right out of my throat.

I squeezed my eyes shut, wrapping my bruised arms around my head and waiting for the blows to start falling.

"Don't hit me... please don't hit me..." I gasped, the raspy words tearing out of my chest. "I'll be quiet... I'll be quiet..."

CRACK!

A sound like thunder echoed right above me. Metal shrieked and tore, followed by a heavy BANG as wood slammed hard against stone.

Blinding light flooded over my face.

The sudden brightness burned my eyes, but I couldn't look up. My body only knew one thing: the guards had come back. They had come to drag me to the quarry.

I cowered closer to the damp wall, shaking so violently my teeth chattered.

Heavy, controlled footsteps echoed on the stone floor, stepping straight toward me.

"Fetch my royal physician. Now."

The voice wasn't Damon's. It wasn't Dorian's, and it didn't belong to any prison guard I had ever known. It was deep, low, and smooth as velvet, yet laced with a lethal, suffocating power that made the very air in the room feel heavy.

A tall shadow fell over me, blocking out the harsh light. The looming presence dropped slowly to one knee right beside me. The rich, intoxicating scent of winter pine and heavy rain washed over the archive's stale air.

"Breathe," the voice commanded softly, surprisingly gentle amidst its power.

Slowly, painfully, I peeked through the gaps between my trembling fingers.

A pair of striking, piercing blue eyes met mine.

Above them was the dark, regal crest of high wolf royalty.

My heart stopped.

This wasn't a guard.

This was Valerius Hale, the feared, ruthless Lycan King.

And as his eyes locked onto my broken form, they didn't burn with disgust.

They burned with a promise of absolute, lethal vengeance.