Chapter 18

SARA 

"I am a servant of the Twilight Zone," I said, the words tasting like ash. I still couldn't believe that this was what my life had become.

That momentary lapse in concentration earned me a slap across the face. She hit me so hard that I found myself on the floor.

"That was insufficient. Again." She snapped. "You should know your place and use the right adjectives to qualify yourself.

"I am a slave of the Twilight Zone," I corrected, my heart hammering. The exchange was degrading, humiliating and ego-stinging.

The pack members watching from the benches began to chuckle. Some looked bored, picking at their fingernails, while others leaned forward, enjoying the spectacle of a high-born falling so low.

"And why are you a slave?" Yvonne asked, her voice mocking. "Tell us about your ambition, Sara. Tell us how you thought you were going to be the jewel of this pack, the Luna of the pack. Where is that confidence now? Where is the proud girl who thought she was too good for the common wolves?"

But that was not true, I was not proud, I've never been proud my entire life. My parents had raised me to be kind and compassionate. It was as a result of that home training that I gave out my wolf to someone I didn't even know who I felt was unloved. But I knew they were not interested in the truth, they wanted me for sport. I was fun to them. 

"I was... I was proud," I said, my voice trembling, the words chocking in my throat. But I to say what I figured they wanted to hear.

"Louder. And use the proper phrasing. 'I am a wretch who sought to steal what was not mine,'" Yvonne coached, her eyes gleaming.

"I am a wretch who sought to steal what was not mine," I repeated and there was some cheer in the crowd. 

The strange thing was that when I was the pack healer, I must have treated almost every family in the pack during my stay here. I'd never believe that this was what they thought of me. Was this how wicked life could be? Tears welled up in my eyes but I didn't want to give Yvonne that satisfaction. 

And another slap, when I was not expecting it, sent me to the floor. If I could anticipate the slap, I'd prepare myself. "Again. I didn't feel the conviction." Yvonne snapped.

I had to say it ten times. By the tenth, my voice was a hoarse sob. The laughter in the hall grew louder. Every mistake, every hesitation resulted in a slap, sharp correction, a demand to 'start over,' reinforcing the idea that my very voice was a privilege I had forfeited.

"Do you belong among us, Sara?" Yvonne asked, leaning down so her face was inches from mine. "Are you an equal to these warriors? To these women?"

"No," I whispered.

"I can't hear you over the sound of your own self-pity. Tell the pack. Admit that you are beneath the lowest omega. You don't even have a wolf, which makes you a liability."

"I do not belong among you!" I shouted, the tears finally streaming down my face. I couldn't hold it back anymore, I felt bad, I felt terrible, I felt broken despite my best efforts. Strangely, I wouldn't have cried if this was Tristan and not Yvonne. "I am not an equal! I am the dirt beneath your paws!"

The hall erupted in a roar of mocking cheers and derisive laughter. Yvonne stood tall, looking out at the crowd with a triumphant smile. She had done it. She had turned me into a caricature, a piece of interactive entertainment for a bored pack.

"Your voice is a privilege you haven't earned yet," Yvonne said coldly, signaling the guards to take me away. "Take her back to the hole. She’s had enough 'freedom' for one day." Then she leaned closer and whispered. "A promise made, a promise kept." 

When I got my cell, I cried until the tears dried up and no tears would come out again. Without a wolf, I was nothing. If that was the case, what was I still doing here in Twilight Zone. If they wouldn't let me go, then they should kill me. I never believed in a thousand years that my life would turn out this way. I didn't have the zeal to fight anymore. 

Later that evening, the cell door opened again. I was huddled in the straw, my spirit battered and my throat raw from the hours of crying and forced confessions. Yvonne entered, looking satisfied, clutching a glass of wine as if she were celebrating a great victory.

"I hope you enjoyed your debut, Sara," she bragged, leaning against the bars. "The pack saw you for exactly what you are today. Even Harlan, if he could have heard you, would have been disgusted. You’ve finally been put in your place."

I looked up at her through the tangled mess of my hair. I was exhausted, yes. I was humiliated beyond measure. But her presence here, her need to come and gloat, told me everything I needed to know. I hadn't lost yet.

"You’ve done your worst, Yvonne," I said, my voice quiet but steady. "You broke my voice. You made me crawl. But do you want to know the funny thing? After all that, you still have to go back to your room alone. You still have to wonder if Tristan will even remember your name when he returns from the war."

Yvonne’s smile flickered. "He values my counsel more than anyone's."

"He values your sword, Yvonne. He values your strategy," I spat, crawling toward the bars until I was looking up at her. "He doesn't see a woman when he looks at you. He sees a comrade. He sees a man with a cock, dressed in woman’s skin. That’s why he’s never touched you. That’s why he never will."

"Shut up!" she hissed, her hand tightening on the wine glass until it nearly shattered.

"He would sleep with any other woman in this pack before he ever recognized you as a mate," I dared, my voice dripping with the same venom she had used on me all day. "He would take a common kitchen maid or a prisoner like me into his bed out of spite or lust before he ever looked at you with desire. You are his tool, Yvonne. Nothing more. And a tool doesn't get loved. It gets used until it’s dull, and then it gets replaced."

Yvonne didn't slap me this time. She couldn't move. She stood there, paralyzed by the horrific truth of my words, her face pale in the dim light of my cell. I had stripped her of her victory. I was in a cage, but she was in a prison of her own making, trapped in a one-sided love that would eventually consume her.

"Get out," I whispered, resting my head against the cold bars. "Go and dream about a man who doesn't even know you exist as a woman. I’ll be here, in the dark, knowing I’m the only one who truly sees you."

She turned and fled, the sound of her frantic footsteps the only music I needed to lull me into a dark, dreamless sleep. "That's how you do it. I'm proud of you." I heard from down the hall and could only assume that it was Harlan listening to our exchange, since Yvonne had let it slip that he was three cells away from me. 

"Harlan is that you!" I called out. "I'm so sorry about last night." There was no answer, everywhere was eerily silent. it was like the voice never spoke which made me begin to think if I had imagined it instead. I better not be hearing voices, I cussed.