Chapter 26

SARA 

"There is something wrong with the Twilight Zone. Something has changed since we left. Wait here, and I will go check it out," Yvonne said, her voice tight with a newfound anxiety as we arrived at the desolate outskirts of the pack territory.

I merely nodded, my neck stiff and my throat dry, watching her move through the tall, dead grass of the borderlands. She slipped outside into the shadows of the fading light, leaving me alone in the cold. I don't know how long I waited in the skeletal remains of the building she had called a "safe house," but eventually, she returned, accompanied by a man I didn't recognize—a tracker with a jagged scar across his brow.

"Alpha Rune has not given up his search for you. If anything, he has intensified it. So you listen to me, and you listen good: do not draw any attention to us. If you behave yourself and keep that mouth shut, maybe the Alpha will be lenient when we get inside. Do I make myself clear?" she asked, her voice firm and vibrating with a suppressed panic.

"Yes, ma'am," I stated clearly, the words feeling like ash in my mouth. I was reminding myself of the brutal rules she expected me to follow. I was no longer in the gilded halls of Silvermoon, where I could speak back to her with the fire of my own indignation. Here, in the heart of the Twilight Zone, she could truly carry out her darkest threats, and no one would lift a finger to stop her.

"Fine. Bring the car around," she barked at the tracker. "Let’s go."

When we got out to the vehicle, a nondescript, rusted sedan, she marched to the back and popped the lid. She motioned with a sharp jerk of her head for me to climb into the boot.

"That place is not meant for humans," I protested the moment I bent my head. The smell of gasoline and rancid machine oil hit me like a physical blow.

"Are you a human?" she mocked, a cruel smirk dancing on her lips. "You are a thing with two legs and a mere semblance of a human. Don’t tell me your little time in that fancy guest room in Silvermoon has made you forget your place so soon. You are property, Sara. Nothing more."

Before I could utter another word, she shoved me roughly into the cramped space. I curled into a ball, and she slammed the heavy metal lid shut, plunging me into absolute darkness.

The darkness of the car’s boot was suffocating—a cramped, metal coffin that smelled of exhaust and old oil. Every jolt of the unmarked vehicle sent my head slamming against the interior frame, the vibrations rattling my teeth. But I didn't make a sound. I refused to give her the satisfaction of a whimper. I was a "trophy," a "skilled slave," a "key"—I was anything but a person to them.

We drove for what felt like hours, the air inside growing thin and hot. I eventually vomited from the combination of the nauseating exhaust fumes and the lack of oxygen. My stomach heaved until there was nothing left but bile. Finally, the car slowed and stopped. When the lid finally creaked open, I was hauled out by my hair and dragged through a damp, narrow tunnel that smelled of wet earth and decay.

"Remember, not a single word," Yvonne reminded me, her grip tightening on my arm. "There is a secret passage from here to the main house. We cannot be seen on the surface."

We entered the basement of a restaurant called The Iron Hearth. We moved quickly through their kitchen, where the staff turned their heads away, and then down into a deeper cellar. The air here was thick with the scent of stale yeast and raw sewage. It was almost poetic, knowing that these "noble" wolves were so terrified of Rune’s spies that they were scurrying through the dirt like the very rats they claimed to despise.

By the time we finally reached the Alpha’s bedchamber, my midnight-blue dress was a ruined rag, smeared with the filth and grime of the servant passages. But the room itself smelled worse than the tunnels—it smelled of stagnant blood and the sweet, rot-heavy scent of approaching death.

Tristan lay in the center of the massive bed, a skeletal mockery of the man who had once been my friend, my... well, my everything. Black, spider-web veins pulsed beneath the translucent skin of his throat, climbing toward his jaw like a parasitic vine seeking his brain. His eyes were bloodshot and sunken, fixed on me with a terrifying, feverish intensity the moment I stepped into the light.

"Heal me," he groaned, his voice nothing more than a dry, sandpaper rattle. He reached out a blackened, trembling hand that looked more like a claw. "They say you can... they say your touch... your skill... it can purge the toxin. Do it. I command you."

I stood my ground, the silver collar around my neck feeling like a weight of leaden iron. I didn't look at his face. I didn't move an inch toward him. I simply stared at the far wall, my silence forming a wall of ice between us.

"Are you dumb, girl?" Alpha Tristan growled, a wet, hacking cough shaking his entire frame. "Answer me! Do your duty!"

I slowly turned my head toward Yvonne. She stood by the hearth, her face a mask of cold frustration and exhaustion. She knew the rules she had enforced with her own hands.

"You have permission to speak, slave," she muttered, her eyes darting to Alpha Tristan with a flicker of genuine, raw fear. She knew that if I didn't act, her own status died with him.

"I don't understand. Why isn't she moving?" Alpha Tristan raised a trembling eyebrow to look at his Right Hand.

"It’s nothing serious, Alpha. I had to put her in her place when you left, after she had disrespected your name. Now she speaks only when spoken to. It was a necessary correction," Yvonne said, trying to sound proud, though her voice wavered. "Now, Sara, do as you are told and save your master."

I looked back at the dying Alpha, my eyes finally meeting his. "I will not heal you, Tristan," I said, my voice as sharp and cold as a glass shard. "Not if it saves your life. Not if it saves this entire pack of monsters. I would rather watch the black veins take your heart and stop it forever than spend a single second trying to mend the man who murdered my soul and sold me into chains."

"You are a slave!" he roared, but the effort cost him dearly. He slumped back into the pillows, gasping for air as the black veins on his neck throbbed violently. "I will have you broken for this. I will have you whipped until you beg for the chance to touch me!"

"Then fetch the whip," I dared him, stepping closer to the bed until I could smell the decay on his breath. "I would rather be flogged until I lose consciousness than lay a single finger on you. Your pain is the only thing I find beautiful in this house. It is the only thing that feels like justice."

Yvonne’s hand flew out, her palm connecting with my bruised cheek with a sickening crack. I hit the stone floor hard, my vision blurring and my ears ringing, but I didn't cry out. I just wiped the blood from my lip and looked up at them with a smile.

"Enough!"

An old woman, the healer Nayomi, stepped out of the deep shadows of the corner. Her voice was like parchment rubbing together, ancient and brittle. "You are both fools. You cannot force a gift of the blood, especially one as rare as hers. If she does not give it willingly, the healing will turn to poison the moment it enters your system, Tristan. It will kill you faster than the toxin ever could."

"What am I supposed to do?" Tristan wheezed, his eyes wide with the realization of his helplessness.

"You must appease her. You must give her a reason to want you alive," I heard Nayomi say, her voice fading as I zoned out, focusing on the rhythmic thumping of my own heart.

This was my moment. This was the turning point I had prayed for in the dark. I looked at the man who had broken me, the man who was now begging for the very life he had made a misery.

"Appease me, Tristan," I whispered, the words echoing with a lethal sweetness. "I’m waiting. And the moon is rising."