The Night

The loud clang of the door echoed through the small corridor, shaking my bones. I stayed still - on all fours with the flickering of candlelight warping the edge of my vision.

I didn’t move - I couldn’t. 

My palms and knees stung from crawling on the cold stone floor, and my body trembled with aftershocks from the pain. The collar - the cold, dead weight around my neck - anchored me, digging into my collar bone with each shallow breath. The words I read earlier flashed through my mind.

Property of Alpha Cain.

The words, hanging solid around me, may as well have been carved into my skin, like the crescent of flesh on my shoulder where his teeth had broken through. My back burned from the lashings, and my ass hurt twice as bad. But neither compared to the pain in my pussy. Raw and torn from the assault. He took me, used me, with zero thought of my suffering.

No, that was wrong. He thought of my suffering plenty. The very existence of my pain, my humiliation, seemed to be the source of my pleasure. 

I stared at the shift, still clung tightly in my hand. The fabric, once white, was now torn and stained with blood from where he had made me lie. A message to his pack about who I was and what he had done. The now unfamiliar garment was all I had to cover myself. That and the collar.

I tried to stand, but my shaking legs wouldn't obey. So I crawled, each movement felt foreign and far away, like my body was moving without me. When I reached the large, metal door I weakly lifted an arm and attempted to open it. 

After a few feeble attempts, the door swung open. Miss Clearway and Miss Waters stood waiting. They did not flinch at the sight of me - naked, bruised, streaked with blood and shame. Their faces were as composed as ever, though I thought I saw something flicker, quick and unreadable, in Miss Waters’ eyes before it vanished.

I clutched the bloodied shift to my chest, trying to hide what could not be hidden. The metal collar was cold and solid against my throat, impossible to ignore, impossible to remove. My voice would not come. I only stared at them, trembling, the echo of him still throbbing through my body, through my bones.

A quickly dismissed look of pity flickered on Miss Waters face before she composed herself and stepped towards me.

“Up you get,” she murmured, her voice low but steady. “We’ve got to be gone before he comes out.”

My legs wouldn’t obey. I stayed crouched on the cold stone, the bloodied shift still clutched to my chest, as though letting go of it would unravel what little held me together.

Waters crouched, not quite meeting my gaze. “You have to put it on.”

My stomach lurched at the thought, a sickly feeling rising in my throat. 

Clearway moved towards me, and crouched down next to me. They both placed their hands under my arms and gently, yet firmly, lifted me upright. Waters gently pried the shift from my hand.

“Come on, now. Arm in,” Waters said quietly.

I obeyed. The shift clung where the blood had dried, stiff and clammy, and I flinched as the rough cloth dragged over welts and broken skin. Waters pulled it down without ceremony, smoothing the torn hem while Clearway checked that it hid enough to pass as clothing. It didn’t. The dark streaks and the ragged bite at my shoulder were plain for anyone to see. But that was the point.

The collar felt tighter around my throat as the bloodied shift sat like a banner across my body. My shame, my humiliation, was no secret to keep. I was to display them wherever I went. 

Clearway placed a hand on my back, careful to avoid any injury. “Come along. We don’t linger here.”

They moved me between them, ushering me back through the passageways with quiet, efficient steps. Their presence boxed me in, guiding me, keeping me upright. They did not offer pity, only purpose.

“You’ll eat,” Clearway said as we climbed the stairs.

“And you’ll be seen by the healer,” Waters added, a faint flicker of something—concern, maybe—passing through her voice.

I nodded, though the motion felt disconnected from me. My mind was still in the black-painted corridor, still on my hands and knees, still feeling his teeth in my flesh.

The mansion grew warmer as we rose through it, but the shift stayed cold against my skin.

By the time we reached my corridor, the floral wallpaper and soft carpets seemed unreal, like a painted backdrop behind which the stone and iron still lurked. Miss Clearway opened the door to my room while Miss Waters kept a steadying hand on my elbow.

Steam curled from the en-suite, bringing the sickly scent of rose with it. 

“A bath has been drawn, get in while it's still warm.”

They didn’t wait for an answer, they left quietly, closing the door behind them. I walked to the bathroom, my fingers twisting the hem of my bloodied shift. I lifted it over my head, my hands still shaking. The fabric had stiffened and stuck to me where my blood had begun to dry. It rubbed against my torn flesh like sandpaper. 

The moment I sank in, pain flared bright. The bite and the lashes lit up like fire under my skin, the hot water searing them raw. I gritted my teeth and did not make a sound.

I took the sponge from the edge of the tub and scrubbed. Hard.

I scrubbed until my skin flushed red, until the stinging grew sharp enough to drown out everything else. I scrubbed at the sweat and blood and the smell of him, as though I could strip away the memory with the dirt. I scrubbed the places his hands had touched, the places his shadow had touched.

But the collar stayed.

Its weight pressed down, cold even in the heat of the bath, immovable. I did not touch it. I could not.

By the time the water cooled and my arms ached, my skin was raw and clean and trembling. The pain was still there, but it was mine now.

I curled my knees to my chest and lowered my head onto them, the steam wrapping around me like mist, hiding me from the world - if only for a moment.