The following day I’m disappointed when it’s not Liza that brings me my bread and water. The woman says nothing to me as she takes my empty porridge bowl and leaves a roll and cup in its place. I’ve barely finished the bread when the door opens again. My heart sinks when I see Chad standing on the threshold. “Shower time,” he orders, jerking me to my feet and handcuffing me. He leads me out of the cell and up the dungeon stairs to a garage. I look back at him confused when he pushes me inside. This isn’t a shower. “Strip,” he orders, his eyes not moving from me. “I can’t” I stammer, holding up my hands to remind him I’m cuffed. I wouldn't be able to get my dress off. He laughs and pulls it over my head leaving it hanging at my wrists before ripping off my bra. I already wasn’t wearing underwear from my last run-in with him. I stand awkwardly trying to cover myself when he yanks me towards the middle of the room above a floor drain. He turns and walks briskly to a hose hanging on the
I’ve never thought of myself as a victim. Sure, I have my share of tragedy and trauma—as a low-rank orphan to say I haven’t led a charmed life is a vast understatement—but I learned at a young age that you always have a choice.Maybe not in what happens to you, but in whether you let it handle you, or you handle it. Take from it what you can and move on. That’s always been my coping strategy, but what if there’s nothing to take? No lesson to be learned?I still feel him inside me. He was only there for a moment. Just a moment before I killed him. I killed him, and I can still feel him. What can I learn from this? What can I take from this, that he didn’t take from me? Why did I let him take it? You always have a choice. I play each moment, each move, each breath over in my head. I was someone else when it was happening, somewhere else, but I’m here now. I feel it now, and I don’t want to. Handle it, or it’ll handle you.The whip snaps against my back, tearing loose more skin. I try
There’s a light. A light?!? You’re kidding me. All those stories about a light at the end of a tunnel are real? Heaven is real, and werewolves go to heaven? I find myself laughing. Laughing? Can you laugh when you’re dead? I push myself up with my hands, and my finger brushes the pen as I do. Fuck. I’m still here. Just four cold stone walls. I must have dropped the pen and healed, but there is a light.What is that? I try to stand up and fall—I guess bleeding out of the floor takes it out of you. I’ll crawl then. One hand over the other, one inch at a time. I’ve nearly reached it when my head bumps into the stone wall. It’s in the wall? No, it’s in the crack in the wall.I pull the familiar rock out of the way, and there sits the little gold ring in a pool of my blood, a soft glow emitting from it. I can’t help but reach for it. It feels like sunshine, like pure happiness. The moment I touch it, I feel like a weight has been lifted, my soul washed. My self-doubt and pity draining away
It’s been months—or more accurately about six months—Mack says the Gamma tournament is tomorrow. We’ve settled into a routine he and I, between breakfast and the beatings, and in his own weird way, I think he enjoys our time together. He even sneaks Liza in to visit me sometimes and has been bringing me books and snacks from her. The two of them keep me updated on what’s going on with the pack and keep me sane. I worry it may be the end of him or both of them, but I can’t bring myself to tell him to stop either. Those small moments, trifles of life, they’ve carried me through. I thought it would kill me that first week, being here in the Alpha’s version of solitary confinement, and to be fair, it nearly did. It’s odd what time can make normal, make you accept. This is my life now, and I’ve come to accept it. I dream sometimes of my children, the person I was before, but deep in my soul I just hope they’re safe and have found happiness. James too. I forgive him for abandoning me here
My mind spins as William leads me back to my cell. The Alpha has to be wrong. I can’t have fae blood. My parents were werewolves. I’m a werewolf. I’ve shifted. I have a wolf. There’s nothing special or unique about me. I’m just another grey wolf in a pack of thousands—or was.But why don’t I remember my parents? Remember anything from before the boarding house I grew up in? When he compelled me, I said I inherited the Whitehouse lands.I didn’t inherit them, I found them with Victor. We settled there. That’s why they’re the Whitehouse lands. I mean people could have called it the Rice farm or the Rice lands, but that sounds silly. We didn’t grow rice. I always just assumed people chose to attach my last name to the lot because it was less confusing, and I didn’t take Victor’s last name anyway. It was all I had left of my parents.They didn’t have anything to inherit, especially a huge plot of land near the Darkwood. They were lowly omegas. It wasn’t always called the Whitehouse farm.
I awake to the sound of my cell opening. I must have drifted off the sleep for a while—not long I think. The tiny electric sun above me still buzzes. Two warriors sway through my door, skunk drunk from the smell of them. One stumbles as he swings around examining my space catching himself on the wall. Laughter ensues.His eyes settle on me as I move to sit up. “Ah, there she is,” he slurs. “Prettier than I thought,” the other one comments, “for the unfuckable wolf in cell six.” The stumbler laughs again. “But she’s a killer, Harry,” he says in a bad English accent. Both laugh at that.I watch as Charlotte drops from her corner web, startled by the slamming of the cell door. I regret it when one of them seems to notice my attention isn’t on him. He follows my line of sight and jumps back when he sees her just over his left shoulder.“Christ!” he exclaims. His friend laughs at him and mocks itsy bitsy spider hands as he sing-songs, “Oh, the big bad spider’s gonna come down the spout and
“Amalea! Wake up!” I feel hands on my face. I open my eyes as a bit of intestine drops off the ceiling beside me. Mack’s leaning over me. His shirt draped over my naked body. More men are standing at the cell door, a shared look of abject horror on their faces, one of them turns and leaves. “What have you done now?” He runs his arm under my back, helping me sit up. Another bit of guts drops down beside us. “I—I fought back I guess.” I run my hand down my face, finding it covered in blood. “You’re lucky the guard is a friend and scared shitless of you. He called me rather than William. If the Alpha finds out about this, he’ll execute you this time, Amalea. He might not care about whoever these two are,” he motions to the gore show around us, “but there’s no denying you killed those men at the farm now. He’ll see you as a threat.” “How could he possibly not find out?” My brows furrow in confusion. “We’re going to move you to another cell. Clean this up. Only the four of us know about
I squint as the light above me in my new cell clicks on, stirring me awake. I groan. I’m still exhausted. My sleep was restless, and I had trouble falling asleep. My mind almost immediately begins playing the events of the night before over again, the same thoughts that prevented me from getting any rest. My shifted form. I wasn’t a wolf. I was bigger, stronger. A bear? Was I a bear? A big fucking bear if so. Werewolves can’t shift into anything else. What am I? Is it the fae blood? I wasn’t even sure that was true, but how else could I become something else? I don’t know much about hybrids. No one does outside the council. They’re so often slaughtered before they reach maturity. Interspecies breeding is forbidden. The resulting offspring can be unpredictable, dangerous. I’m dangerous. What few that survived have wreaked unspeakable havoc if the stories are to be believed. But then, the Alpha here. He’s a hybrid. Why was he allowed to live? I scoff to myself. He has wrought unspeaka