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THE LIONESS IN THE PIT

Author: M.N.IMOR
last update Petsa ng paglalathala: 2026-09-22 18:23:21

LYDIA POV

The resounding sounds of Patrick’s heavy leather glove across my face echoed through the freezing dark of my cell.

The force of the blow snapped my head sharply to the side, my long, matted hair whipping across my cheek. Copper-tasting blood filled my mouth, dripping down my cracked lip and splattering onto the stone floor below my hanging feet. My ancient silver chains rattled violently against the granite ceiling, sending showers of cold rust down onto my bruised shoulders.

Patrick stood before me, his broad chest heaving under his silver-fox mantle, his dark eyes flared with an unhinged, humiliated fury.

"You are nothing, Lydia!"

“I am a Mother! “ I barked.

Patrick hissed, leaning in so close I could smell the stale wine and burning pitch on his breath. "You are a broken shadow rotting in the dirt! You have no crown, no army, and no power to stop me! In thirty days, Alora will wear my ring, and your precious bloodline will serve my throne forever!"

I didn't flinch. I slowly turned my head back toward him, spitting the dark blood onto the toes of his polished leather boots.

I didn't say a word. I simply smirked—a cold, feral glint showing my lengthened, divine upper canines through the matted curtain of dark hair falling over my face.

Patrick ground his teeth together, his jaw muscles clenching so hard the bone groaned. "Rot in the dark," he spat, turning on his heel. He marched out of the cell, slamming the heavy, silver-reinforced iron door with a deafening sound that shook the dust from the stone archway.

The heavy iron deadbolts slid into place outside. One. Two. Three.

Then, silence returned to the subterranean abyss.

I hung suspended in the pitch-black gloom, my arms bruised, my wrists raw where the silver cuffs bit deep into my flesh. For eighteen long years, I had listened to the slow, hollow dripping of water in this grave. I had felt the rise and fall of Patrick's fake empire above my head, waiting in the dark while the world believed Adrian's line was extinct.

Slowly, I closed my eyes, letting out a long, ragged breath that misted in the freezing air.

He doesn't know, I thought, a soft, silent chuckle vibrating deep in my chest. The fool truly doesn't know.

Suddenly, a microscopic shift in the air pressure rippled through the cell.

High above my head, near the icy vaulted ceiling where the narrow stone air shaft opened to the outer gorge, the frozen iron bars creaked. It wasn't the wind. It was a precise, controlled pressure.

SNAP.

The ancient iron bars gave way with a faint, metallic hiss—cut cleanly through by a surge of localized, super-heated kinetic electricity.

A shadow dropped silently from the high opening, landing in a low, flawless crouch on the icy stone floorboards. The intrusion was so quiet, so ghost-like, that not a single stone fragment rattled against the ground.

My heart took a sudden, violent thud against my ribs.

The air in my dark cell instantly transformed. The stale, metallic reek of rust and stagnant water was overwhelmed by a scent I hadn't smelled in nearly two decades—the raw, electric tang of an ozone storm, mountain pine, and pure High Alpha blood.

The figure rose slowly to his full height—six-foot-four, broad-shouldered, clad in heavy, steel-plated leather. In his right hand, he held a massive iron broadsword, its single edge humming with a suppressed, microscopic thread of blue lightning.

Alexander.

My son stood in the center of my pitch-black cell, his chest heaving silently as his silver-gold eyes swept the dark room. He couldn't see my face through the dense, filthy curtain of dark hair hiding my features. He didn't recognize the frail, chained form hanging from the ceiling.

He thought he had found his twin sister.

"Alora..." Alexander whispered rasply, his deep voice shaking with a desperate, razor-sharp relief as he took a quick step toward my hanging frame, lifting his glowing sword to cut my chains. "Alora, keep quiet... I found you... I'm getting you out of here—"

He reached out, his broad, calloused hand extending to pull back the curtain of dark hair hiding my face, eager to pull his sister into his arms and run before the perimeter sentries raised the alarm.

I didn't move. I let him step close enough to touch the silver chains.

He paused. His heightened Alpha senses caught the subtle difference—the older, deeper origin-frequency humming beneath my bruised skin. He realized the scent wasn't Alora's. The frame was taller, the magic older, the pulse steady and ancient.

A flicker of intense confusion crossed his hard, dust-streaked face. He took an instinctive step backward, his silver-gold eyes narrowing in the dark cell as he lowered his blade, realizing he had entered the wrong sector of the deep dungeons.

"No..." Alexander growled low under his breath, frustration and panic tightening his jaw. "Wrong cell... Wrong target..."

He turned on his heel, his heavy leather boots pivoting toward the dark stone air shaft, preparing to leap back into the shadows of the gorge so he could continue his frantic search for his sister elsewhere in the fortress.

"Wrong move, son," my voice echoed through the pitch-black cell.

Alexander froze in his tracks as if hit by a physical bolt of lightning.

The raspy, melodic authority in my voice hit his High Alpha blood like an absolute command, binding his boots to the flagstones. Slowly, broad shoulders rigid, he turned back around to face the shadows.

He took a slow, hesitant step back toward me, his chest heaving under his leather mantle, his silver-gold eyes searching the gloom in pure shock.

"Who... who are you?" Alexander asked, his voice a low, raspy thread of raw disbelief.

He reached out with a trembling, blood-stained hand, gently brushing aside the heavy, matted curtain of dark hair from my face, letting the dim moonlight from the high air shaft wash over my gaunt features.

I lifted my head, twin spheres of blazing, supernova silver-gold light igniting straight through the gloom of the cell.

A soft, triumphant smile cut across my bruised lips as I looked into the face of my grown son.

"Your mother."

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