A Prisoner And Yet Novels & Stories

He even came to me, asking if I wanted to pick out tokens for our mate bond ceremony. At that moment, I decided to give him one last chance. I had no idea my final act of hope would become my prison. I died because I was too soft-hearted in love.

The prisoner was tied to a reinforced post hammered deep into the frozen soil. He was older than me—maybe thirty—with a face that had known too many knives and not enough kindness. Cloaked in tattered rebel garb, dried blood flaking from the corners of his lips, his pride was the only thing still intact. Barely. One eye swollen shut. Nose broken. Fingers trembling. But his mouth? Still running. “You... you’re just a girl—” Ah. There it was. That beautiful sentence. That age-old symphony of underestimation.

But then, to my surprise, he laughed. Not cruelly. Not mockingly. Just genuinely amused, like I’d said something funny. “A prisoner,” he repeated, shaking his head. “In a house like this? With gardens and libraries and…” He gestured vaguely around us. “Not exactly what I’d call a prison, Nina.” “You’ve never been locked in your room.” “Fair point.” “You come and go as you please.” “Also fair.” “You’re not here because you witnessed something you shouldn’t have and now half of the city wants you dead.”

Still. The only sound was the faint hiss and pop of the torch beyond the bars, and the distant drip of water leaking somewhere in the dark. I sat motionless, breathing through the pain. Letting the cold wall press against me. Letting it remind me of where I was. What I’d become. A prisoner. An Omega stripped of her freedom. Thrown into the hands of a prince who thought he owned me now. But I was still here. My heart still beat, slow and steady in my chest.

I answered adamantly, "You are not a prisoner Paige and you know that" he said, "I don't know that because right now, I actually feel like a prisoner" I threw at him getting agitated, "You are not a prisoner, I am only trying to keep you safe" he explained, but I wasn't ready for all any of it, "I understand, but that doesn't mean I would be kept in here like a prisoner, I need to go out, I won't be long, four hours top" I said trying to convince him, but the look on his face was enough evidence I wasn't doing an impressive job at that,

Goel guided me through the way to the basement where weapons and criminals were kept. " Her majesty wants to meet the prisoner," Goel informed the guards and unlocked the door. I entered inside the dark damp wooden hutch. Goel lit the fire stick and brought it close to the prisoner's face. I saw one middle aged man covered in blood, only wearing a thin cloth around his waist. He was tied up on the cross with the nails pierced in his feet and palms. His head was down and he was barely breathing. " Do you want to save your people, Moretz Jonas."

The plane that brought me to the place was also out of reach already. "What was going on?" I helplessly muttered to myself while staring at the towering fence outside. "What's going on is that you're one of the prisoners now. And there's nothing you can do about it anymore. May I know what was the crime you committed?" An old man with worn-out clothes appeared behind me. He then chuckled and put an old-style cigarette in his mouth before he lit it up.

the remaining prisoner replied as light flooded into the back through the opening doors. Skimming the two men inside still chained to their positions, one slumped to lie along the bench seat, Nick arched a brow. “You might be, but he’s dead.” He gestured to the deceased addict, and in horror, immediately the other prisoner scooted as far away as his shackles would allow. “Last chance,” he offered. “You help me get this one inside here, you can have his clothes and make your own escape. Otherwise, you’re staying until someone finds you with two reeking corpses.” “Yeah, okay.”