Caged Inmates Novels & Stories

Xachariah says, pointing in the direction I needed to go. “I’ll lead you to our bunker afterwards, so you’ll know where it is for future reference. Instead of taking a left like we did to get here, you take a right. Good luck, man. I’ll be right here if you need anything.” Glancing around, I see several jail cells akin to that of the human jail cells. Where there are cots and toilets, and that’s about it. The only difference is that they welded the cells into gigantic boulders, which reach over thirty feet high. Ensuring prisoners can’t shift into their wolves and make a break for it. The further I go into the jail cells, a change in decor and amenities comes into sight. The cells have telev

The cold bit into her skin as Elizabeth sat slumped on the floor, her wrists tied behind her, her ankles shackled. The air in the room was damp, metallic, and still. A faint humming echoed through the stone walls, the sound of machinery somewhere beyond her reach. The only source of light came from a single bulb overhead, casting her shadow long and lonely against the cracked concrete. Her breathing was uneven. Shallow. Each inhale came with a slight tremor. Her body still bore the marks from days of captivity—scratches, bruises, the faint purple band of where a collar had once clung to her neck.

After locking me up, the man disappeared again for about two days. Getting up and moving around was limited by the short chain, and above all, my ass hurt too much. As I lay there groaning, I counted numbers. Without a clock, I couldn’t tell the time, but I guessed about 48 hours had passed. I didn’t want to lose my sense of time. If I didn’t count the numbers, I thought I might go crazy in this darkness. Even in that situation, my bodily functions continued. I twisted my body and held it in as long as I could, but eventually, I had to urinate in the corner of the room. After some time, an unbearable, foul smell began to rise. I buried my face in the blanket and covered my nose.

She had expected exactly what happened: the news moving through Black Hollow in the fast, branching way that news moved through a pack, and the reaction arriving in waves—anger first, then argument, then the particular divided stillness of a community working through something it did not have a consensus on. She had asked for Vorik to be put in the holding cell. Not a dungeon—Black Hollow did not have dungeons, had never had need of them—but a secure room in the east wing, a room that could be locked, with a guard at the door and water brought in and the particular institutional quality of a space that communicated containment without cruelty. She had asked for it because she needed time. Ca

Luciano left the room, leaving me alone with my thoughts I stood in the center of the room, my damp hair curling against the collar of my robe, listening to the faint murmur of voices beyond the door as the reality of it settled over me. The safehouse, which only an hour ago had felt like a sanctuary, had become something else entirely. A cage. ------------ The bedroom door didn't just latch; it sealed me into a tomb of velvet and expensive silence. I stood in the center of the room, my damp hair beginning to curl against the collar of my robe, listening to the muffled exchange of voices in the foyer. The safehouse, which only an hour ago felt like a sanctuary, had transformed into a glass c

Their stench is like a skunk's spray, extremely pungent, and one that no bath could cure. “Which cell are they?” Sages asked as we were met by Axel in the corridor. “Number fifteen,” Axel replied, “Since you are here. I’ll go and join my tracking team. Warriors Corben and Homer will stay behind on guard,” and leaves the dungeon. In the ceiling, fluorescent light tubes flood the corridor to provide shallow illumination into each cell, on the left and right. Three bricks enclose each cell, with spherical silver metal bars at the front, and a door in the center. Each can hold up to three prisoners and the room contains only shackles on all of the walls. No windows exist to let in fresh air.

The walls were an unforgiving shade of gray, and the dim, flickering fluorescent lights cast eerie shadows that seemed to dance with the whispers of despair. The air was heavy with the scent of fear and uncertainty. The sound of metal doors slamming shut echoed through the corridor, a haunting reminder of the finality of my situation. I found myself in a cramped cell with stark white walls, a narrow bed, and a cold, unforgiving metal toilet. The thin mattress offered little comfort, and the scratchy sheets were a constant irritation against my skin. My fellow inmates were a diverse mix of individuals who had all found themselves on the wrong side of the law. Some were hardened criminals, whi

Your insights can guide me as I craft the next chapters, making them even more compelling and relatable. In writing “Caged by Him,” I aimed to explore themes of love, struggle, and resilience. Each character is a reflection of real-life complexities, and I hope their journeys inspire you as much as they inspired me while writing. The emotional highs and lows are meant to engage you, to make you feel every triumph and heartache. I believe that stories have the power to connect us, to spark conversations, and to foster understanding. I hope this book does just that.

Within the vast, dimly lit expanse of the repurposed factory, now transformed into a makeshift prison, an air of palpable tension hung heavily. The two-story building was segmented into numerous private cells, each imprisoning individuals from four towns – a mix of Alphas, Betas, and Omegas ensnared during the operation. These cramped quarters, typically housing two or three captives, bore the weight of their fear and uncertainty. In one such cell, a family of four huddled together, their faces ghostly pale.

She must make up for what she has caused herself. Things weren't going according to her plan. She wanted to expose him, punish him and sent him to jail but seems like she is the one who's in jail, his house. She couldn't help but describe this luxurious penthouse as a jail. Afterall how can a house become a home when we are trapped in it without consent. She felt like a caged bird. No matter if the cage is made of gold or rubies if that makes you feel like hostage. The screeching sound of the car caught her attention and like a curious cat she peeked a little to see the familiar porshe car making its way inside. Her already accelerated heart started beating violently at the mere alert.