Within These Wicked Walls Novels & Stories

Damon hissed, his eyes darting from the chalky white walls to the neatly aligned beds separated by a thin corridor—six on either side like rows of livestock. “You see those fences?” I muttered, jerking my thumb toward the window. “Silver-tipped. Laced with wolfsbane too, I’d bet.” “They’ll either kill us with their rules or those spikes,” Damon groaned, flopping backward onto his bed, arms folded behind his head. “If this wasn’t enough torture, we can’t even flirt with the girls. The best of every pack’s bloodline is here… and we’re expected to behave?” I scoffed.

Svetlana Yulia Kozlovsky I’ve been staring at the grey, golden and white walls and the so-called classy furniture consecutively with maddening intensity like felons had the prison cell printed in their minds, I’d this Goddamn Mansion. My skin was burning and my lungs were suffering burning from lack of oxygen. This textured ceiling of the repulsing pink room with stars and the whole screwed universe model was going to be a lasting nightmare once I get out of here, I reckon.

The chains stretched across the room, anchored to the walls with cruel efficiency, ensuring there was no escape. The room itself was a desolate, forgotten place. The walls were bare, save for the peeling paint and the occasional patch of mold creeping up from the damp corners. The air was thick with the stench of rot and decay, mingling with the metallic tang of blood and sweat. It was a room designed for suffering, where time lost all meaning, and hope was nothing but a distant memory.

Still I forced myself to smile at the attendant, returning the charming smile he flashed at us as he raised a black lever and ushered us in. Inside, the grandeur turned darker. The walls were made of black marble, a sharp contrast to the white outside. While the exterior white walls whisper opulence and purity, the walls inside craved darkness and spoke volumes of secret. There were thin lines of gold that looked like veins running with no particular order across the walls, catching and reflecting the lights from the chandeliers overhead.

A place gnawed down to appetite and waste. Whatever Red Maw had once been as a pack, this was corruption so deep it had almost become structure. We passed a room where somebody had tried and failed to clean blood off the tiles. Another where women’s clothes lay in a heap beside men’s boots and broken restraints. Every glimpse sharpened the same understanding in me until it sat cold and hard in the gut: these were not simply enemies. These were wolves whose pack-life had gone rancid, with dominance reduced to use, loyalty reduced to appetite, and every instinct that might once have held them together turned inward and spoiled.

I wish I didn’t put her through that… could she ever forgive me for what I did to her before? KATRINA The dungeon smelt of rotting rats and fish, worms were dropping from the ceiling to the ground at random times and the dungeon was as dark as twilight. The stone ground was wet and it would suddenly go chilly inside. Thick silver bars in cells separated us from the wolves kept in here. Most were too weak to stand and others stretched their hands out, trying to make contact with skin. “I hope they’re guilty.” He folded his hands into his pocket and we could now see the small crowd ahead. Finally. “If I tell you what they did, you’d want to finish the job yourself.”

Pacing back and forth in a room that looks more like a prison. “Gotcha,” I whisper, my lips curling into a grin. But then my stomach drops as I take in the details. The windows are sealed tight, and the walls are covered in wolfsbane. No wonder Mia and Lily couldn’t reach her. This place is a fucking fortress.

It felt possessive. "You're trembling," he noted, his voice rough. "I'm c-cold," I lied. "You're not cold," he countered, his thumb tracing the strap of my nightgown. "You're scared. Of a little noise." "A little noise killed Whiskers," I whimpered, turning my face into his neck. The stubble there grazed my cheek. "Whiskers was a cat," Damian said, his grip tightening. "You're a woman, Skylar. You're stronger than you think."

Red emergency lights turned off. Replaced by bright white. A speaker crackled to life. Victoria's voice. "Welcome, gentlemen," she said. "I've been expecting you." The walls started moving. Hydraulic systems engaging. Closing in. "She's going to crush us," Red said. "Find an exit!" I shouted. "Now!" We searched frantically. Walls closing steadily. Six feet of space. Five feet. Four feet. Bull found something. A grate in the floor. "Here!" he yelled.

“Stay back.” The woman in the wall tilted her head and smiled wider. “You always say that.” Aira could not breathe. Her mother was still trapped in the seam below, face pale and shaking, her eyes fixed on the woman in the wall with fresh horror. The basin woman had gone rigid. Corvin looked like a man watching every secret he had buried come clawing back to the surface at once. Rowan’s voice came out thin. “I officially hate mirrors, walls, floors, and whatever this is supposed to be.”