Chapter 45
Chapter 45
“You, it’s you again p>
The sound of Wade’s voice detonates behind me, low and venomous. Every instinct I’ve buried since the night of my exile snaps awake. I don’t wait to see the look on his face. I run.
My skirts catch on the marble edge of the fountain as I bolt, so I grab a fistful of fabric and rip the hem without thinking. The tear echoes like a gunshot in the courtyard, but I’m already moving–bare feet slapping against the cold stone, breath burning in my throat. Lantern light streaks the path in shards, shadows leaping like they’re alive.
“Get her!” Wade’s command roars through the night.
Boots thunder behind me.
The gardens blur past–statues of Lycans, their white marble eyes watching me flee; hedges trimmed to perfection, now a damn maze I have to sprint through blind. I duck beneath low branches, the scent of orange blossoms cutting sharp through the chill, and dart between torch–lit paths. My heart pounds so hard it feels like it’s rattling my ribs apart.
I shove over a hanging lantern as I pass, flames licking at the air as it crashes to the ground. For a split second, light flares against the marble, throwing everything into chaos. Shouts erupt behind me. Good. Let them stumble.
I skid behind a column and flatten myself against the damp stone, pressing a hand to my chest to muffle my breathing. Ariel’s blood is still tacky on my skin, smeared down my wrist. I wipe it off on the column, smearing red across white.
A guard’s boots crunch on gravel inches away. I freeze. My shoulder brushes against wet leaves, cold water seeping through the torn fabric of my dress. His torchlight washes over the hedges, a glowing halo that comes too close. My lungs ache from holding my breath.
“Nothing here!” he yells, voice echoing.
The second his footsteps retreat, I push off the column and take off again. East wing. Servant tunnels. If I can reach them, I can lose them in the lower floors.
My legs scream as I sprint, lungs raw, but I don’t stop until I see the wooden servant door ahead–half–hidden behind ivy. Salvation.
I grab the handle and wrench it open just enough to slip through, but fingers tangle in my hair and yank me backward so violently my neck snaps. Pain explodes at the base of my skull.
“Got you, bitch,” a guard snarls.
I twist, slam my elbow into his ribs, then drive my knee up into his groin. He howls, loosening his grip just long enough for me to spin and crack my elbow into his jaw. Another one charges me from the side–I bite his arm, hard, tasting blood.
They swarm. There’s too many. Someone tackles me, driving me into the wall. My shoulder hits first, the
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Chapter 45
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impact jarring down my spine. I thrash like a cornered animal, nails clawing, legs kicking, snarling curses through gritted teeth.
“What the hell are you doing to her p>
Tully’s voice cuts through the chaos. I catch a glimpse of her and Marg pushing through the guards, their faces pale and furious.
“She’s the King’s woman!” Marg shouts, “You can’t touch her like this p>
The guards hesitate, glancing at each other. But then Ariel’s voice pierces through the tension, honeyed and poisonous.
“No, she isn’t,” she croons, clutching her blood–stained stomach dramatically. “I am the Luna of Woodridge. She’s a traitor. Arrest her p>
And just like that, their hesitation evaporates.
As they drag me back, I twist my head toward Tully and Marg. My voice comes out hoarse, but determined. “Tell him,” I whisper. Alaric.
Their eyes widen. Then they run.
A guard slams me against the wall, twisting my arms behind my back. The iron shackles bite into my wrists, heat burning where metal meets skin. My wolf snarls in pain inside me, the Omega aura reacting to the iron like it always does.
“Let me go!” My scream ricochets through the stone halls, raw and wild.
Wade doesn’t show. He’s probably barking orders elsewhere like the coward he is. His men drag me down the corridor, ignoring the way I kick at their legs and jerk against the chains. People stop to watch as we pass- nobles, servants, soldiers–whispers rising like a wave.
“Isn’t that p>
“The King’s favorite p>
“She’s in chains p>
I keep my chin up, even as they drag me like I’m some criminal caught in the act.
We reach a spiral staircase leading downward. The moment my bare foot hits the cold stone steps, the air changes. Damp. Iron–laced. It smells like mold and old blood.
“Not so pretty now, huh?” one of them laughs, shoving me forward.
Another elbows me in the ribs when I try to slow down. I stumble, scraping my knees on the uneven stone, but they keep dragging me.
At the bottom, a heavy iron door groans open, hinges shrieking. The sound slams shut behind us with a clang that vibrates in my teeth. Final.
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Chapter 45
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The dungeon isn’t silent. It breathes. Whispers slither from dark cells. Chains rattle somewhere deep. A scream echoes faintly, distant but real. My skin prickles.
They drag me down a corridor lined with barred doors and throw me into a cell like I’m a sack of meat. I hit the damp floor hard, palms scraping against cold stone.
“Call the King!” I yell, forcing my voice to stay steady. “He knows me! Alaric knows me p>
A guard backhands me so fast my head whips to the side. “How dare you speak of the King like he’s your servant,” he snarls.
Another kicks the bars, laughing. “The King doesn’t waste his time on filth p>
Blood drips from the corner of my lip. I spit it out, glaring at them. “You’re gonna regret this,” I whisper.
They slap me again, harder. The third time, I don’t even flinch. I just whisper, hoarse but stubborn, “Tell him p>
They leave eventually, their boots echoing up the staircase. The dungeon settles into dripping silence. I curl against the wall, knees pulled up to my chest. The cold seeps into my bones, but I don’t close my eyes. I can’t.
Hours pass. Maybe. Time doesn’t work right down here.
Then boots return.
No words. Just rough hands yanking me upright by the chains. They shove a damp, moldy sack over my head. The stench hits me immediately–rot and mildew–and the coarse fabric scrapes my cheeks. The rope tightens around my neck, not enough to choke but enough to make breathing hard.
“Where are you taking me?!” My voice echoes, muffled.
A fist drives into my gut. Air whooshes out of me, and I double over.
They march me forward. I can’t see. I can only hear–the stomp of boots, the distant hum of voices, my own heartbeat hammering in my ears. My feet drag over uneven stone until suddenly, I’m forced to my knees.
The air shifts. My heart spikes.
I know this feeling.
I’m being taken to Wade.
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