Karmella's P.O.V
Time passed differently in the dark. Agonizingly slow.
There were no windows. No sunrises. Just the flicker of a torch in the hallway and the echo of boots on stone.
I'd learned to count the shifts in footsteps. Guards rotating. Healer coming. Silence. Repeat.
But not once had they unchained me.
Even when my wrists blistered and bled.
Even when the tremble in my limbs made holding my head up a war.
They fed me now, but in silence—cold broth now, never the meal from before. They didn't speak, and neither did I.
It was the only power I had left.
My silence.
And even that… was slipping. Not because I wanted to speak. But because the quiet was killing me. I wasn't afraid of pain. I knew pain. It was familiar, almost warm in its predictability. What scared me was the waiting. The endless second-guessing. The way the air seemed to breathe with me, mocking my loneliness. The way something shifted in my chest every time the Alpha entered the room—and said nothing.
He visited every day now. Never stayed long. He'd stare at me, ask the same two questions, then leave with no reaction when I refused.
But it was different today. The torchlight burned hotter. And my instincts screamed, dread setting in for the very first time since I opened my eyes on this land.
The door opened. I kept my eyes down. Footsteps. Slower this time. Measured. Heavy with purpose. I didn't need to look to know it was him.
"Still pretending to be mute?" he asked coldly.
I said nothing.
He stepped closer. The heat of him filled the space like smoke in my lungs.
"I've offered patience," he said. "Offered food. Offered mercy. That's more than I have ever given anyone"
His voice dropped.
"I can take all of that back."
I swallowed hard. Still silent.
But the walls inside me were cracking. A part of me wanted to scream, to beg, to lash out—just to feel something again.
He leaned down, voice a whisper in my ear. "Say. Something."
I flinched.
Not at the threat—but at how tired I suddenly felt.
Like my soul had been wrung dry and left to rot in silver and stone.
My lips parted.
A breath, almost a word, the one she truly wanted—Dean—
But the door burst open just before my voice met my lips.
Another man entered. Broad-shouldered, with a streak of silver in his hair and wood-colored eyes. Not a guard. Not a healer.
The Alpha straightened, jaw tense. "Marcus?"
The newcomer—his Beta, if I were to guess—gave me only the quickest glance before turning to the Alpha.
"We found something," he said.
The Alpha's eyes narrowed.
"Where?"
"Northwest. Old territory. Former pack lands now unclaimed. Burned down years ago. But there was a name in one of the old records."
He hesitated.
Then looked directly at me chained to the bed.
"A girl. Born wolfless. With raven hair and violet eyes. Daughter of Alpha Victor of the Shadow Pack. Karmella."
The name hit me like a blade to the chest.
My breath stilled.
And for the first time…
They noticed.
The way my eyes widened.
The way the color drained from my face.
The way my silence broke, not in words—but in trembs.
So they had figured it out.
And now… he had the power over me that he had been wishing for.
The Shadow pack.
Alpha Victor.
My father's name hit the stone floor like thunder, but it was the echo that shattered me.
I didn't hear anything after that. My ears rang. My chest tightened so sharply it felt like something inside me snapped. My limbs began to shake—uncontrollably. First my hands. Then my legs. Then my whole body trembled in short, vicious bursts I couldn't stop. Couldn't hide.
My breath came fast. Too fast. Shallow. Ragged.
The silver burned my wrists, but I barely felt it now.
All I could see—all I could feel—were the memories clawing their way through the dark, dragging me backward like hands around my throat.
(Flashback)
His voice.
Low and smooth when others were listening. Booming and cruel when they weren't.
"Weak little thing. Not even a wolf. You shouldn't have been born."
His fists.
Always wrapped in rings. Always aiming for places no one else would see.
The cellar.
The stone floor where I'd learned not to scream.
The silver rod.
For "training." For "discipline." For breaking things that don't listen.
Dean's face—bleeding— the last time he stood between them.
(End of flashback)
I didn't know I was whimpering until my throat tightened around the sound.
I curled inward as far as the chains allowed, my fingers twitching like they didn't know whether to fight or cover my face.
My mind spiraled—faster than my lungs could keep up.
They know. They know who I am. They'll send me back.
I could feel it.
The forest.
The shackles.
The scent of blood in the earth, and Victor's voice just behind my—
"If you ever run, I will make sure you wish you'd died before I found you."
And he meant it.
I knew exactly what he'd do.
He wouldn't just kill me.
He'd make me a lesson.
For the whole pack. For anyone else who ever thought they could defy him.
Slow.
Long.
Drawn out.
Pain designed to linger in memory.
A death that wouldn't even grant me silence.
I started gasping—short, sharp inhales that brought no air, only fire to my lungs.
My vision blurred. Black crept at the edges.
Somewhere, someone was speaking.
A man's voice.
The Alpha, maybe. Or the other one. The one who said Victor's name.
But I couldn't hear them anymore.
Couldn't hear anything but the roar of my own pulse in my ears and the terror rising like flood water in my throat.
They're going to send me back.
I couldn't let that happen.
I wouldn't.
Even if I had to die here, in chains, in fire, in stone—
It would still be better than going back to him.