Page 29 of Runt of the Pack
This thin thread of faith in the power of our bond is the only thing keeping my shattered psyche from giving way completely. So long as it remains, I can endure whatever else is coming. I must if I ever hope to get back to Vlad.
The rough dirt floor trembles under approaching footfalls, heralding another’s arrival. My empty stomach roils with dread as the hulking silhouette of a broad-shouldered man fills the crude doorway. Even awash in shadows, I recognize that confident posture, the entitled tilt of his head. Revulsion instantly scorches away my grief and despair, replaced by bone-deep rage.
“There she is, my sweet little Stasia.” Roan’s mocking endearment heralds his entrance into my squalid prison. My former pack name on his lips shoots a shiver down my spine. “It seems you and I still have some unfinished business between us, darling.”
He dismisses the smirking Boris with a derisive flick of his wrist. My pulse hammers as Roan begins to circle my huddled form with languid purpose. I brace myself for explosive violence, but he merely watches me with predatory amusement. The way his gaze roams my body, however, makes my skin crawl as if coated in filth.
When Roan inhales deeply, eyelids briefly sinking closed, I taste bile at the back of my throat. “Just as delicious as I recall,” he purrs. “Absconding from your Alpha could not change that.”
The possessive words ignite my temper. I waited years for any chance to escape this beast’s clutches, nearly losing myself entirely in the process. Yet he still believes I am nothing more than a plaything to be bent to his twisted desires.
“I stopped belonging to you the day I ran away from this prison,” I spit venomously.
Roan’s eyes flare crimson at my defiance, but his retaliation is controlled, almost languid. He casually backhands me across the face, splitting my lip and filling my mouth with the coppery tang of blood.
“We’ll soon cure you of that insolent tongue once more.” Roan grasps my jaw, nails digging into my skin. “This time, you will not escape your branding. Then, you’ll serve your true purpose here as broodmare for my heirs—once I’ve disciplined that fiery will again.”
His vile threat makes my stomach roil. I barely restrain the urge to vomit on his expensive Italian loafers. But I refuse to show any reaction that might satisfy his sadism, staring stonily ahead.
Seeming to sense my silent rebellion regardless, Roan crouches until we are eye to eye. He trails one clawed fingertip down the slender column of my throat in a perverse caress.
“This is for your own good, little one. Obedience will earn you rewards again.” His touches turn rougher, proprietary, when I try jerking away. “The comforts you grew accustomed to before you betrayed me so cruelly.”
Memories of those “comforts”—privileges dangled before me like bones before a dog, keeping me tethered by fear and dependency—make me tremble with loathing.
Sneering at my disgust, Roan twists my hair brutally in his fist until pained tears spring forth despite my resolve. He forces my gaze back to him, eyes ablaze with sadistic promise.
“You will learn to appreciate my generous affections once more. I’ll make sure of it.” He kisses me with bruising force, reopening the split in my swollen lower lip. I endure his assault, motionless, until he relents at last.
Roan strokes my battered face almost tenderly before releasing me. “We have difficult but rewarding work ahead, you and I. Very soon, all will be mended.” He smiles, cold and nauseatingly certain. “I promise.”
With those chilling parting words, Roan turns his back on me and strides from the dismal chamber. In the doorway, his silhouette pauses to rake one final possessive, devouring look over my huddled form. Then the heavy door slams shut, sealing me in pitch blackness once more.
Alone on the freezing dirt, still dazed from pain and fear, I can do nothing but weep bitterly. The full horror of my situation crashes down, forcing out harsh, broken sounds from my ravaged soul. However narrowly I managed to escape Roan’s sadistic obsession before, this time there may be no way out of the lavish prison forged by his “love.”
Eventually, no more tears come, my body and spirit drained. Curled against the cold wall, I desperately try conjuring every fading image of happiness and light found in Vlad’s arms. But they bring only fresh waves of anguish now. That sweet dream of freedom and love has died along with the girl who dared hope for a future.
Whatever I face next in this unending nightmare, it will be with the hollowed-out shell that remains. The defiant flame within me has been extinguished, leaving behind only ashen remnants and darkness. Perhaps that is precisely what my jailer desires most, in the end—not just my body enslaved, but my soul shattered completely. And this time, he may finally achieve that sinister goal.
24
VLAD
I’m adrift in a sea of darkness, no light or sound to orient myself. But strangely, no pain either. Just... nothingness. Is this what it means to slip free of mortal bonds and into the eternal unknown?
A familiar distant melody seems to ripple through the void around me. A lilting folk song our old nursemaid sang while I played in the sun-warmed gardens of father’s grand estate. The nostalgia kindles a spark deep within my benumbed spirit.
Gradually, the oppressive darkness recedes. In fleeting moments, sensation returns. The smoothness of a plush mattress beneath me. The ache of a ravaged body pushed beyond endurance. I cling to each discomfort, using them to pull my way up from the brink of oblivion.
With great effort, I force my leaden eyelids open. Blurred shapes hover over me, backlit by soft amber light. I make out dark hair and wide, concerned eyes the color of rich dark chocolate. Recognition stirs in me sluggishly.
“...Samara?” I rasp through cracked lips. My sister’s heart-shaped face crumples in relief at the hoarse whisper. No illusion or cruel trick—somehow, impossibly, my little sister sits at my side. But how, and why here, in this secluded place?
“Shh... Try to rest, Volodya.” Samara presses a cup to my mouth, coaxing me to drink the cool herbal draught. “You’ve been gravely hurt, but the worst has passed. I’ll have you mended soon enough.”
Her assurances wash over me, meaningless noise. My mind reels, trying to make sense of it all. The attack, Anya’s pale and anguished face ripped away into darkness, my life bleeding out crimson onto the snow. By all rights, I should have perished. So, how is it that I’m still drawing breath?
With tremendous effort, I force the question past my dry throat. “What... what happened? What are you doing here?”
