Page 31 of Runt of the Pack
Together, with Samara’s unshakable faith and my pack’s unwavering support, we will accomplish what I could not alone. And soon, I will rescue Anya from the dark beast that took her. Of that, I silently vow, there is no question. No power, earthly or damned, could keep me from reclaiming my beloved and making our enemies pay in blood.
“Help me up, Sam…” I groan.
My sister’s shoulder braces me as I struggle to unbend my battered body and stand. The simple action drains what little reserves I’ve regained, but I stubbornly stay upright.
Samara’s smile holds pride and promise. “There’s the brother I know. Come on—we’ve much to do and very little time.”
Side by side, we leave the room that sheltered me from death’s edge. The cozy walls fall away, revealing a bustle of activity in our lair beyond. My pulse quickens, battle singing in my veins once more. With my sister’s magic and my lethal fury, our foes will soon learn to rue the day they crossed us.
The real fight begins now.
25
ANYA
The rusted iron bolt screeches in protest as the heavy wooden door separating me from the manor above swings outward. I recoil instinctively from the slash of sunlight cutting through the darkness, raising a trembling hand to shield my sensitive eyes.
How long have I been condemned to this windowless cellar? Days and nights blur together in an endless torment of hunger, cold, and isolation. My world has contracted to the few cramped feet of moldy straw and crumbling stone surrounding me. The only interruptions are when Boris descends the steps to toss moldy bread scraps at my feet, more to torment than nourish.
“Get up, now.” Boris’ gruff voice echoes off the slick stone walls beaded with moisture. “The Alpha has summoned you.”
Primal fear slithers down my spine at those words, turning my empty stomach. Roan only ever calls me forth from my underground prison for one purpose—to humiliate and degrade me, attempting to crush the last embers of defiance that still smolder deep within.
So far, I have managed to cling to these tattered shreds of pride, refusing to completely submit to his will. But each hateful encounter leaves me more hollowed out and despairing inside. How much longer until he succeeds in breaking me fully?
The shackles enclosing my raw wrists clank as Boris hauls me to my feet. I stand unsteadily, legs cramped and weak from lack of use. With a firm shove between my shoulder blades, he forces me up the uneven stone steps into the manor, blinding light assaulting my dilated pupils.
As my vision adjusts, I take in the opulent surroundings that are so foreign after my confinement—intricate silk damask wallpaper, massive gilded mirrors in elaborate frames reflecting the crystal chandeliers glittering above. This manor embodies the immense wealth and influence the Alpha Krov pack has accumulated through generations of cruelty and bloodshed.
“Get her cleaned up before presenting her to the Alpha.” Boris pushes me towards a pretty beta girl standing demurely with an armful of luxurious fabrics and soaps. “And make it quick, girl.”
I stand numbly, swaying with exhaustion as the beta hurries to strip the filthy rags from my body. She clucks under her tongue at my pitiful state. Had it not been for her kind eyes, I would have recoiled from her touch. But her movements are efficient yet gentle as she scrubs the layers of grime from my gaunt frame, the linen clothes rough against my hypersensitive skin.
The girl pours fragrant oils into the tangled mass of hair hanging limply past my bony shoulders, working through the knots with an ivory-handled brush until it shines like spun copper. My scalp tingles painfully under her ministrations after going so long without proper care.
At last, she holds up an oval looking glass, silently inviting me to inspect her handiwork. I blink slowly, struggling to reconcile the haunted waif staring back at me with my self-image. Sunken cheeks streaked with dirt, limp hair hanging in lank strands, the sharp press of ribs beneath parchment-like skin... only the eyes are the same, completely devoid of hope.
I stand submissively as the beta drapes the luxurious red silk dress over my frame, the neckline cut revealingly low. Bile burns in the back of my throat as her clever fingers do up the line of tiny buttons down the back. I am a plaything, stripped of my free will and dolled up for my captor’s twisted enjoyment.
Too soon, Boris returns, his meaty paw closing around my slender upper arm as he propels me down the carpeted hallway towards an elaborate set of gilded double doors. My pulse thrums rapidly beneath my skin, breaths coming quicker in anticipation of the torment ahead.
At my throat, the hateful collar chafes, the metal engraved with runes to prevent any attempt to shift forms. Roan will take no chances—I might try to tap into my wolf’s strength and speed to attempt escape.
The doors swing open soundlessly at our approach. Boris’ grip acts like a vise, half dragging me into the lavishly appointed study. Behind an imposing mahogany desk, Roan reclines lazily in a leather chair, though his hooded gaze is alert and predatory.
“Ah… my lovely Stasia.” His smile is a cruel twist of thin lips as Boris forces me before the desk. “You look absolutely ravishing.”
His piercing eyes trail over me slowly while I stare straight ahead, jaw clenched with the effort not to tremble. I do not react. I will not give him the sick satisfaction of seeing my fear.
With an idle snap of his elegant fingers, Roan gestures for Boris to bring forth a silver platter from the sideboard, laden with a decadent spread—juicy roasted pheasant, creamy potatoes swimming in butter, crackers piled high with glistening black caviar.
The rich aromas hit my empty stomach like a physical blow. When have I last eaten anything beyond moldy crusts of bread and brackish water? I can feel my traitorous mouth flooding with saliva, my body instinctively craving nourishment after prolonged deprivation.
“You must be positively famished after your... accommodations,” Roan purrs, his smile growing as he watches me struggle not to betray my desperation. “I can’t have my pet wasting away to nothing now, can I?”
He plucks a plump green grape between two fingers and holds it up to my cracked lips in mocking offering. Revulsion churns within at being hand-fed like an animal, but the ravenous creature inside me cannot resist after so long without real food.
I bite down hesitantly, the tart sweetness of the fruit flooding my mouth and bringing involuntary tears to my eyes. I chew slowly, loathing myself and Roan with equal fierceness for this humiliation.
