Page 11 of The Alpha's Fallen Spell
What kind of people would keep a shifter locked away like this? What kind of purpose could justify the mutilation of someone so young? What kind of monster does it take to call this suffering a “failed prototype”?
I think about what that man said to her.
“The next time I remove your skin…”
That isn’t something you say as a threat. That’s something you say when you’ve already done it. The words make my stomach twist, but it’s the second part that turns my blood cold.
“…I’ll let the maggots feast on your flesh before I let you heal.”
I rise slowly and cross the room. I need to send word to Griffin, need to give some sort of report, but not yet. Not until I can give him a name. Not until I understand what she is and how someone so broken is still alive.
I glance back at her. Her eyes open again, just barely. They meet mine, uncertain. Suspicious. Curious.
I give her a soft nod and say, just above a whisper, “You’re safe here. I swear it. No one is going to hurt you again.”
For the first time, she doesn’t flinch at the sound of my voice.
But as I watch the rise and fall of her chest, the slow drop of her lashes, and the way sleep reclaims her like a tide pulling away from shore, I know with gut-level certainty that she’s nowhere near strong enough to be moved. Not yet. Not for a journey back to the palace, not on foot at least. I need a witch. I need a portal.
Whatever hell this girl escaped from, it drained her of everything but the instinct to survive. She needs time. She needs healing. She needs safety.
I sit by her bed, watching her.
I touch the limp hand curled around the bed sheet.
She’s still wearing my shirt. I have another one on now, but I like the idea of my scent surrounding her. I think it comforts her, as well, because her nose is buried in the collar.
Griffin very rarely talks about his time in captivity, but from the haunted look in his eyes that I sometimes glimpse, I know there are tortures he must have borne that he cannot talk about.Is it the same for this girl? How long was she held captive? Why did that man call her “something that never should’ve survived”?
Two years ago, my older brother Griffin escaped from captivity with the assistance of a human scientist, Maya Sorin, and returned to the palace. He had been held by the Silver Ring Organization for ten years, and I had searched for him the whole time. In his absence, I had been forced to wear his crown because the throne could only remain empty for so long.
I never wanted to be king. I just wanted my brother back. The moment he returned, I handed the crown back to him. Griffin has spent the past two years regaining control of his kingdom. He is mated to the woman who saved his life, the same woman who entered our palace as a human and, due to the mechanisms of the Silver Ring Organization, ended up becoming a shifter herself.
I know I’ve been putting off calling my brother, but the wounds on this girl’s stomach needed to be tended to. They’re still not healing, even though she is a shifter. Does she not have our enhanced healing power?
I wait until I’m sure she’s asleep, her breathing even and deeper now, the tremor in her hands stilled by exhaustion. I quietly leave the bedroom and step into the living room, grabbing the secure satellite phone from the hidden drawer tucked beneath the old, stone hearth. The signal here is always weak, but it’s shielded. Off-grid. Only one line connects out—to Griffin.
I dial the number from memory. It doesn’t ring long.
“Erik,” comes my brother’s voice, sharp with surprise. “I thought you were running recon on the northern border. What’s wrong?”
I exhale slowly. “I need to speak to you in private.”
There’s a pause, the subtle sound of movement in the background, and then Griffin’s voice again, quieter this time. “Go ahead.”
“I found something. Someone,” I say. “A female wolf. Young. I thought she was feral at first, but there’s more to it. She—she’s broken, Griffin. Tortured. Scarred inside and out. She had shifted before I reached her, and the bond hit me like a freight train. She’s not just any wolf. She’s mine.”
Silence. Then, very softly, “Your fated mate?”
“Yes.”
Another pause, longer this time, and then Griffin curses under his breath. “Where are you?”
“Safe house in the northern ridge.”
“Is she stable?”
I glance toward the bedroom door, through which her soft breathing barely reaches me. “Barely. She’s not well enough to travel. If I move her now, I’m afraid she’ll shut down entirely.”
