Chapter 3
1595 Words
Ruby’s POV
The dungeon smells like old iron and wet stone. Cold seeps up through the floor until my teeth ache.
Tink. Tink. Tink. Drips tick somewhere beyond the corridor, countless, patient, and in an irritating rhythm.
I sit beneath the slit with my back to the wall. The air tastes of metal and damp rope, something I guess I’m lucky isn’t tied around my wrist or dangling me from the wall like a spectacle.
The command sits in me like a seal. I try to reach for my wolf, but only touch silence, the place where my power used to live.
That silence should undo me, but it doesn’t; instead, it sharpens everything. My hearing pricks, my vision clears, my muscles coil the way they always have before a fight. And I realize I’ve been a warrior longer than I have been Luna, and that training will always be a part of who I am.
I push to my feet. Pins and needles climb up my calves, a hot prickle under my skin that’s gone too cold. My balance shakes for a moment, then steadies.
The dungeon is small enough that four slow steps take me to the wooden door. I move quietly, heel to toe, out of habit more than need. I’m sure that no one cares if a prisoner makes noise, but old instincts die hard.
A heavy security chain dangles from a plate bolted to the jamb, the size of my palm. If it were looped, the door would open only a hand’s width; unlooped, it can swing free. I study it the way I used to study an enemy’s armor, looking for weakness.
I lean closer and press my ear to the wood. Nothing. No footsteps, no voices, only the low hum of light from the hall beyond.
Then I turn to the window.
The slit is high enough that I have to stretch to reach it. Cold air slips through the gap, tasting faintly of pine and rain. Outside, moonlight brushes the forest. For a heartbeat, there’s only sky.
Without meaning to, I hum under my breath. Soft and steady, the rhythm of marching feet and blood, an old warrior’s tune. The melody trembles, faint at first, then steadies. I close my eyes and let the words spill out in a whisper.
Moonlight stains the field, I rise.
Claws to the wind, fire in my eyes.
Dusk may fall, but the howl remains
The pack remembers, so do I.
I press my palms to the stone and let the air fill my lungs until it hurts.
Never give up until the last moment.
Then I tilt my head toward the slit of sky and let it out, a sound caught halfway between a cry and a growl. It starts small, then deepens into a true howl. It cuts through the damp air, scraping my throat until I taste iron.
It’s the call of a warrior, not a Luna, the same signal we used when the odds were lost. Anyone who knows it will understand.
I’m alive.
I’m here.
Come if you can.
I drop back down, breath shaking. Maybe no one will hear it. Maybe no one will care.
But I do. For now, that’s enough.
The sound dies. I stay still. Only the drip in the corridor and the pulse in my throat.
Then the quiet changes. A faint scrape of leather on stone. Footsteps. Light and careful.
Metal brushes metal; a key slides into the lock and turns with a soft click.
Ava slips through the doorway, closing it without resetting the lock or hooking the chain.
“How is it in the dungeon?” she asks, her voice sweetened to the point of sickness.
I don’t stand. I don’t give her the satisfaction of rising for her. “Congratulations,” I say. “You finally have what you wanted.”
“Do I?” She steps closer, her eyes bright with something that has nothing to do with love. “Jake was upset. But he’ll calm down. He always does, especially if I’m in his arms.”
I lift my gaze to meet hers. “You don’t need to tell me how he is.”
Ava’s smile turns soft. “He held me after,” she says. “Said it wasn’t my fault. Said he never should have let things get this far. He’s been mine longer than you’ve known him. He still looks for me first. Still listens when I speak.”
I frown, my brow furrowing. The ache behind my ribs deepens, but I keep my voice steady. “If that’s true,” I say quietly, “go tell him. Tell him to his face and take what you think is yours. I’m not staying.”
Her expression shifts, no longer proud but a fierce glare. “Jake’s too soft-hearted,” she snaps. “He still believes you’ll come to your senses. I’m here to do what he can’t.”
“Help him,” I repeat. The word tastes bitter. “By letting me go.”
Her eyes don’t flinch. “If you died instead, he could let go of his duty to you. He could stop chasing an heir from your goddess-forsaken bloodline.” She says it like mercy. “You were a mistake, Ruby.”
“I was a choice he made himself,” I say softly. “And you hated that.”
Something in her face shutters. Her voice trembles once, almost unnoticeable. “No,” she says. “I corrected it.”
The light from the window cuts a single bright line across the floor. I mark the distance to the door with my eyes. A step and a turn. Two at most.
“You shouldn’t have come here alone,” I tell her.
She laughs, one quick breath through her nose. “I’m not alone, though?”
She lifts her dress, revealing knee-high boots, and draws a small silver knife and a whistle. My pulse spikes.
“If you scream,” she says, “they come. If you don’t, I’ll end this quickly. Either way, you stop being a problem.”
I rise slow and steady. The command sealing my wolf can’t touch what I was before, a trained warrior even without shifting. “You brought silver into your Alpha’s dungeon,” I say. “Bold.”
“Necessary.” She lifts the knife to the level of my throat and steps closer. Her hand doesn’t shake, almost like she’s practiced this a hundred times.
I keep my eyes on hers, not the blade. “You looked me in the face and called yourself my friend,” I say flatly. “You braided my hair and fed me tea while you poisoned me.”
I remember her fingers weaving through my curls, humming softly under her breath, always going on about how much she adored my dark red hair. Jake’s hand resting on my stomach the night I told him I was late and I’d noticed a shadow in the doorway.
Her smile is small and real. “And you drank.”
I take one step to the side, almost casual, and the light slides off the knife into her eyes. She blinks once, and it’s enough for me to see the doorway at her back, the chain unlooped, the lock open.
“You don’t need to do this,” I say.
“Yes,” she whispers. “I do.”
Her wrist shifts. I move.
My forearm slams into her wrist; a sharp sting zips up my elbow as the blade slices past my ribs. With my free hand, I hook her right elbow and drive it into the stone. The whistle flashes in her left hand. I pin that wrist high against the wall. The whistle pops loose and skitters across the floor.
She bares her teeth. “You can’t shift,” she hisses. “You’re useless.”
The unlooped chain hangs slack.
Ava’s eyes flick to it, then back to me. She understands. Her knife hand rolls; the edge bites cloth and skims my side. Pain flashes white. I release, and she lunges.
I grab the slack chain, pivot my shoulder, and drive my hip into her. The slam puts her into the wall. The knife clatters, spins, and slides to a stop near the threshold. I bar my forearm across her collarbones and keep her there.
The night outside sings with a faint howl. Three short, a pause, then two long.
I tighten the chain in my fist as Ava’s composure cracks. Fury burns through her mask. She stomps at my foot; I take it and let the pain burn through. She drives her head toward mine; I lean back, and her skull grazes my cheekbone, sparks bursting across my vision.
Her eyes flick back to me, wild and furious. “Jake will never let you go,” she spits. “Even if you crawl out of here, he’ll drag you back.”
“Then he’ll have to run,” I say. “And he’s never been as fast as he thinks.”
She laughs, small, ugly, with all teeth, and lunges for the knife.
I take the pressure away all at once. She surges into empty space, off balance. I step aside, shove her shoulder, and send her stumbling toward the center of the cell.
The door stands open a finger’s width. The chain hangs loose in my hand.
I look at her, and she looks at me. Then Ava comes for my throat.
- Writer
