Once Betrayed, Twice Shy

What do you want from me?

FARAH

I jolt awake, and for a split second, I think I’m back in my bed, tangled in my sheets, safe and warm. Maybe everything was just a bad dream—the party, the humiliation, the chase through the woods. Maybe none of it really happened.

But the cold beneath me tells me the truth.

I push myself up from the hard stone floor, moving too fast. Pain explodes behind my eyes, my head throbbing as the world tilts violently around me.

I gasp and sink back down with a groan, blinking until the spinning slows enough for me to catch my breath. When I carefully lift a trembling hand to my temple, my fingers come away sticky with something warm.

I stare at the blood smeared across my skin, my stomach dropping like a stone.

Then the memories come rushing back in a sickening wave.

Lycans.

They’re real.

And they took me.

I remember the massive wolf dragging me through the woods, its teeth clamped around my arm as I screamed and fought. The pain was overwhelming, and at some point, everything went dark. I must have fallen unconscious in the process, my body finally giving up from exhaustion and terror.

The room around me is barely lit, thin rays of pre-dawn light slipping through a narrow window high above my head. The air is damp and cold, pressing in on me from all sides like a physical weight. Stone walls surround me on three sides, rough and ancient, while iron bars block the fourth. There’s no warmth here, no comfort of any kind. It feels like a dungeon—old, suffocating, designed to break whoever is trapped inside its walls.

A prison.

I have no idea how long I was unconscious. Hours? The entire night? The pale light filtering through suggests morning is approaching, even though I can’t tell what the exact time is.

As my eyes adjust to the dimness, I notice things I hadn’t seen before. A thin, ratty blanket in the corner. A metal plate near the bars with what looks like stale bread—probably left by whoever occupied this cell before me. And something else. When I crawl closer to inspect the plate, I see it’s cracked, one sharp piece broken off completely.

I glance toward the bars, checking if anyone’s watching, then carefully pick up the shard. It’s small enough to hide in my palm, the edges sharp enough to cut. My heart races as I tuck it against my skin, concealing it in my closed fist. It’s not much, but it’s something. A weapon. A chance.

Footsteps echo down the corridor outside, pulling me from my spiraling thoughts. I quickly slip the shard beneath the blanket and watch as a guard walks up and down the hallway, his boots clicking rhythmically against the stone floor. His shift must be ending soon—I can see the exhaustion in his movements, the way he stretches his shoulders like he’s been standing for hours.

That’s when it sinks in fully, settling over me like a suffocating blanket.

I’m a prisoner. And for reasons I don’t understand, the Lycan king hasn’t killed me yet.

I curl up in the corner farthest from the bars, my knees pulled tight to my chest as I watch the guard every time he passes the front of my cell. One thing immediately stands out to me—he’s young. Maybe only a few years older than me, if that. His face is smooth, his movements uncertain, like he’s still learning the motions of this job.

And when our eyes meet briefly through the bars, I see it there in his expression—the lack of experience, the uncertainty that comes with being new to something. Like he doesn’t fully belong in this place yet, like he’s trying to prove himself.

It’s a weakness.

And it might be my only chance.

I spend what feels like hours thinking, planning, waiting for the right moment. Through the high window, I watch the darkness slowly fade, the sky shifting from black to deep blue to pale gray. Dawn is breaking, which means guards will be changing shifts soon. I know if I stay here, my fate will be decided for me by people who see me as less than human. I won’t survive long enough to find out why I was taken, why that massive beast called me by a name I’ve never heard before. If I want to live, if I want any chance of seeing daylight again, I have to act.

So when the young guard passes my cell once again, slowing slightly as he glances in my direction, I’m ready. My hand closes around the sharp shard hidden beneath the blanket.

I clutch my stomach and let out a weak moan, forcing my body to shake as I curl inward on myself. I slow my breathing, make it shallow and uneven, selling the lie with everything I have left in me.

“Are you alright?” he asks, his voice edged with genuine concern that makes guilt twist in my chest.

“No… something’s wrong,” I whisper, barely audible as I force my voice to crack.

“Please… help me.”

He hesitates, glancing over his shoulder as if afraid someone might see him showing compassion to a prisoner. His nerves are written all over him, in the way his hand hovers near the lock, in the way his eyes dart back and forth. Good. I need him nervous.

Then he opens the door and walks in, keys jangling at his belt.

“Stay still,” he says, stepping closer with careful movements. “I’ll help you sit up.”

He kneels beside me, reaching out with hands that seem too gentle for this place. My heart pounds so loudly I’m sure he can hear it hammering against my ribs. I keep my body limp, my expression unfocused and pained, the shard hidden in my palm. The moment his hand touches my shoulder, warm and steady, I move.

I grab his wrist and twist hard, driving my fist into his throat before he can react or cry out. His eyes widen in shock and pain as he gasps for air that won’t come. I slam him to the ground, using my weight and the element of surprise to my advantage. He struggles beneath me, but I press the sharp edge of the shard against his neck, right where his pulse beats frantically.

“Don’t move,” I hiss, my hand shaking but steady enough to draw a thin line of blood. “I don’t want to hurt you. But I will if you make me.”

He freezes instantly, nodding as panic fills his young eyes and makes him look even younger. I bind his hands behind his back with strips of torn fabric from my already ruined dress and gag him quickly with another piece. It won’t last long, I know it won’t, but it doesn’t have to. I just need enough time to get away.

I step over him, guilt churning in my stomach as I ease the cell door open with trembling fingers.

The hallway is dim, though lighter than it was hours ago, stretching in both directions like a maze designed to trap me. I stick to the walls, my bare feet silent against the cold stone as I move through twisting corridors that seem to go on forever. Voices echo ahead, making me freeze in place. I press myself flat against the wall, holding my breath until my lungs burn as guards pass by, their conversation casual and unconcerned.

When they’re gone, when their footsteps fade into nothing, I run.

A crash sounds behind me—the guard must have knocked something over trying to free himself. Shouts erupt, echoing off the stone walls and chasing me down the corridor.

My chest tightens as panic takes over completely, drowning out rational thought. I sprint forward, no longer caring about stealth or planning, just desperate to get away.

Hands grab me from behind, rough and unforgiving.

I scream and thrash wildly, but it’s useless against their strength. I’m dragged down the corridor, my strength failing as rough laughter fills the air around me, mocking my pathetic attempt at escape.

“You think you can escape from us?” a voice growls near my ear, hot breath making my skin crawl.

But to my confusion, Instead of my cell, they drag me into a courtyard.

My breath stutters when I see him. No one needs to tell me he’s the wolf I encountered the other night. The Lycan king.

Caspian sits on a raised platform, watching me with cold interest.

When our eyes meet, I forget how to breathe.

He looks intensely masculine and intimidating. Something I can’t quite name rolls off him in dangerous waves. Menace and power. He’s made of hard edges, cruel in his silence.

When he stands and approaches, heat rolls off him, making my skin prickle.

“Serapha,” he rumbles.

I frown. That name again.

“I have one last lesson I need you to learn,” he says. His voice is calm and measured. “I need you to understand that every single action of yours will come with a consequence. And after what you witness today, you’ll know your place and worth in this place.”

He opens a door, then moves away to let me pass. “Go out and see what you’ve done.”

At first I hesitate, dreading what he means. But the look in his eyes makes my limbs work. I find myself obeying, walking through that doorway on trembling legs.

I step into another courtyard and immediately stop. I see the young guard chained up in the center. He looks terrible. He’s on his knees, stripped except for his shorts. His arms are stretched out beside him, bound tightly to two thick poles with silver chains that tear into his skin. I’m certain those wounds will never heal.

From the stories I’ve read, Silver is the kryptonite of wolves. Each second must be filled with unbearable pain.

His face is bloodied. One eye is swollen shut. His nose is broken and caked with dried blood. He looks at me through his barely-open eye and mumbles something I can’t understand.

Oh my God.

I did this to him. My stubbornness and desperation to escape caused this. I shouldn’t have overpowered him. Part of me should have known he’d be held responsible. But I’d been so consumed with panic that I hadn’t thought beyond my own survival.

I look back at Caspian. A single word falls from my lips. “Please.”

He doesn’t act like he hears me. He walks forward toward the guard with slow, measured steps. When he reaches him, he turns back to look at me. His face showing not even a flicker of emotion. The guard doesn’t protest as the king lifts him off the ground effortlessly. He seems to have resigned himself to his fate.

Blood flows from his mouth, dribbling down his chin. It takes everything in me not to throw up. Caspian’s eyes are still trained on me, making sure I see his every move. My heart climbs into my throat. I want to scream for him to let the guard go and kill me instead.

But I know death is not a mercy he’ll grant me. He wants to break me completely, piece by piece, until it’s impossible to put me back together.

“Remember that you did this,” he says. His voice carries clearly across the courtyard.

“And the more you try to resist this, the more you try to defy me, the more people around you will suffer.”

I’m rooted to the spot, my mind a muddle of confusion.

The only words that I can whisper are, “What do you want from me?”