The Many-Faced Luna

Chapter 5: Chains of Destiny

*Saphira*

I couldn’t tear my eyes away from him. I knew I should, but I couldn’t. Something about him held my eyes captive. I’d seen my fair share of men in my time, but this one? He was different.

If I hadn’t seen him with my own eyes, I might not have believed someone like him existed. Even pale and weakened, he was so strikingly handsome it hurt to imagine what they’d done to him.

Knowing these rogues, they would have been the furthest thing from gentle.

I still couldn’t look away, even as Draco, the leader, went on and on about the successful mission. I was lost in disbelief, taking in the sight before me.

There he was, chained up in this musty dungeon and yet somehow managing to look like he belonged somewhere far grander. God, I’d never seen anyone like him before. Even beaten and pale, he was breathtaking.

As if under a spell, I found myself staring at his face, taking in every detail. The sharp line of his jaw could have been carved from marble, covered by a dusting of stubble that caught the light. My gaze traced the curve of his lips, full and expressive.

When they fluttered open, his eyes were a shock of blue—not the pale, washed-out blue of a winter sky but the deep, mesmerizing color of a tropical sea. Those eyes seemed so expressive, drawing me in despite the angry purple bruise blooming across his left cheekbone.

Even with cuts marring his sun-kissed skin and a split in his lower lip, he was undeniably gorgeous—the kind of beauty that one only gets to experience once in one's lifetime. His tousled hair, a rich chestnut brown, fell across his forehead in a way that made my fingers itch to brush it back.

His shirt was a mess, more red than anything else now. It made my stomach churn to think of what he’d endured.

I kept having to remind myself why I was here. The reward, my chance at freedom - that was the mission. But everything shifted when he opened his eyes and looked right at me. There was a fire in his gaze, a spark that said even though he was beaten down, he wasn’t broken.

I didn’t know what to do. Part of me wanted to rush over to help him somehow, but I couldn’t blow my cover. I was surrounded by enemies, and I needed to keep it together.

I heard the crack of the whip before I saw it move. It happened so fast, the sound of the harsh weapon making contact with already bruised flesh made me feel sick to my stomach.

He endured it all without a sound. Three men took turns, their weapons tearing into him relentlessly, yet he remained stubbornly mute.

“Beg!” Draco yelled, his strikes becoming more vicious. “Beg for mercy!”

The young werewolf said nothing, the fire in his eyes burning with defiance. Even though he was strong-willed, I could tell the whipping was beginning to take a toll on him.

Though his body began to betray him - eyelids growing heavy, arms sagging under the weight of his chains, and the onslaught of pain - not once did he utter a plea or cry out.

I watched in awe, my admiration growing. This werewolf was more than just strikingly handsome. He possessed an ironclad will that seemed unbreakable, no matter how hard Draco tried. Even in the face of such cruelty, his determination was inspiring and heartbreaking.

No one should have to carry the weight of the world on their shoulders.

His eyelids finally succumbed to exhaustion, but the relentless whipping persisted. The other men, irritated by his audacity to lose consciousness, intensified their brutal assault.

“Enough!” Draco’s commanding voice echoed, abruptly halting the torture. “Are you trying to kill him?” His tone dripped with barely contained rage.

“We thought...” one of the men stammered.

Draco’s fury unexpectedly morphed into a chilling smile that almost made my blood run cold. “Why deprive everyone else of their amusement?” he mused, his voice eerily calm. “I need him conscious when I inflict pain, so when he pleads for mercy, I can savor the despair in his eyes as I deny him.”

Without warning, Draco’s piercing gaze locked onto mine. “You. Keep watch over this one.”

I nodded, summoning every ounce of feigned malice I could muster, praying Draco would mistake it for unwavering loyalty to his cruel cause.

With one last smirk at the battered prisoner, Draco strode out of the dungeon, his minions scurrying after him.

My mind started racing. I knew this man was very weak, and if I didn’t do anything soon, he would probably die. And even though I’d known him for all of five minutes, an overwhelming urge to save him consumed me. Time was running out, and I knew I had to act fast.

I spotted a keg of water sitting in the corner of the room, and a plan began to form in my head. As soon as the rogues cleared out, leaving me alone with the man, I sprang into action immediately.

Quickly, I retrieved a cup, poured some water into it, and made my way to him. As I stood in front of him, my eyes zoomed in on his wounds. They were long, jagged, and wicked. The lacerations dragged across his skin with all the harshness that Draco had shown him.

But I couldn’t dwell on that now. I needed to act fast. Finally, I pulled myself together. With one hand, I gently cradled his head, while the other brought the cup to his parched lips.

“Please,” I whispered. “Open your eyes. You need to drink.”

His eyes fluttered open as I kept pushing the cup against his lips. He stared at me in confusion first, then fear, and then a venomous glare filled his eyes as he managed to jerk his face away from my grasp. I could see the pain in his eyes at that very simple movement.

He glared at me again, wincing slightly before opening his mouth to speak.

“You can tell Draco that he doesn’t have to resort to poisoning,” he spat. “If he wants me dead, he should have the courage to do it himself... like a man.”

His accusation stunned me. “Poison you? I—” I caught myself, realizing my slip. Quickly, I adopted a more confident tone. “I can do anything I want to you. There’s no need for poison.” I tried again to bring the cup to his lips, but he recoiled.

Exhaling deeply, I met his gaze. “Look,” I said, raising the cup to my own mouth and taking a long, deliberate sip. “I told you. It’s not poisoned.”

His eyes darted between my face and the cup. I could see the need, the vulnerability in his eyes, but I could also see fear.

I took a step closer, holding the cup with both hands, hoping he would trust me enough to drink it. After an agonizing moment, he relented, bowing his head to gulp down the water greedily.

“More,” he rasped.

I obeyed without hesitation and ran to get him more water. After two more trips to the keg, he seemed to have forgotten our little moment, and suspicion crept back into his eyes.

“Why?” He asked, his voice a mix of confusion and wariness. “Why are you helping me? You’re one of them, aren’t you? You have no reason to, so why are you doing this?”

Of course, I had a reason for helping him, but it wasn’t one I could share. To me... no. To Crystal, these rogues represented our ticket to freedom—our chance to escape the suffocating grip of the Evergreen pack.

That was the real motivation behind my assistance. It was for us, for our future.

As I struggled to formulate a response, Crystal’s voice echoed in my mind, filled with an unexpected intensity.

“Saphira,” she began. “This werewolf... he’s different. There’s something about him that draws me in. It’s not just his appearance, though he is undeniably handsome. It’s his strength, his presence.”

I faltered, caught off guard by her admission. “I... I hadn’t realized you felt that way,” I replied, my inner voice filled with surprise. Sure, I’d noticed he was handsome—who wouldn’t?—but I hadn’t recognized the depth of Crystal’s reaction.

“He’s far more powerful than he appears,” she continued, her mental voice filled with awe.

“How can you tell?”

“There’s an aura around him, Saphira. He might be the strongest werewolf we’ve ever encountered. Those chains? They wouldn’t normally restrain someone like him. I detected the scent of poison when we entered—the kind used to weaken a werewolf’s strength. Draco’s taken extreme measures to hold him.”

A chill ran down my spine. “Do you think Draco fears him that much?”

“Without a doubt,” Crystal affirmed.

I stared at the man whose eyes were closed now. Who was he really? I wasn’t surprised at the strength Crystal spoke of; I’d witnessed the resilience he showed even in the face of torture. But something about him intrigued me, and I was dying to know who he was.

My mind raced, searching for a strategy to take down these rogues. The task seemed almost impossible; how could I possibly take them all down? Capturing them all at once was out of the question, so how could I possibly take them down?

“You’re doubting yourself again, Saphira,” Crystal’s voice cut through my frantic thoughts. “Remember your strength. It’s greater than you realize.”

I knew she would say that—she said that all the time—but I could never truly believe it. Years of being told I was worthless by my own family had left deep scars. I got so used to hearing it that I didn’t think I could be anything else.

But this wasn’t the time for self-pity. The clock was ticking, and I needed to act before Draco discovered his camp had been infiltrated.

Every captured wolf deserved freedom, and the thought of failing them, especially the mysterious man before me, sent a painful pang through my heart. He had suffered enough at Draco’s hands, and the thought of these rogues inflicting further pain on him didn’t sit right with me.

A plan began to form in my head. All I needed to do was cause some sort of distraction, and the rest should be easy.

Crystal was right. I could do this.

As night fell and the camp grew quiet, I seized my opportunity. With most of the rogues giving in to sleep, I slipped silently into the underground storage area. The night air was thick with the scent of preserved food and aging wine.

My heart raced as I moved between the barrels and crates, searching for the perfect spot to set my plan in motion.

Finally, I found it—a cluster of wine barrels tucked away in a corner. With a deep breath, I balled my hands into fists, summoned my strength, and smashed the first barrel. The rich, red liquid gushed out, pooling at my feet.

Working quickly, I broke open several more barrels, the racy smell of alcohol filling the air. Then, with trembling hands, I retrieved the small flame I’d concealed.

This was it.

I touched the flame to the spilled wine, watching as it ignited instantly. The fire spread rapidly, feeding on the alcohol and dry wooden crates. Smoke began to rise upwards, seeping through the cracks in the ceiling.

Satisfied that my diversion was underway, I darted back towards the entrance. Just as I reached the stairs, the first screams erupted from above. The rogues were awaking to chaos, their shouts of confusion and fear growing louder by the second.

A victorious smile tugged at my lips as I heard them fleeing in disorder. My plan was working perfectly.

Or so I thought.