Chapter 4 : Let The Torture Begin
1414 Words
Chapter 4 : Let The Torture Begin
POV: MISS X ( RHIANNON BLACKMOOR)
The first thing I feel is the cold. It flowed through me like it had life. I felt it everywhere, crawling through my bones, my nerves, my skull , my brain. Finding its way into my heart , it clutch with its cold grip.
I try to move, but my body refuse. I feel my head swim and I can taste blood in my mouth. I can feel weights on my arms and feel my legs being dragged. There's a piercing strain when I try to move my wrist. It stays unyielding. I know from experience that I am chained.
Wow…I think to myself …what a day. I guess I would have to ask the Guild for a raise then.
I chuckle at the thought, envisioning myself in Kael’s office giving him a million reasons why I should get a raise even if I hadn't killed the Alpha King with my dagger.
My vision adjusts slowly. The ceiling above is carved stone slick with moisture. The fluorescence flickers dimly casting trembling halos of light that never seem to touch the corner. My pulse thuds harder.
What is this place? i think.
A memory crawls back and I take in all that has happened that day. First, the jump to the rose garden which I deemed as a perfect glide, my fights with Draven and then his wolf pack. Wow…that was wild. I could still hear the cracks of bones, mine and theirs. I know they weren't going to forget me in a hurry. Neither would I forget Draven. His burning gold eyes and commanding presence would remain with me ….. that's if I lived to tell the tale.
I chuckle quietly.
I try to lift my head but groan as I feel a sharp piercing pain that seems to rise from the bar of my skull all the way to my spine. The sound of dripping water echoes somewhere beyond the walls, each drop an impatient reminder of time passing.
Then I see it. No, not clearly at first. It seemed like just a suggestion at the beginning. A slant contraption made of polished wood and steel. Its gleam seemed dull but that didn't matter to me.
I recognise it and realise that its dull gleam should be the last thing I should be worrying about. For this wooden frame carved in the sharp letter V with its pattern that looked like veins or roots was one of the most feared torture devices ever built and it had lived to the dread of its name.
The wood is blackened, slick with some kind of sheen that catches the light like oil. Metal bands run along its length, merging into cuffs that will hold my wrists and ankles. It’s not just a table. It’s a design made by the most deliberate, cruel, and meanest mind.
The V-Comforter.
I have heard the whispers about it in the underground Guild halls. It's said to be a relic from the old wars, created by sadists who studied pain as if it were a science. The V-Comforter doesn't just restrain, they said. It listens and hears everything.
“It will bring out the best in you, making you sing like a canary. It doesn't let go until it accomplishes what it was created to do.” A colleague once told us.
My breath hitches. My throat is dry. The name “V-Comforter” sounds gentle, and almost elegant when in reality it was deadly. I flex my fingers, testing the chains. Whoever placed me here knew exactly what they were doing. And whoever designed this prison wanted it to be felt, not just seen.
The walls are covered in vines of thorned metal. They twist together pulsing faintly in the poor light. Every so often, one of them shifts, the sound almost like a sigh.
My stomach knots.
I glance down at myself and see that I have no boots or no hood. My daggers are gone. I feel empty without my babies. My jeans and tee-shirt are all that’s left, soaked through from the damp. I feel stripped, not of clothing, but of control and power.
A flicker moves across the far wall. I freeze. It’s not a guard. It’s too smooth, too deliberate. The air thickens as it takes shape. It looked like a smudge of darkness that moves like thought.
“Who’s there?” My voice comes out rough and scraped raw. I suddenly feel afraid.
Silence answers.
Then a whisper slides through the room, so close it brushes my ear: “You’re late, Rhiannon.”
I jerk against the cuffs. The clinging metal bites into skin. My heart kicks against my ribs.
Nobody should know that name. Nobody.
I want to scream it out loud. The shadow doesn’t care. It lingers watching and tasting my fear, then melts away into the wall like spilled ink.
I’m shaking, but not from the cold anymore. Just then the door creaks open and Draven steps inside, looking ready to make me cry with pain.
His eyes find mine immediately, sharp as a blade. He nods and I know it's a signal when two guards unstrap me and tie me to the V comforter.
I don't resist. Maybe it was because of the shadow I had seen or because I was tired and hungry. All I know is that I want to be as far away from here as possible.
“Talk,” he orders, voice low. “Who hired you?”
I swallow the laugh rising in my throat. “I work alone.”
He moves closer. “You expect me to believe that?”
“I don’t expect anything from you, Alpha.”
“You killed my father.”
“Oooh, not that sing along again.” I snap
“ If I had,” I whisper back, meeting his eyes without blinking, “you wouldn’t still be standing.”
Something flickers behind his expression and I can't make out if it's confusion or maybe disbelief. But anger smothers it before it can grow.
“You’ll break before I’m done with you.” he promises
I smile, one corner of my lips, stained red from where I bit it earlier. “Then it's going to be a long night. I don't break easily”
For a heartbeat, silence swallows the dungeon. Nothing moves except for the sound of the flickering florescent and the drops of rain outside. I can actually hear my heart beat.
Then he strikes. This time not just with words but with action mixed with a blur of fury. Electricity zaps through me, shaking every bit of me. The pain feels unending but I don’t give him what he wants. I don't scream. I think slow and steady breaths.
He studies me, breathing hard. He is calm. He push a button and I feel it again. This time was twice as painful as before. I still don't give.
I lean my head back against the V-Comforter, the cold wood biting at my spine. When I speak my voice is hoarse. I can hardly recognise it “You think I came to kill him,” I whisper. “But I came too late.”
His silence is deafening.
“I didn’t kill your father.” I scream at him, gasping.
He steps forward, close enough that I can feel the heat radiating off him.
“Then who did?”
Before I can answer, the vines on the wall shift again. One of them trembles, metal scraping against stone. The light flickers uncontrollably, the air turning colder.
The shadow returns and this time it's thinner and sharper. It slides past Draven and stands beside me. I feel it touch the edge of the V-Comforter, and the wood hums, responding like a living thing.
Draven’s voice roughens. “What is that?”
“The reason your father died,” I whisper.
For a second, I could swear I felt the shadow smiles.
Then it disappears, leaving only the echo of my own heartbeat.
Draven backs away slowly, eyes fixed on me.
“Whatever game this is,” he says, “it ends by dawn.”
He turns, slams the door. I close my eyes, letting the cold settle back in. Pain burns through my wrists and I wince.
I whisper to the dark, “You wanted a monster, Alpha. You’re about to meet one.”
- Writer
