The She-wolf Who Hated her beauty

The cupboard

Elena

I fall. Hard.

The impact knocks the air from my lungs. My chest heaves. I cannot breathe. For a terrible moment, I think I am dying. Then the air rushes back in, sharp and cold, and I curl up in a ball, holding my stomach.

Pain explodes through my body. My leg burns where the wolf bit me. The wound is deep. I can feel blood pouring down my calf, warm and sticky. It pools on the stone floor beneath me.

But the wolf is gone. He ran away after something — a sound, a scent, I do not know. I only heard his paws retreating. The growling faded. Then silence.

I did not see what scared him off. I only felt the fall.

Now I lie on a cold stone floor. The air smells like dust and mold and old blood. My cheek presses against something rough. Brick? Stone? I am too weak to lift my head.

I blink. My eyes adjust to the darkness.

I am in a basement.

How did I get here?

I try to remember. After the wolf bit me, I blacked out. The pain was too much. My body shut down. Someone must have carried me. Someone brought me here while I was unconscious.

Who? And why?

I look around. The room is small. Maybe ten feet by ten feet. Stone walls. A dirt floor. No windows. No furniture. In the corner, a staircase leads up to a wooden door. The stairs are old. The wood is cracked. Moss grows in the corners of the steps.

The door. I have to reach the door.

I take a breath. I grit my teeth. Then I pull myself up.

The stairs are rough. Splinters dig into my palms. I grip the edge of each step and drag my body upward, one step at a time. My leg screams with every movement. The wound tears open again. Fresh blood drips down my skin. It leaves a dark trail behind me on the wood.

Please. Please let the door be open.

I reach the top. My arms shake from exhaustion. My vision blurs. I press my palm against the wood. Smooth. Cold. I push.

The door does not move.

Locked.

Tears fill my eyes. Hot. Frustrated. I have come this far. I have crawled out of a cave. Survived a wolf attack. Dragged myself up a flight of stairs. And now a locked door is going to stop me?

No.

I push again. Harder. I throw my shoulder against the wood.

Nothing.

Please!

And then I hear something from the other side. A click. The lock slides open.

Someone is out there. Someone is on the other side of the door. Someone is coming.

I panic.

I gather every last bit of strength in my body. I press my back against the wall. I lift my good leg. Then I kick the door with all my force.

BANG.

The door swings open. It hits the wall behind it with a crack like thunder. The sound echoes through the hallway beyond. Loud as a gunshot. Loud as a scream.

I almost piss myself. I am so frightened that I feel the beat of my heart inside my head.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

Each heartbeat pounds against my skull. My vision pulses with every thud. I freeze in the doorway. Naked. Bleeding. Shaking.

Beyond the door, a long hallway stretches before me. Lamps on the walls cast yellow light. Doors on either side — closed, silent. At the far end, I hear voices. Men talking. Laughing. They sound close. Too close.

I have to hide. Now.

I push myself off the doorframe. My leg buckles. I stumble into the hallway, grabbing the wall for support. My palm leaves a bloody handprint on the white paint.

I look left. Empty. Right. Empty. But the voices are getting louder.

"The prisoner escaped from the basement," a man says. "Find her before Alexander returns."

Prisoner. They called me prisoner.

I am not safe. I am not free. I am in someone's pack house, and they think I am their captive. If they catch me, they will lock me up again. Worse, they will see my face. They will want my body.

I limp as fast as I can. Around a corner. Past a grandfather clock. Through a swinging door that leads to a warmer part of the house.

I find myself in a kitchen.

A large kitchen. Stone floors. Long wooden counters. Copper pots hanging from hooks. A fireplace with a boiling pot. The smell of stew and bread. And in the corner, a low cupboard. Small. Dark. Perfect.

I crawl toward it. My knee scrapes the stone floor. I open the small door. I push myself inside, coiling my body as small as I can. My shoulders press against the wood. My knees touch my chin.

I pull my long, dirty hair in after me. It sweeps along the floor as I move, leaving trails in the dust. I gently shut the door.

Inside the cupboard, it is dark. Tight. I can barely breathe. The air is thick with the smell of old potatoes and mice.

I press the palm of my hand against my mouth. So hard. As if I want to suffocate myself. I do not want to be found. I do not want to be heard breathing too heavy.

Footsteps enter the kitchen.

Two men. Heavy boots on stone.

"She cannot have gone far," the first man says. "She is wounded. Bleeding. There is a trail of blood down the hall."

The second man laughs. Low. Ugly. "A naked female. Wounded. Alone. In Alexander's mansion." He chuckles. "This should be fun."

Alexander's mansion. I am in Alpha Alexander's house.

My heart pounds so loud I am sure they will hear it. I press my hand harder against my mouth. I taste blood from my split lip.

The footsteps come closer. Closer.

They stop right in front of my cupboard.

A hand wraps around the cupboard door handle. I close my eyes. I pray to the moon. The door begins to open. A sliver of yellow light cuts across my face. A man's voice says, "Found you.”