Malevolent Penitentiary: The Alpha’s Prisoner Mate

***Avery*** The damp air of Malevolent Penitentiary clung to my skin, heavy and oppressive, as I stood in the heart of my confinement. The walls surrounding me were a mottled gray, grim and devoid of life, more a tomb than a prison. I had learned to navigate this world; a brutal landscape where hope was a commodity traded in whispers, a flickering flame threatened by the relentless wind of despair. At twenty-eight years old, I was a shell of the spirited girl I had once been. A mere ten years had passed since my dreams had crumbled into dust, condemned to this place for a crime I had not committed. I remembered the naïve aspirations that filled my heart with a sense of purpose, ambitions that thrived in the vibrant atmosphere of my pack. Now, I felt like a ghost, haunting the remnants of a life that had slipped through my fingers. I dragged my fingers along the cold concrete wall as I walked, my strides echoing in the silence of the cell. Each step reverberated with memories of innocence long gone. The shouts of guards and the clatter of metal echoed through the gloom, a constant reminder of who I had become—a prisoner, marked by accusation but innocent of wrongdoing. I had learned the hard way that in order to survive in here, I had to spill blood and turn cold. Now, ten years later, I had become feared here; on occasion, I would have to be separated for the assaults I would inflict on both prisoners and guards. Here I was yet again, locked in a dark cell where only the sound of dripping water echoed. I sat in the cold, damp cell, every breath a reminder of the oppressive reality that had engulfed me. The distant clanking of metal from guards patrolling the halls served as a haunting backdrop to my isolation. Shadows danced along the stone walls, flickering in the dim light that crept in through the barred window high above—a glimpse of the outside world that felt like a cruel joke. The air was heavy with the pungent odor of sweat, despair, and the unmistakable tang of iron, all remnants of blood that had seeped into this place long before my arrival. I traced my fingers across the rough concrete of my cell, reliving how often those same fingers had sought comfort in the edges of my memories—trying to cling to the fleeting joys that had once painted my life. Now, all that remained were haunting sorrows and the bitter taste of injustice. The label of "murderer" weighed on my shoulders, heavier than the chains they used to bind me at night, a reminder of the life I had lost. Outside my cell, the faint echoes of screams and angry shouts filtered through the darkened corridors, punctuated by the steady ticking of the grand clock in the main hall. It seemed to taunt me, an ever-present reminder that time moved forward while I remained trapped in this hell, caught in a cycle where day bled into night, and despair blended seamlessly into a deeper anguish. Leaning against the cold wall, I felt each damp gust of wind seep in through the tiny barred window, its chill wrapping around me like a shroud. The light that struggled to break through was dim and muted, barely lifting the oppressive gloom. Each day, I clawed at the shards of hope that remained within me, desperately clinging to the idea that I could prove my innocence. I repeated the mantra in my mind—I had done nothing wrong. Yet, all it took was the word of one powerful man to condemn me to this fate. Flashbacks clawed at my mind, thickening into dark recollections that entwined around my heart like barbed wire. The night of the murder played like a relentless film reel—each frame etched with anguish, betrayal, and a crushing sense of lost possibilities. I felt my heart twist at the memory of the night everything changed, trapping me in a nightmarish cycle I couldn’t escape. I had vowed that if I was ever let out, I would hunt and kill the person that was really behind the murder. Suddenly, my thoughts were disrupted as the heavy door of my cell screeched open, jolting me back to the haunting present. A guard stood before me, a hulking figure whose presence filled the cramped space with authority and cold indifference. His eyes, devoid of warmth, hinted at the darkness I had learned to recognize numerous times—those who had long surrendered their humanity to the cold embrace of this place. “Avery Montero,” he barked, his voice guttural and commanding. “Get up. You have a visitor.” A flicker of something—perhaps hope—ignited within me. I hadn’t had a visitor since I had arrived. My half-brother, sister, and my stepmother had never set foot in this place. I had expected them to visit the first year but just gave up hope. For someone with my crimes, only the first year was accepted to get visitors. But after that, visitors were a rarity in Malevolent Penitentiary, a luxury I hadn’t expected to experience, ever. I scrambled to my feet, brushing dust from my tattered orange prison uniform and bracing myself against the wall that felt more like a tomb than a refuge. As we exited my dark cell, the clang of metal echoed down the long, twisted hallway—an ominous symphony played by the prison’s architecture, designed to instill fear and hopelessness in those trapped within. My heart pounded as I followed the guard deeper into the bowels of the penitentiary, each step pulling me further away from my cold, dark cell toward an uncertain future. Finally, we reached a small room furnished with a single table and two chairs divided by thick glass. My stomach churned with a mix of anticipation and dread as I took my seat, straining to recognize the figure beyond the gloomy haze. When a familiar face finally came into view, breath caught in my throat. It was Giselle—my half-sister, a person I hadn’t seen in years. The toll of my imprisonment and the time spent apart had transformed her, leaving marks of worry and exhaustion etched upon her features. It pained me to see how much this had affected her. She was never mean to me as my half-sister, although her mother had tried and failed at turning her against me. It was my stepbrother who always listened to his mother, always hating me from afar. He only truly showed it after the death of our father. Giselle pressed her palms against the glass, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “Avery,” she whispered, her voice trembling yet filled with undeniable warmth. “I—You look different.” “Time will do that to you,” I managed to reply, forcing a brave smile even as my heart ached. “What are you doing here?” “I had to see you,” she insisted, her voice steady despite the worry creasing her brow. “I’ve been trying to see you for years, Aves. They’re saying you did it. That you killed the Alpha…” Those words hung in the air like a suffocating fog, and a tremor of fear surged within me. “If they say I did, then I did,” I said without a care in the world. I wasn’t going to explain my innocence to her—not when I knew several guards would be listening in. Giselle nodded, but her forehead wrinkled with concern. “You can’t believe that. I believe you’re innocent. Even if the evidence... it all points to you. You were in the room standing over his body. Many people want to see you rot in here.” A wave of despair washed over me. Hearing her voice lay bare the odds stacked against me made it all too real. “So why come?” I whispered, the weight of my circumstances pressing heavily against my chest. But I didn’t want to show any weakness; I wasn’t a fragile little girl anymore. Prison had changed me into something else, something dangerous. “We need to find the truth about what happened that night. Someone must have seen something that can help.” Giselle's determination sparked a flicker of hope within me, reminding me that all was not lost. My eyes narrowed in on my half-sister. “We?” I began; a cruel laugh escaped me, and I saw her flinch at it. “Are you saying that our brother and your mother are also here, so willing to relive the memories of that night?” I said in a cold tone. “No,” she replied in a shaking tone. It was clear to her that I wasn’t the same girl she knew from ten years ago. I leaned forward, the chains on my wrists rattling. “Then who is ‘we’ you’re referring to?” “They sent me in first to see how you would react to another person.” I tilted my head. “It’s been ten years, but that doesn’t mean everyone on the outside hasn’t heard of how you have changed in prison.” She was treading lightly, and I knew that my behavior in here would have been heard. I chuckled, “How else would one act after being imprisoned in the shadows filled with souls that barely have humanity?” I started. She began trembling, and I knew it was the way my voice was changing into something from the darkness. “It’s not civil in here, sister; it’s kill or be killed every waking moment.” I didn’t need to go on, not if she had heard of how violent I had become. “Now, who are the people you have come here with?” I finished impatiently. “Someone died,” Giselle said. “They think you can help figure out who murdered them.” I snorted and stood up. “I think we are done here. It’s almost my dinner time.” I turned to leave when the door through which my sister would have come through opened. “We are not done,” came an unfamiliar male voice. I turned to see the owner of that intoxicating sea breeze scent; f**k, I thought in my head as my wolf spoke in my mind. “Mate.”