Rise of the Immortal

Part II: Growth and Conflict--- Chapter 8: Five Years Gone

The cold stone floor beneath me had become as familiar as breathing. Five years. Five years since Greg had dragged me from Red Moon territory while Kale fought Marcus's retreating forces. Five years since I'd felt sunlight on my face or heard a kind word spoken in my direction.

Marcus had learned from his previous mistakes. This new location—somewhere deep in the mountains, far from any pack territory I recognized—was a fortress designed specifically to hold me. The cell was smaller than my previous prison, carved directly into solid rock with walls three feet thick. No windows, no natural light, and security that made my old dungeon look like a luxury resort.

The sound of heavy footsteps in the corridor made me curl deeper into the corner where I'd built a nest of moldy blankets. Evening rounds. My least favorite time of day.

"Still alive in there, white wolf?" Greg's voice carried that familiar note of cruel amusement that had haunted my nightmares for years.

I didn't respond. I'd learned long ago that any reaction—fear, anger, defiance—only encouraged him. The best strategy was to become as uninteresting as possible, to fade into the background until he moved on to easier prey.

The cell door opened with its familiar screech of rusted hinges. Greg stepped inside, flanked by two wolves I didn't recognize—recent additions to Marcus's expanded operation, judging by their unfamiliar scents.

"The boss wants to see you," Greg said, though his tone suggested this wasn't a social visit.

I forced myself to stand, though my legs shook from weakness. The food they provided was minimal—just enough to keep me alive, not enough to maintain any real strength. My clothes hung loose on my frame, and I could count my ribs through the thin fabric of my shirt.

"Move," one of the new wolves growled, prodding me forward with the butt of his weapon.

The journey to Marcus's office was a blur of corridors I'd memorized over the years. This facility was much larger than Silver Fang's pack house had been—a sprawling underground complex that housed not just Marcus's original wolves, but representatives from at least six other packs. My kidnapping had apparently been just the beginning of a much larger plan.

Marcus was waiting behind a massive desk in what he'd styled as a war room. Maps covered the walls, marked with territories and pack boundaries. Red pins clustered around certain locations—targets, I realized with growing dread.

"Talia," he said without looking up from the documents spread before him. "You look terrible."

I said nothing. After five years, I'd learned that Marcus preferred monologues to conversations anyway.

"Do you know what's happened since you left Red Moon territory?" he continued, finally raising his cold eyes to meet mine. "The chaos your little escape attempt has caused?"

He gestured to the maps behind him. "Three packs have fallen in the political upheaval that followed your disappearance. The Council of Alphas has split into factions, some supporting Kale's 'humanitarian' approach, others recognizing the danger of allowing individual wolves to destabilize pack hierarchy."

My heart clenched at the mention of Kale's name, but I kept my expression blank.

"The Alpha King has been searching for you, of course," Marcus continued with obvious satisfaction. "Quite desperately, from what I hear. It's been... educational... watching him tear apart half the continent looking for one broken wolf."

"He'll find me eventually," I said, my voice barely above a whisper.

Marcus laughed—a sound like breaking glass. Of course, I can’t tell him that Kale is my mate because he’d kill me for sure. "Will he? It's been five years, little wolf. Five years without so much as a trace of where you've gone. How much longer do you think he'll keep looking before he accepts that you're gone forever?"

The question hit deeper than any physical blow. Five years was a long time. Long enough for Kale to move on, to find another mate, to accept that I was lost. Long enough for the bond I'd barely begun to understand to fade into nothing more than a painful memory.

"Besides," Marcus continued, "I'm not the same wolf who lost you the first time. I've made... improvements."

He gestured around the room, at the maps and the evidence of his expanded influence. "Six packs now follow my leadership. Twelve more have agreed to mutual defense treaties. And all of them understand the threat that white wolves represent to pack stability."

"I'm not a threat to anyone," I said, though even I wasn't sure I believed it anymore. Five years of renewed abuse had awakened something dark and angry inside me, something that whispered about revenge and payback.

"Aren't you?" Marcus stood and walked around his desk to stop directly in front of me. "Tell me, little wolf, what do you dream about at night? What fantasies help you endure Greg's visits?"

I flinched at the reference to my nightly torment, and Marcus's smile widened.

"I dream about killing you," I admitted, the words slipping out before I could stop them. "All of you. I dream about watching this place burn."

"There she is," Marcus said with satisfaction. "There's the monster I've been cultivating all these years."

He returned to his seat, clearly pleased with himself. "You see, Talia, I realized my mistake with your original imprisonment. I was trying to suppress your wolf entirely, to keep you weak and powerless. But weakness isn't what makes white wolves dangerous—it's strength without proper guidance."

"So now I'm trying a different approach. Instead of breaking your spirit, I'm channeling your anger. Instead of keeping you isolated, I'm showing you exactly what your supposed rescue attempt has cost."

He pulled out a folder and spread photographs across his desk. Images of destroyed pack houses, wounded wolves, territories marked by battle.

"The Mountain Ridge pack fell eighteen months ago," he said conversationally. "Internal conflict sparked by debates over your disappearance. Forty-three wolves dead, including their Alpha's entire family."

I tried not to look at the images, but my eyes were drawn to them despite my efforts.

"Silver Creek lasted a bit longer," Marcus continued. "But when they chose to support Kale's search efforts, their neighbors decided they were becoming too militant. The territory dispute that followed lasted six months."

Each photograph felt like a weight settling on my chest. All of this death and destruction, because I'd wanted to be free.

"You're lying," I whispered, though I could see the truth in the images before me.

"Am I? Ask yourself, little wolf—if the Alpha King really cared about preventing this kind of chaos, why hasn't he found you yet? Why hasn't he negotiated for your return? Why hasn't he accepted any of the perfectly reasonable offers I've sent through intermediaries?"

"Because he doesn't negotiate with kidnappers and murderers," I said, but my voice lacked conviction.

Marcus's laugh was genuinely amused this time. "Oh, but he does. He's negotiated with worse than me when it suited his purposes. The truth is simpler and more painful—you're not worth the political cost anymore."

The words hit like physical blows, confirming fears I'd been fighting for years.

"Five years, Talia. Five years of searching that has destabilized pack relations across North America. At some point, even the most devoted mate has to accept reality."

I wanted to argue, to defend Kale's commitment to finding me, but doubt had been growing in my heart for years. If he really was still looking, why hadn't he found me? Marcus had managed to kidnap me from the middle of Red Moon territory—surely finding me couldn't be that much more difficult.

"I have a proposition for you," Marcus said, leaning back in his chair. "Work with me. Help me bring stability to werewolf society by demonstrating the proper way to manage white wolf power. Show other packs that dangerous wolves can be controlled and channeled productively."

"You want me to become your weapon," I said.

"I want you to become what you were always meant to be," he corrected. "A tool for maintaining order. The difference is that now you'll do it willingly, because you understand the consequences of chaos."

He gestured to the photographs again. "All of this death and destruction happened because you chose personal freedom over social responsibility. How many more wolves have to die before you accept that some sacrifices are necessary for the greater good?"

The manipulation was obvious, but it was also effective. I was tired—so incredibly tired of fighting, of hoping, of believing that rescue was coming. Five years of renewed captivity had worn away most of my defiance, leaving behind only exhaustion and guilt.

"What would you want me to do?" I asked quietly.

Marcus smiled, and for the first time in years, it looked genuinely pleased rather than cruel.

"Nothing too dramatic at first. Just appear at a few inter-pack meetings, demonstrate that white wolves can be stable and controlled when properly managed. Show other Alphas that cooperation with Silver Fang alliance produces better results than opposition."

It sounded reasonable on the surface, but I could see the trap buried in his words. Once I started cooperating, there would be no going back. I'd become complicit in whatever Marcus was building, whatever larger plan these maps and alliances were meant to serve.

"And if I refuse?"

Marcus's expression didn't change, but something cold flickered in his eyes. "Then we continue as we have been. Greg continues his visits, you continue wasting away in your cell, and I continue demonstrating to other packs exactly why white wolves need firm management."

The threat was clear. Cooperation might not lead to freedom, but refusal would guarantee continued suffering.

"I need time to think," I said.

"Of course. Take all the time you need." Marcus nodded to Greg, who stepped forward with obvious anticipation. "But remember—every day you delay your decision is another day of... current management."

As Greg and his escorts led me back to my cell, I caught sight of my reflection in a piece of broken mirror someone had left in the corridor. The face looking back at me was hollow-cheeked and haunted, with eyes that held more pain than any twenty-two-year-old should have to carry.

I looked like exactly what Marcus had tried to make me—a broken wolf who'd lost all hope of rescue.

The question was whether there was enough of the real me left to remember what I was fighting for.

As the cell door slammed shut behind me and I heard Greg's footsteps approaching for his nightly visit, I closed my eyes and tried to remember Kale's golden gaze, the way it had felt to be claimed and protected.

But five years was a long time, and hope was harder to maintain than despair.

Maybe Marcus was right. Maybe it was time to stop believing in fairy tale rescues and accept the reality of what my life had become.

The sound of the cell door opening again made me curl deeper into my corner and prepare to endure another night in the darkness I'd learned to call home.