His Penitence

CHAPTER FOUR

Days blur.

I ran until my paws bled; no food, no plan, just pain guiding her north, deeper into the wild. Trees grow taller, the air gets colder and the world quiets.

We arrive in the mountains.

I collapsed beside a narrow stream, barely shifting back before passing out again. Naked, shivering and all alone.

But alive and barely hanging on,

The days are dead silent now, no pack chatter in my head, no Alpha commands, no Devin and Veronica. The forest has become my home.

A couple of days have passed, and I'm trying to rebuild my life,

My wolf shifts restlessly inside.

“You feel that?”

“We’re being watched.”

Something is tracking me.

I bolt, ducking between trees, heart thundering. Branches whip my arms, I hear the first footstep behind me, heavy, too heavy to be prey.

Then three more.

Panic seizes me. I shift mid-run, fur bristling as paws hit the forest floor. But they’re faster, more trained, hunting like wild dogs.

Something slams into me from the side, a blur of fur and fangs. I crash into the earth, skidding through dirt and gravel.

I snarl, snapping my jaws, but a second rogue pins me. Then a third, my wolf lashes out, fierce but small.

Omega blood; Weaker.

A voice cuts through the chaos, “Enough.”

Vang steps into view; massive, masked, dirty brown hair, accompanied by five others, all built. “So this is the girl who's been lighting up the forest,” he says.

“You’ve been trailing me.”

“For days,” he smiles. “You're not as hidden as you think.”

That’s when Eularia steps forward.

Slender, pale. Beautiful in the wrong way, like a porcelain doll holding a knife behind her back. Her eyes are ghost white. Witch.

“She’s the one,” Eularia murmurs to Vang, tracing the air above my shivering form.

“You’re sure?”

“Oh, very.”

I tried to shift back, but her body wouldn’t listen. My limbs are literally frozen. Icy vines grow from the ground, coiling tight around my wrists and ankles. Magic slithers through every nerve.

“Let me go!” I snarl, but my voice cracks.

Eularia tilts her head. “You don’t even know what you are... and you still think you get a choice?”

Vang smirks. “Welcome to the Bloodfangs, omega.”

The last thing I heard was Eularia chanting a spell, her hand glowing, a sigil burning red in her palm — searing into my skin like fire.

Then, pitch black darkness.

The first thing I feel is cold, not the mountain wind I have grown used to, but something damp and metallic.

My eyes flutter open, slow and unfocused, to a ceiling of cracked stone. The air stinks of mildew, blood, and wet fur: I'm in a pit.

I try to move pain shoots through my arm. My wrists are shackled above my head, chains heavy and laced with wolfsbane. My ankles, too, are enough to weaken me, not kill me. My skin burns where the sigil was pressed red now, blistered.

Around me, deep underground, rows of iron cells stretch like ribs in a giant corpse. Caged wolves, some howl in their sleep. Others sit in silence, eyes hollow, already broken.

I am not the only prisoner.

Footsteps echo, slow and deliberate.

Vang appears, flanked by two rogues with bloodshot eyes, masked as usual. He crouches down beside my cell,

“You know,” he continues, “Eularia thinks you’re important. She says you're soul shines differently, it must be something in your bloodline.”

“Go to hell,” I whisper.

He grins. “We’re already there. You just joined the party.”

The bars slam shut. He vanishes. But the worst is yet to come.

Eularia arrives hours later, drifting like smoke. Her robes move without wind. She doesn’t speak at first, just studies Penny. Tilts her head. Smiles like she’s looking at art.

“You, I can't wait to use you,” she says softly.

“For what?” I choked out.

“ First… we’ll break you. Then we’ll rebuild you better.”

She leaves without another word.

The days go by in a blur.

I'm fed only enough to survive, the magic in the sigil keeps me from shifting. My wolf is silent now, caged inside like I am. Every hour drags, every breath harder than the last.

Sometimes I try to scream but only the echo of stone answers.

Sometimes I dream of my mother or of Devin, the night he left me to rot.

But more than anything… Dreams of freedom.

One thought keeps me alive through it all:

If I can survive rejection, I'll survive this also.

Hearing a cough,

My body jerks awake, heart racing. Very close to her, in the gloom of another iron-barred cell, someone’s stirring.

For weeks, I hadn’t even realized there was someone kept in that cage. Most prisoners didn’t last long — they either got moved, broken, or worse. But this voice is steady, low.

“What's your name?”

It’s hoarse, tired — but not weak.

I shifted closer to the bars.

“Who’s asking?”

The girl leans forward just enough for torchlight to graze her cheek. She’s bruised, pale, with matted black hair and sharp eyes that still burn.

“Celeste.”

“I'm Penny”

Their gazes lock, something clicks. Recognition without ever meeting before, Pain understands pain.

We talk each night after that, voices hushed, careful to avoid the guards.

Celeste tells her how she was ambushed weeks ago during a lone patrol. She's a Beta from a small border pack gone now.

“The sigils, the whispers, the mind tricks… they mess with your head."

One night, I finally let her guard slip and asked, “What do they want from us?”

Celeste is quiet. Then…

“To breed,” she says bluntly. To control,

to rebuild a rogue army of their own making; stronger, faster, obedient.”

Celeste nods. Then slowly, one trembling hand settles on my stomach.

My breath catches.

“Celeste—”

“ How are you feeling?” concern shown in her haggard features,

“I didn’t know until a few days ago. I thought the nausea was from the food. I haven’t shifted since they took me, but I feel it.”

Pressing a hand on the wall, steadying myself, my stomach churns.

“Devin and I made a child” with tears streaming down my face. I told her everything.

Celeste’s voice wavers, but she doesn’t cry.

“I've already decided, Penny. We are not dying here. And your baby isn’t going to be born in a fuvking cage.”

That night, neither of us slept,

And by morning, we had a plan.

Celeste had been carving a loose bolt on her cage floor with a sharp piece of bone she hid under her cot while I memorized the pattern of the guards, especially the sleepy one who chews roots and forgets to check the chains.

Two stolen souls. One unborn life.

We begin planning our escape.