CHAPTER THREE - THE ROOM
1284 Words
The ceiling comes into view first before anything else. Brown timber with a light bulb suspended at its center.
I breathe in. Breathe out.
Look around.
There’s a small window to my right letting in the soft morning light. My senses come together in bits. I’m in a narrow bed. The mattress is very hard against my back.
I lie still for a second. Let the moment soak in.
After six months of intense training and planning, I’m finally in.
Harper…I mean, Kyra Whitlord is finally inside IronClaw Pack.
I try to sit up.
There are footsteps above me. Like some coordinated marching steps and some voices further down the building.
And a smell of freshly cooked meat penetrating the small room.
When I sit up, my back and hips are exactly what I expected them to be after the accident.
Shoulder, same. Palm cleaned up and wrapped. And my dress...wait.
What?
My dress isn’t the same.
It has been replaced.
I’m no longer wearing the white auction dress - but a plain grey gown.
Someone changed me while I was out.
I might be overthinking. Maybe that’s how generous wolves are in this pack.
I reach my hands to the sheath around my inner thigh.
Empty.
It’s gone.
The dagger is gone. s**t.
I spend about thirty seconds searching the entire room. Nothing.
I don’t raise any alarm. Of course I can’t. Someone has found it and hasn’t raised one either.
I walk around aimlessly before stopping myself. Go to the bathroom door. Open it.
There’s a toothbrush and toothpaste paste already waiting. Someone is taking extra steps to look after me here. Or maybe they’re just waiting for me to heal and send me to the Labor camp.
I turn on the tap. Rinse my face. The image I see looking back - is that of my mother.
I see her eyes, her warm smile, her perfect cheekbones. I see her crying, bleeding, struggling with the pain. I see her let go. Tears begin to well up in my eyes.
She always did everything to protect me at all times.
I stop myself from looking at the mirror further before the tears fall out. Sit on the bed.
Someone knocks on the door.
The dagger?
“Come in,” I say, wiping a tear off my face hurriedly.
The door opens. A young woman walks in. Early twenties I think. Wearing a gray gown - same as mine - but with a collar at her neck. She’s carrying a tray of food: Coffee, bread and eggs.
She moves fast without saying anything. Places the tray on top of the drawer and goes back to stand by the door.
None of us says anything for a moment.
She’s looking at me, and I’m reading her too.
“Thank you,” I finally say.
She nods once. Moves to open the door.
Turns the handle.
Stops.
Looks at the tray, then at me, like she’s trying to decide something. Then goes ahead.
“The door at the end of the corridor,” her voice drops lower now. “Don’t try it. Never open it.”
Then she turns around and leaves. No explanation. No reason. No name.
At least the food is here.
I take out the coffee jar, pour some of it into a cup. Move to the window. Sip slowly.
Two wolves are in the courtyard. The second rider from yesterday is also standing there.
No sign of Lucien yet.
I stay there for a while. Empty the coffee cup.
After a while, I decide to move around the place. Observe the building. Map out what I came here for.
But I need some disguise.
I take the tray, pretend to look for the kitchen.
The door of the handle opens easily. Things seem a little better than what I imagined Doves had to live with.
To my left is the corridor to the door the woman warned me about. I go there.
When I reach the door, I don’t move.
The door is pulsating almost tangibly. I can feel it like a physical push and pull. Like someone on the other side is breathing heavily. In and out.
I don’t know how long I stand there for but the clinking sounds from the tray I’m holding startles me back to reality.
I move away slowly.
Walk down the stairs and toward the smell of the freshly cooked meat.
I find it at last. It’s a wooden door with the word ‘KITCHEN’ written above it.
I open it.
It’s large. With long tables and sophisticated equipments.
There are two women standing beside a boiling pot when I enter. They’ve stopped looking at the pot and are looking at me now.
“Hey, look Sabrina,” one of the women - the younger one - says. “It’s the new girl.”
The other woman looks at me.
I don’t know what to say. I’m still holding the tray in my hands.
“Hi,” I begin. “Please where can I wash these?”
“Do I look like running water to you?“ The younger woman says.
The older woman stirs the pot, points to the sink.
“Thank you.” I say. Move to one of the sinks. Set my tray down and start washing.
After a few minutes, the Dove that brought breakfast comes inside. She doesn’t talk to anyone. Just moves straight to a sink a few feet away from me. Starts washing, head down.
I don’t say anything either.
After a while, she moves closer to me.
“I see you took my advice.”
I turn to look at her. “How did you know?”
“Well, you’re here and not in a cage.” She lifts her head up. “What’s your name?”
“Kyra,” the name rolls off smoothly. “Kyra Whitlord but you can call me Ky.”
“I’m Elara.”
Within seconds, the temperature in the building drops. Conversations die. The two women in front have stopped talking.
The kitchen door opens.
A tall man, huge, broad chested, walks in. Flanked by two other men. Wearing dark clothes.
The women speak all at once.
“Alpha.” They bow slightly.
I didn’t greet and the man has noticed. He’s moving towards me now. Slowly.
When he stops in front of me, my breath hitches.
“You’re the new girl.” He says, not a question.
“Yes, Sir.”
“What’s your name?”
“Kyra. Kyra Whitlord.”
The man doesn’t say anything. Narrows his eyes towards me.
“Something about your scent,” he inhales, then exhales. “It smells unfinished. Where did you say you’re from again?”
I never told him where I’m from.
“Ridgefield.”
“Hmm,” he begins to tap his finger on his chin. “Before that?”
“I wandered.”
The questions are getting too much.
The two men at the door adjust themselves.
Lucien.
He steps in but doesn’t come too close to us.
The man looks at me again, then leaves. Clearly not satisfied with the answers I gave him.
As he approaches the doorway, Lucien bows his head slightly. “Alpha.”
The man doesn’t reply. Definitely heard it but refused to acknowledge.
He walks towards the door. Stops. Shoulder almost touching Lucien.
There’s maybe two to three seconds of knife edge tension between each other. None says a thing. They just look at each other before the man walks away.
“Who was that?” I ask Elara when I’m able to catch my breath again.
“Alpha Roland. Lucien’s brother.”
- Writer
