Chapter 20
1166 Words
MAETHYS POV
I flinched at his hot breath.
His grip tightened in response, like he’d been waiting for it.
“Pretty thing,” he murmured, and the word pretty felt like a knife dragged dull over skin. “Not so tough now, are you?”
I wanted to spit in his face.
I wanted to bite.
I wanted to shift—break my bones into something with claws and teeth and no mercy.
But the iron burned against my wrist, and my wolf stayed trapped behind my ribs like it was caged inside me, too.
Zakael laughed again, then lifted his head so everyone could hear.
“She’s supposed to be important,” he said, mockery dripping off every syllable. “Special little bloodline. Special little heir. And still—”
He jostled me, hard enough that my teeth clicked together.
“—still a wolf.”
The word wolf came out like scum.
Something low and dangerous rippled through the group.
Not everyone laughed this time.
A robed figure shifted, the hood turning toward me. Firelight didn’t reach their face, but I felt their attention like a fingertip pressed to my skin.
“Mind yourself,” the robed one said. Their voice was calm. Controlled. “That blood matters, whether you like the vessel it came in or not.”
Zakael’s smile sharpened.
“Oh?” he said. “You want to lecture me about blood?”
His fingers flexed against my throat. Not enough to choke—enough to warn.
“I think I’ll do what I want,” he went on, raising his voice again. “Maybe I’ll share. Seems a shame to keep a prize like this all to myself.”
A few of the men laughed. One of them said something crude that made the air feel filthy.
My stomach twisted.
The robed one’s voice snapped colder. “She is not yours.”
Zakael turned his head, grin widening like he’d just been handed a toy.
“Funny,” he said. “Because it was easy enough to take Valik down, wasn’t it?”
The name struck my body before my mind.
Valik.
The mate bond I could still feel—thin and stretched and aching—jerked like a chain inside my chest. It hurt in a way I didn’t have words for. Like someone had pulled a thread out of me and left the hole open to the cold.
Like losing my grandmother all over again—something vital, gone, and the world insisting I keep breathing anyway.
My vision tunneled.
My heartbeat thundered.
And then my body moved.
I drove my elbow back as hard as I could, aiming blind and angry.
It landed in his ribs with a sickening, satisfying impact.
Zakael grunted, the sound forced out of him. His grip loosened. Just enough.
I dropped out of his arms and hit the dirt on my knees.
For one clean heartbeat, hope flared.
I could run.
I could make it into the trees.
I could—
A fist slammed into my side.
White pain exploded through my ribs. I folded instinctively, air tearing out of me in a choked gasp. The world lurched.
He grabbed my ankle again and flung me.
My body sailed—weightless, wrong—before it crashed into the dirt across the clearing. Something inside me screamed. My shoulder hit first, then my cheek. My mouth filled with metal-tasting spit.
I spat.
Blood dotted the ground like ink.
The camp went sharp-quiet for half a second.
Then voices surged.
“Zakael—”
“Enough—”
“What the hell are you doing?”
Someone stepped forward. Someone else stood, faster, hands out like they were trying to calm a wild animal.
The robed figure rose, too. Their voice cut through the chaos, thin with fury. “You will not damage what we need.”
“What you need,” Zakael snarled, chest heaving. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand like I’d offended him by fighting back. “You don’t get to tell me how hard I squeeze.”
A man with a cup raised his voice, trying to laugh it off. “She got you good, Zak.”
Zakael’s gaze snapped toward him.
The man’s laugh died halfway out of his throat.
Power.
It sat on Zakael’s shoulders like armor.
And suddenly I knew—truly knew—why no one stopped him at first.
Not because they agreed.
Because they feared him.
My side throbbed. Breathing hurt. Each inhale scraped like broken glass.
I forced myself upright on my hands anyway, dirt grinding into my palms.
I’d never hated anyone.
I’d been afraid. I’d been angry. I’d wanted to hurt someone back.
But hate—real hate—was different.
Hate was cold.
It settled into my bones like winter.
And I hated him.
I hated the way he smiled while he hurt me.
I hated the way he spoke my bloodline like it was an object and my wolf like it was rot.
I hated that he thought this was sport.
My vision swam, and that was when I saw her.
A woman across the clearing—chains, dirt, hollowed cheeks—had lifted her head. Firelight caught the edge of her face. Her eyes were too big in her skull.
They met mine.
In that fleeting moment, the noise of the camp fell away.
She looked at me like she was seeing herself.
Like she was asking without words: Are you real? Are you like me? Are you going to leave me here?
I didn’t know her.
But in that moment, I knew the shape of her cage because it matched mine.
I held her gaze as long as I could.
Not a promise.
Not yet.
Just recognition.
She flinched first, eyes dropping like she’d been punished for looking.
Zakael’s shadow fell over me again.
He grabbed my ankle and started dragging me back across the clearing, as if my body was nothing but a handle he could use.
I dug my fingers into the dirt until my nails tore. It didn’t stop him.
It only left pieces of me behind.
He hauled me to the metal cage and shoved me inside. The iron floor kissed my skin like a brand.
I hissed despite myself.
His laugh was soft this time. Private.
“Enjoy your iron prison,” he said, voice loud enough for me, not the camp. “Wolf scum.”
He slammed the door.
The latch clicked.
And then he leaned closer, lowering his voice until it crawled under my skin.
“Be grateful,” he murmured, “if you see daylight.”
His footsteps retreated.
I leaned into the back of the cage, back hitting the bars, arms wrapped around my knees. And I counted.
One.
Two.
Three—
I counted every step as he walked away, wishing one of them would be his last.
Morning couldn’t come soon enough.
*****
- Writer
