The Lycan’s Broken Mate

Chapter 9

Lila~

A tomb of rust and despair, that's what my cell is. Its stone walls slick with damp, the air thick with the stench of decay and my own sweat. My ribs throb from Zane’s latest beating, a bruise blooming purple across my side, but pain is an old friend, one I’ve known for twenty years in this hell. I’m Lila, Elyse’s shield, her fire, forged in the crucible of Zane’s cruelty.

He tore us apart six months ago, after I smashed his guard Vark’s face for touching her, his whimpers like a broken wolf cub’s as he fled. Zane wanted Elyse submissive, pliable, but I’m her strength, her defiance, and I’ll claw through this darkness to find her.

My cropped hair sticks to my neck, my breath sharp, and I pace the narrow cell, my bare feet slapping the cold stone, counting the guards’ steps—one, two, three—a rhythm to anchor my rebellion.

Joren’s silence is a knife in my gut, days without his green eyes, his quiet kindness, or his whispered rumor that Elyse escaped, taken by a lycan alpha. Is he caught? Dead? Paranoia gnaws at me, a rat chewing my nerves raw, and I clench my fists, nails biting my palms, drawing blood to ground me.

Elyse’s face—her soft hazel eyes, her trembling smile—haunts me, a beacon in this pit. She’s my twin, my heart, the gentle half I’d die to protect. Guilt chokes me, thick and bitter, for failing to keep her safe, for letting Zane rip us apart. My chest aches, a sob threatening, but I swallow it, my defiance a steel cage around my softness. I can’t wait for Joren’s return. I need answers, now.

The lock clanks, and I tense, expecting a client—some hulking brute who doesn’t flinch at my fight—but it’s Cal, a lanky new guard with nervous eyes, his fingers twitching on his baton.

“Showers,” he grunts, jerking his head toward the corridor.

My pulse quickens, a spark of opportunity igniting my zeal. I need to reach Joren, to know if Elyse is safe. As Cal leads me through the dim, dripping hallway, I scan for a way to send a message, my mind racing. The other girls shuffle past, their eyes hollow, and I force my smirk, hiding the fear coiling in my gut. I’m not like them, broken and docile. I’m fire, and I burn for Elyse.

In the shower room, the air is damp, the tiles cracked, water dripping like tears. Cal lingers by the door, trying to avoid an eye contact, as I caught him starring at my cleavage, his gaze flickering, and I see my chance. A rusted pipe runs along the wall, its surface pitted with age, and I notice a loose screw, barely noticeable, glinting in the dim light. My heart pounds, a plan forming, reckless but alive with purpose.

While Cal’s distracted, barking at another girl, I pry the screw free, my fingers trembling with urgency, the metal biting my skin. I slip it into my sleeve, my smirk masking the adrenaline flooding me.

Back in my cell, I kneel in the corner, where the shadows hide me, and begin my work. The screw is my tool, my weapon. I carve a code into the stone wall, a pattern of intricate scratches—short dashes, long gouges, curved arcs—mimicking the pack runes Joren once described, a language of wolves he learned as a boy.

Each mark is deliberate, etched with perseverance, my fingers aching, blood smearing as the screw slips. The code reads: Elyse. Alive? News. Find her. It’s a prayer, a plea, carved with every ounce of my will, my love for my sister fueling each stroke.

I filled the carves with sooth formed on the cell’s grime from an old oil lamp.

I need Cal to carry it unknowingly.

When he returns at dusk, his boots heavy, I slump against the wall, feigning weakness, my sleeve brushing his as I stumble. The wall coated with graphite dust from the wall, transfers a faint, mirrored imprint of the rune pattern onto his cuff, invisible unless you know to look.

“Move it,” he snaps, grabbing my arm, and I wince, my ribs screaming, but my heart soars—I’ve done it. The code’s out, a fragile thread to Joren, to Elyse. I pray he deciphers it, that he sees the runes for what they are.

Hours later, boots echo again, and my hope curdles into dread. Cal storms in, his face pale, eyes blazing.

“Zane knows you tampered with something,” he snarls, yanking me up, his grip bruising. “You’re done, Lila.”

My stomach drops, panic spiking, but I keep my smirk, defiance my shield.

“Zane’s got bigger problems,” I taunt, my voice steady despite the fear clawing my chest.

He drags me to a darker cell, its walls black with mold, the air suffocating. The door slams, and I’m alone, curling on the icy floor, my body shaking. A flashback hits—Elyse’s hand slipping from mine, her voice soft, scared, as Zane’s guards tore her away.

“Stay strong, Lila,” she whispered, but I failed her, and the guilt is a weight crushing my lungs. Yet my softness stirs, a quiet ache for her, and I cling to the hope that my code reached Joren, that Elyse is alive.

At dawn, a shadow moves, and Joren slips in, his face bruised, his green eyes fierce but warm. My heart leaps, relief flooding me, though I mask it with a scowl.

“Took you long enough,” I say, my voice rough, but my trembling hands betray my fear, my longing.

“Saw your runes,” he whispers, slipping me a crust of bread, his fingers brushing mine, steadying me. “Clever, scratching them into the floor. Took me hours to spot the pattern on Cal’s cuff—had to bribe him for a look. You’re a damn puzzle, Lila.” His voice is low, a spark of admiration cutting through the gloom.

I swallow, tears burning my eyes. “Elyse,” I say, my voice cracking, raw with hope and dread. “Is she alive?”

He nods, his jaw tight. “A lycan alpha—big, tore through Zane’s men—took her from his club. No proof she’s safe, but she’s out, Lila. I’ll keep digging.”

Hope surges, sharp and painful, like sunlight after years in the dark. Elyse, my gentle twin, is free. Tears spill, and I wipe them away, my smirk returning to hide the softness breaking through.

“She’s alive,” I breathe, my voice trembling, my heart swelling with love, with fire. “Find her, Joren. Don’t screw it up.”

He chuckles, a sound like warmth in this pit. “Me, screw up? I’m a master at sneaking, unlike you—those runes were bold, but loud. You’re gonna get us both caught.” His grin is teasing, but his eyes hold a promise.

I laugh, weak but real, my defiance flaring alongside my hope.

“You’re the one who trips like a drunk pup,” I retort, my voice steadier.

The cell is still a cage, my ribs still ache, but Elyse is out there, and I’ll endure this hell to see her again. My code, my fire, my love—they’ll carry me through.