Chapter 6
1285 Words
Isolde
The sharp kick to Isolde’s side jolted her awake. “Get up, rat,” a voice sneered.
She barely had time to react before a rough hand grabbed her by the arm and pulled her off the thin mat. Her legs shook as she stood, her bare feet pressing against the cold wooden floor. She had barely been asleep for three hours.
She had slept by one in the night, and it was barely light outside.
A dark-haired she-wolf, Mira, stood over her, arms crossed. “You think you can sleep in while the rest of us work?”
“I…”
A slap landed across her cheek, sending her head snapping to the side.
“No excuses,” Mira said, glaring down at Isolde. “Get to the kitchen before I drag you there myself.”
Isolde swallowed the bitter taste in her mouth and hurried out of the slave quarters. The hallway was already busy with warriors stomping past, servants running around with trays, the air filled with the thick scent of cooked meat.
The moment she stepped into the kitchen, the head cook, an older woman with graying hair, narrowed her eyes. “Took your time, didn’t you?”
“I slept late again, Mrs. Martha.”
“Shut up. Grab the trays and start serving. The warriors are already in the dining hall.”
Isolde rushed to the counter, grabbing the heavy trays stacked with food. Her arms trembled under the weight, but she forced herself to keep moving. The last time she spilled anything, they had made her lick it off the floor like a dog.
She pushed through the doors and entered the dining hall. The room was filled with warriors, their loud voices competing with the sound of dishes.
They had to wake up early for the morning shifting of guards along the pack borders. She kept her head down as she moved from table to table, placing food in front of them.
“Finally,” one of them muttered. “I thought we’d starve before the rat showed up.”
The soldiers who heard him laughed, but she bit her lip and kept going.
She reached one of the larger tables and carefully poured water into the warriors’ cups. Just as she was about to move to the next one, someone behind her held her waist from behind.
Her entire body went stiff, and she froze in place.
“What do we have here?” The voice was mocking, amused.
Isolde turned slowly, her elbow knocking the pitcher of water in her hands. She watched in horror as the entire contents poured out onto the warrior sitting in front of her.
The room became silent at once. Isolde closed her eyes, preparing for the beating she would get.
The drenched warrior, a broad-shouldered man with angry eyes, stood slowly. Water dripped from his pants onto his plate.
Isolde’s heart pounded fast. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to…”
His palm hit her face so fast she barely felt it. The pain spread across her cheek, sharp and burning. The force sent her stumbling back, her hands holding the table so she wouldn't fall on the floor.
“Stupid b***h,” he spat. “Do you know how much this uniform costs?”
More laughter. More whispers.
“She’s always messing up.”
“Pathetic.”
“She should be thrown outside with the rogues.”
Isolde’s throat tightened. She clenched her hands into fists, willing herself not to cry. Crying only made it worse. The warrior grabbed her by the front of her dress. “Maybe I should pour the next one on you, huh? See how you like it.”
“Enough.”
The deep voice saved Isolde. The grip on her dress loosened immediately, and the warriors straightened in their seats.
Alpha Caleb.
She bent her head, lowering her eyes at once. Alpha Caleb had threatened more than once to kill her if she ever looked into his eyes.
The Alpha of the Ashthorn Pack sat at the head of the room, his eyes fixed on Isolde. He leaned back in his chair, tilting his head slightly.
“Come here.”
Isolde’s stomach twisted, but she had no choice. She forced her feet forward, stopping in front of him.
Caleb’s gaze swept over her, slow and calculating. “You cause more trouble than you’re worth,” he mused. “Maybe I should stop feeding you. That way, you’ll be too weak to make a mess.”
Some of the warriors chuckled.
“I…I didn’t mean to…”
Caleb raised a hand, and she fell silent.
“You’re useless,” he said simply. “The only reason you’re alive is because you’re slightly better than the dirt on my boots.”
The humiliation burned in her chest. But she had heard these words before. She knew they weren’t meant for her to respond.
Caleb leaned forward. “And yet,” he continued, “you do have one use, don’t you?”
Isolde’s stomach dropped. She knew what was coming. Aloha Caleb kept her alive and just fed enough to keep his soldiers healed.
She has discovered her healing powers by accident when a soldier had almost died at the training ground and he had been brought to her father's house, and she had saved him by accident. Since then, Caleb had been brought to the palace and had been using her to heal his soldiers.
“An injured warrior needs healing,” Caleb said. “You know what to do.”
Her knees went weak. Healing drained her, left her shaking and exhausted for hours. But refusal wasn’t an option.
She turned and followed the guards toward the back of the dining hall, where a warrior was lying on a bench, his arm twisted at an unnatural angle. He groaned in pain.
“Fix him,” one of the guards ordered, pushing her forward.
Isolde knelt beside him and took a deep breath. She placed her hands over the wound, feeling the way his body sucked at her strength. Her palm heated and the broken bone began to shift back into place.
The warrior gasped as the pain eased, almost as if he transferred it to her, his heavy breathing slowing.
Isolde’s eyes blurred as strength left her body. She swayed slightly, her arms falling to her sides. She fell to the floor, hitting her arm.
“Pathetic,” one of the guards muttered. “Can’t even stay upright after one simple task.”
A hand grabbed her wrist and yanked her up. “Get out of my sight,” Caleb said.
Isolde staggered back, nodding quickly before limping out of the hall. She needed to see Liam. Needed to make sure he was still breathing.
She rushed through the corridors, and left the pack house, running to her father's house where her brother was home alone, sleeping on a mattress, a thin blanket over his thin body.
“Liam,” she whispered, kneeling beside him, and slowly shaking awake.
His eyes opened, a small, weak smile forming. “You’re late.”
Isolde forced a smile. She couldn't tell him, but she guessed he already knew what she went though at the park house. The bruises were difficult to ignore. “I got caught up.”
“Did they hurt you again?”
She hesitated before shaking her head. “I’m fine.”
Liam sighed. “You always say that.”
She brushed his messy hair back. “I’m going to find a way to get you out of here, okay? I promise.”
She planned on running away. Somewhere Caleb couldn't find her.
- Writer
