Chapter Two: Escaping Death.
1268 Words
(9 years ago)
Nyla's POV
“Look!”
“There’s someone there!” I hear a masculine voice, followed by the quick thud of approaching footsteps.
“It's just a little pup. I think she’s alive, get her to Alpha Rowan immediately.” a man orders.
In an instant, I feel strong, muscular arms lift me up, and within seconds he is running so fast it feels like I have only minutes left to live.
“Alpha, we saw this pup at the outskirts of our border,” the man carrying me says.
I feel a gentle hand touch my face, as if examining it, then it moves to my pulse point.
“Her pulse is weak, but she's still alive. Quickly, take her to the clinic and ask Martin to attend to her immediately,” I hear a deeper masculine voice say.
Immediately, the man holding me starts running again.
The breeze sweeps across my face as we travel, bringing with it a strange calm that soothes my aching heart and chills that numb my pain.
He stops again, and faint voices echo through the haze.
“Martin, Alpha Rowan says you should attend to this pup now,”
“She looks pale and her body is filled with bruises,”
“I think she might have been lost. Anyway, just do your magic. I'm off to meet my teammates.”
I stay in the hospital for three days under the strict supervision of Martin—the doctor.
He feeds me, tends to my wounds and occasionally tries to brighten my mood. But frankly speaking, I am drowning in so much sorrow and laughter is a luxury I cannot afford.
On the third day Alpha Rowan visits.
He tries to start a conversation with me but I cannot talk. The words refuse to form.
“You know you can talk to me, right? I don't bite. I just want to help you, if you let me,” he says, urging me to speak.
But I just stare blankly at him.
“Martin, has she been like this since she arrived?” Alpha Rowan asks.
“Yes, Alpha. I think she is suffering from shock. You need to give her time. She should get better with time,” Martin answers, bowing his head.
“Ohh, my little girl. You must have gone through a lot,” Alpha Rowan murmurs, his hands rubbing my head.
“When will she be discharged?”
“I would like to watch her for two more days, Alpha,”
“Okay. When she’s ready to be discharged, let me know. I’ll send someone to fetch her.”
“Ok, Alpha,” Martin nods.
He stands up, bends forward slightly, and holds my hands.
“I have to go now, dear. I'll send someone to check on you daily until you're discharged, okay?” he says, his face full of concern.
I nod, and he places a gentle kiss on my forehead before heading for the door.
I am left alone in my world—reliving every memory, every pain, every loss.
Tears fall freely as I remember my father. I cry until sleep finally claims me.
Two days later, someone escorts me to Alpha Rowan’s home—a decent house, not as fancy as my own home had been, but enough to live in hiding.
“Welcome home, dear. Let me take you to your room,” he says, leading me down the hallway.
I follow him, my heart pounding, unsure of what awaits me. He stops at a closed wooden door at the end of the hallway and pushes it open.
“Here we are,” he says, spreading his arms.
“Do you like it?” He asks.
I take my time scanning the room before looking back at him and nodding.
The room isn’t fancy. Just a small room with a chair and a table, a bed, an old wardrobe that looks barely used, and a window that fills the room with sunlight.
“Okay then, let's get you settled in.”
He lifts me and places me on the bed, gently unbuckling my shoes and setting them beside the drawer.
Tears stream down my eyes as memories of my father resurface—how he dresses me every morning and tucks me into bed every night.
His gaze meets mine, and he stops immediately.
“Did I do something wrong?” he asks, confusion written all over his face.
I shake my head.
“I’m sorry. Please stop crying,” he says, patting my back gently.
I nod, wiping my cheeks with the back of my palm.
“Can I ask you a question?” he asks, his voice calm and polite.
“Yes,” I murmur, nodding.
“Do you mind telling me your name?”
My fingers knot together, nails picking as I hesitate.
Father’s warning lingers in my head. Don’t trust anyone.
“Ann,” I say, finally.
It's the only name echoing in my mind—my mother's name.
“Wow, Ann. It's nice to meet you,” he says warmly, stretching out his hands.
I clap mine into his. “It's nice to meet you too, Alpha,” my small voice whispers.
“Do you belong to any pack?”
Pack? Is he trying to know where I am from? The time isn't right yet. I need to ensure my safety first, even if it means lying.
I shake my head, tears streaming down my cheeks.
Guilt settles on his face. He leans in, lifts his hand, and brushes his thumb lightly beneath my eye, wiping away my tears, and whispers gently.
“I'm sorry… you will be fine, I promise. ”
His gaze lingers on me for a few long seconds before he finally stands up.
“That will be all for today. Let's get you to bed,” he says.
He undresses me, changes me into pajamas and guides me to the bed, helping me settle under the blankets.
His hands linger for a moment on my shoulders, comforting and warm. The room feels quiet but safe, yet it was heavy with memories I can’t shake off.
I close my eyes, remembering my parent's final moments. The memories sting, and tears threaten again, but I force myself to breathe, to push the grief down for now.
He steps back, glancing at me one last time.
“Sleep well, Ann,” he whispers, switching off the light before leaving.
Alone, the silence presses around me. Every shadow, every whisper in the room reminds me of the past—the loss, the pain, the promise of revenge that has begun to take root in my heart.
Tears fill my eyes and my chest starts throbbing hard.
I curl into the blankets, clutching them tightly, trying to find comfort where I can. Sleep comes slowly, reluctantly, but eventually, it claims me.
The nightmares wake me again.
And just like that, I remain awake for the rest of the night, staring at the ceiling, my heart aching and my eyes burning.
Morning arrives at last.
I drag myself up, arrange my bed, take a quick bath, and head outside.
I am done sulking.
If I want revenge, there are things I need to learn.
As I walk down the hallway, a voice echoes behind me.
“Ann…”
My ears snap towards it. I freeze. The name feels strange, but the voice… It's familiar, almost like my dad's.
My heart skips. I stop and tilt my head, glancing over my shoulders—and then I see them.
- Writer
