CHAPTER 3 — The Road to Crescent Hollow
718 Words
“You got something special, Omega.”
The guard's words stayed with her. Rena sat in the corner, knees to her chest, back against the wooden slats. Every bump sent a jolt through her spine.
The canvas flapped, letting in slices of gray light. Outside, wheels creaked. Men's voices drifted in and out.
“How far to Crescent Hollow?”
“Half a day. Maybe more.”
Rena tucked the name away.
The wagon hit a rut. Rena's head snapped up. The wood bit into her palm.
“You alive back there?”
The canvas pulled back. A man's face appeared—scruffy beard, narrow eyes. He looked her up and down.
“Still breathing. Good.”
He let the canvas drop. She had stopped expecting kindness a long time ago.
The wagon rolled on. Her back settled into a steady throb. Her wrists still burned.
She tried to think about what came next. Would it be the same as before, just a different place to disappear?
Her hand went to her chest. The warmth was gone, but the memory stayed.
The wagon slowed.
“Open the gate.”
Through a gap in the canvas, she saw stone walls. Tall. Gray. Rising from the trees. A gate swung open.
The wagon passed through.
She saw buildings—stone and timber, rising two, three stories high. A dirt road stretched ahead, lined with wolves who stopped to watch.
“Whose wagon is that?”
“Don't know. Keep walking.”
The voices faded. Rena pulled back from the gap.
The wagon stopped. Canvas pulled back. Light flooded in. The guard grabbed her arm.
“Out.”
She climbed down, her legs buckled, she caught herself on the wagon. The guard didn't help.
Slowly, she straightened, her back screamed, but she stayed standing.
A large house sat at the far end, its windows dark. Wolves moved through the yard, some glanced her way. Most didn't.
“Where is this?” Rena asked.
The guard nodded toward the house. “He'll see you when he's ready.”
“Who?”
“Alpha Darien.”
The name landed heavy. Something about the way the guard said it—quiet, careful, made her understand this was someone wolves didn't question.
A woman with gray hair stopped a few feet away. She looked Rena over—torn clothes, bruised wrists, blood dried on her face.
“You the one he brought?”
Rena nodded.
“Follow me.”
Rena didn't move. Her legs felt like they might give.
“Come on. Before you fall.”
Rena forced her legs to move. Each step sent fire across her back. The woman led her to a small building—stone walls, a wooden door, a single window.
“Inside.”
Rena pushed the door open. A cot against the wall. A bucket of water. A clean cloth on a stool.
She turned to the woman. “Why—”
“Don't ask questions. Clean yourself up, someone will come for you when he's ready.”
She left. The door closed.
Rena stood in the middle of the room. Her back burned.
She didn't understand any of it. Not the room, nor the kindness.
She dipped the cloth into the water and pressed it to her face, the cold made her gasp, blood came off.
She wiped her cheeks, her chin, her neck. When she pulled her torn shirt away from her back, the cloth came back red.
She worked slowly. She couldn't remember the last time someone had given her clean water, or a cloth, or a room with a closed door
When she was done, she sat on the cot. Her back rested against the wall, the cold numbing some of the heat.
She closed her eyes. The guard's words came back. He don't buy damaged goods. Ever.
She didn't know why he had chosen her. But she was here. In a room with clean water and a cot all to herself.
Her hand went to her chest. The warmth was gone, but something else had taken its place. Not hope, fear? Maybe.
She opened her eyes. The room was quiet. The window let in gray light.
She looked at the door, still closed, still waiting.
She wondered what would happen when it opened again.
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