BEARING THE RUTHLESS ALPHA'S HEIR

In his dungeon

MIA'S POV

The heavy clang of the dungeon gate echoed like a death knell, reverberating through my bones long after the guards' footsteps faded. The sound sealed me in, cutting me off from the last thread of light that had slipped through the corridor behind me. My breath caught, my pulse racing as the silence pressed in from every side.

Darkness swallowed me whole. Not the kind that your eyes could ever grow used to, but a suffocating, endless black where shapes had no form and shadows blended into each other. I reached out, and my fingers brushed against cold, rough stone slick with mold and streaked with moisture.

The air reeked of decay. A foul mix of mildew, old straw, dried blood, and human filth clung to every breath. Moldy straw scattered in the corners crunched beneath my boots when I shifted, releasing another rank stench that made my stomach twist. The silence was heavy, broken only by the scurrying of rats and the occasional drip of water falling somewhere out of sight.

I crouched into the corner, pulling my knees to my chest, trying to shrink into myself. Rats scurried across the floor, claws scratching against the stone, their bodies darting over my boots. I squeezed my eyes shut. The sound of my own breathing was too loud, too fragile. Even my heartbeat betrayed me, pounding as though the dungeon itself could hear it.

My thoughts slipped to her, the unknown woman of my ruined pack, he spoke about.

Where was she? Was it my stepsister?.

My eyes darted to the other cells, the darkness pressing like a living thing. She wasn't here. She should have been here beside me, should have been thrown into the same cell, or even across from me. Why had Alpha Blair taken me and left her behind? What did he plan to do with her? The question twisted deep, sharp as a blade, cutting through every frantic beat of my heart.

Had she been spared? Or was she somewhere else, suffering worse than this? My throat tightened, hot tears threatening, but I bit them back. Crying wouldn't help. Crying wouldn't bring her to me. Still, the thought of Blair's hands on her, his cruel smile, the way his gaze stripped away the soul, it made bile rise to my throat.

I don't know how long I sat like that, trembling and listening, before a new sound cut through the stillness. Dragging. A heavy body scraping unevenly against the stone. Then came a laugh low, grotesque, the kind of laugh that seemed torn from a throat raw with pain.

I froze and my every muscle tightened.

Torchlight flickered briefly against the wall as two guards appeared, shoving a figure down the corridor. He stumbled and fell to his knees, a mess of limbs and wild mutters spilling from his mouth. They hauled him forward without care and thrust him into the cell across from mine. He hit the floor hard, groaning, his laughter twisting back into a cough.

"Madman," one guard spat, slamming the iron door shut. "Save your strength. His Majesty wants you to reflect here."

The other sneered, giving him a sharp kick before turning away. Their footsteps faded, and the light with them, leaving us both smothered in darkness again.

For a moment, I thought he had gone still. Then the sound came, a wet, rattling cough, broken by more laughter. The sound of it set my teeth on edge. I curled tighter against the wall, heart hammering, every instinct screaming that I should stay silent. But when his coughing grew violent, ragged enough to sound like his lungs were tearing, I hesitated.

My gaze fell to the small jug of water at my side. Against every instinct screaming for me to keep away, my hand trembled as I pushed it across the floor until it tapped softly against the bars of his cell.

He seized it with startling speed, his fingers clawlike, and drank greedily. He drank more with desperate gulps, water spilling down his chin, his throat bobbing as though he hadn't tasted it in weeks. When at last he lowered the jug, I felt his eyes on me immediately, burning, feverish, gleaming with something wild.

"Oh… little one…" His voice rasped, but there was a strange gentleness in it, almost reverent. "So kind… not like him… not like my ungrateful nephew."

My breath caught. "Nephew?"

"Yes…" He coughed again, a wet, rattling sound, before dragging himself closer to the bars. I could make out his gaunt features now, hollow cheeks, hair hanging in greasy ropes, eyes fever-bright with something that was not entirely sane. He smiled crookedly, showing yellowed teeth. "I held him once, you know. When he was just a pup. I taught him how to strike with his first claw. Hah… hahahaha… but now... now he wants to tear out my throat."

A chill slid down my spine. "Why?"

"Why?" His eyes gleamed, wide and feverish. "Because he's mad! Driven insane by blood and the moon. He thinks he's some avenging god? No. He's just a cursed little monster." His voice cracked into laughter, but it was jagged, desperate, and it made my stomach lurch.

He slammed his hand against the bars, making me flinch. "Glory? Family? All lies! Only strength is real. His father never understood that. That weak fool… that's why he died, burned alive. Such fire, such screams…" His voice trailed into a shudder, his eyes distant, caught in some nightmare of memory or madness.

I pressed a hand against my mouth, horrified. For a moment, I couldn't tell if he was reliving it or enjoying the memory.

His gaze snapped back to me then his voice dropped low as though confiding a secret. "Child… he caught you too, didn't he? Take my advice. Don't believe a word he says. He's a creature consumed by hatred and power. If he can turn on me, his own blood, he'll never spare you."

The air in my chest collapsed. His words wormed into me like poison, fanning my dread into something unbearable. I wanted to scream, to deny it, but the dungeon walls held the truth in their silence. I pressed my back against the wall, shaking, unable to answer. The silence after his voice fell was worse than the words themselves.

The stillness shattered when iron groaned again. The sound of boots scraped the corridor, heavy and unhurried. I stiffened as two guards approached, their torchlight slashing through the dark, throwing monstrous shadows across the walls.

One guard carried a dented metal tray, the smell of stale bread and watery stew drifting into the cell. My stomach cramped, a reminder of how long it had been since I last ate.

The tray slid between the bars of my cell with a clang.

"Eat," one of them muttered, disinterested, before straightening.

Across from me, the madman dragged himself against the bars, eyes gleaming at the food. His tongue darted across his cracked lips. "What about me?" His voice rasped with hunger, desperate and broken. "You can't leave me to starve…"

The guards ignored him. One even smirked, kicking his bars so he stumbled back. "Animals don't eat at the king's table," he spat.

"I am not eating it too", I spat out harshly too.

Both guards turned their heads, torchlight flashing across their grim faces. One raised an eyebrow. "Good. Then starve to death too."

The other sneered and bent down to snatch the tray back from my cell, the clang echoing like a gavel of judgment. "Let's tell the Alpha that she has refused."