Trapped in the Den of Alphas

Chapter 5

Eden's POV

PRESENT

My eyes widen as the door in front of me is thrown open. I try to turn around, but the dog’s grip on my wrists is so f*****g tight that I can’t move.

“Come on, in you go, elf,” he says calmly, releasing my arms and giving me a firm nudge inside the room.

I stumble a little over the hem of my soaked, muddy dress and then spin around quickly to see the blond man look at me one last time before he reaches for the door handle. “NO, DON’T! NO, PLEASE DON’T!” I cry out, making toward the door in a desperate run. It slams in my face, rocking the foundations of the old, crumbly stone walls in the process. “YOU f*****g ASSHOLE!!” I scream furiously, battering my balled-up fists against the solid wood. “LET ME OUT!! LET ME OUT NOW!! YOU ARE GOING TO REGRET THIS!!”

There is no reply.

Of course, I’m not entirely stupid. I know in my heart that my efforts are in vain, but this rage inside me needs an outlet, somewhere to go before my brain explodes within my skull. So, I continue to kick and batter the door in a savage rampage, yelling obscenities as I grab hold of the handle and yank it violently.

Nothing.

It doesn’t budge an inch.

I try to catch my breath, standing back to scrutinize it carefully. I can tell the faded wood was once painted green. I dare say it might have even been pretty at one point in time, but now it stands in the way of my freedom. Perhaps even my life.

My eyes then scan the derelict room in a panic and settle on an old wooden chair in the corner. I snatch it up quickly, holding it to my chest as the four legs poke out in front of me. I let out a fierce growl, running full pelt toward the faded green barrier. An almighty clash rings around the room, but the door remains perfectly intact. I toss the useless piece of furniture to the side in anger. The echo as it clashes against the uneven floorboards pretty much solidifies the fact that I am now completely alone.

I’m trapped here. In this place. With these vicious creatures.

Despite my internal panic, I dare not break down. From all my years of hunting, I know that when an animal loses its senses altogether, it becomes truly helpless.

I pause to breathe in a lung full of dusty air and cast my eyes around the place again. It’s a bedroom, if you can even call it that. The single bed in the center is grubby-looking and unused, and it appears as though no one has gone near the thing in years. The furniture, a long dresser and a tall, wonky wardrobe, are old and dusty. Their once grand appearance now dilapidated after years of obvious neglect. Despite the damage, I can tell that this room, and this building in general, are not Elven in the slightest. The style is all wrong.

The moon’s light pours in from a window in the corner, and I run toward it eagerly, placing my fingertips under the wooden frame as I attempt to pull it upward. It doesn’t move, and I find that I’m not surprised. It wouldn’t matter even if it did open. The long, steel bars on the outside rule it out as a possible escape route anyway.

From the corner of my eye, I then spot a closed door and open it to find a small, windowless bathroom equipped with only a toilet and a cracked porcelain sink. I don’t even bother to check if they work or not. Instead, I walk back over to the window as the reality of my situation begins to settle in, and I look out over the dark, thick forest below. After being knocked out for most of the journey here, it’s impossible to know how far away from Morween I have traveled.

Is this it for me?

Am I too far beyond the reach of my people to be rescued?

Will my family ever suspect that I have been kidn*pped? Or will they just assume I have run off to lick my wounds somewhere after the so-called celebration show?

After all, there have been many stories over the years that there may have been some wolves left behind after The Culling, but that’s all they ever were. Stories.

Aubrun used to tell them to me all the time, but no one truly believed them. Not really.

No, the chances of anyone finding me here are not good. If I’m going to get out of here, I’ll have to figure it out on my own, and the only trait I have on my side, the only thing I have over them, is magic.

Don’t get me wrong; my Elven powers are limited. It seems the Goddess of Nature blessed me with more modest abilities compared with others like my grandmother. Nevertheless, there are a small number of tricks I have learned along the way. The only problem is that I won’t be able to access these powers while stuck in this awful room. I need nature’s lifeblood—the energy of the earth itself to draw upon. I look around the room again in search of anything living. A single plant or flower that might give me some hope, but as expected, I find none.

Shit.

I’ll have to improvise.

I spend the next few hours trying out other useless escape attempts. I try detaching the curtain pole, using it as a battering ram against the impenetrable windows, before using a pin from my hair to pick the door lock. I even snap off a sharp piece of wood from the dresser and attempt to use it to pry up the uneven floorboards! I don’t know why. I guess people do silly s**t when they are desperate.

Eventually, giving up, I close my eyes and let out a faint sigh before lying down on the dusty, beige sheets. I bring my legs up to curl into a tight ball, hugging my knees while wondering what horrors lie ahead. Before the commotion started, it was clear that many of the beasts downstairs favored getting rid of me. And the others, well, they didn’t seem to know what the hell to do with me.

My mind then drifts back to when their leader stepped into the room. He may have stopped the beating I was about to receive, but when he looked at me the way he did, I saw no sympathy in his eyes. No compassion or empathy. It was something else entirely. Perhaps he hates my kind as much as I hate his. Probably even more so. One thing’s for sure-he is the most dangerous one of them all. I already know my fate lies in this mysterious beast’s hands, and the thought utterly terrifies me.