Chapter 19
· Aubrey ·
I open my eyes, the world around me a blurry haze of shadows and muted light as I squint through the pounding migraine threatening to drag me back into darkness.
Every inch of me hurts, a dull ache punctuated by sharper stabs of pain, and the urge to throw up is overwhelming.
I try to gather my thoughts, to piece together the broken fragments of memory, but it’s like clawing through fog—everything comes up blank.
A wave of nausea hits, and I swallow hard against the bile rising in my throat. My head throbs in time with my heartbeat, each pulse sending jagged shards of pain through my skull. I groan, the sound barely more than a rasp, rough and strained, as if I haven’t used my voice in days.
“Mom…?” I croak, my voice a fragile whisper, raw and barely audible.
As my vision starts to clear, I take in my surroundings, and a chill comes over me.
I’m definitely not in the hospital. My mother is nowhere to be seen, and the sterile white walls I’d expected are gone, replaced by something far more sinister.
A single, bare bulb casts faint, trembling light across grimy, stained walls.
The shadows dance in the flickering glow, twisting into eerie shapes that vanish as quickly as they appear.
The bulb flickers, casting the room into intermittent darkness, as if even the light is struggling to survive here.
I try to sit up, instinctively wanting to move, to escape—but my body won’t respond.
Panic floods through me as I realize I’m immobilized, unable to shift even an inch.
I tug against whatever is holding me down, and the sickening scrape of leather against skin jolts me fully awake.
My wrists and ankles are bound, strapped tight to something cold and unforgiving. A metal table.
I pull harder against the restraints, the straps dig into my skin, cutting off circulation, leaving my fingers tingling and numb.
I can feel the roughness of the leather biting into my wrists, the coolness of metal buckles pressing into my bones.
My heart hammers, each beat a thud of fear echoing through my chest, and a prickling sweat breaks out across my skin.
“Help!” I shout, forcing the word out, my voice cracking but louder now, tinged with a fear that’s rising like a tide inside me. “Someone, please! Help me!”
The only answer is silence, thick and suffocating. My ragged breathing comes out shallow and uneven, echoing off the walls.
I strain to lift my head, trying to see more of the room, to find anything—any clue, any crack in the darkness that might help me understand where I am.
But the flickering light offers no answers, only glimpses of grimy walls, damp stains seeping down from the ceiling, and the unmistakable smell of rust and decay.
The air is stale and cold, laced with a metallic tang that makes my skin crawl, as if the very air here is poisoned.
Desperation claws at me, and I twist my wrists, feeling the raw scrape of leather against my skin, each movement sending fresh jolts of pain through my arms. My voice rises again, hoarse and frantic. “Please! Is anyone there?”
But there’s just the slow, overhead bulb, casting shadows that seem to leer down at me, mocking my helplessness. No footsteps. No sounds of life.
A shiver wracks my body, fear sinking its teeth into me.
I try to breathe, to stay calm, but every instinct is screaming, every cell in my body telling me I need to get out, that I’m in danger.
My mind races, throwing out wild guesses, none of them comforting.
Kidnapped. Trapped. Left here to rot. I close my eyes, forcing myself to steady my breath, to think.
In the flickering half-light, I open my eyes again, the shadows seeming darker, sharper, as I stare up at the bare bulb. A single thought takes shape in my mind, cold and clear, cutting through the panic with an icy certainty: I need to get out of here. Now.
I strain against the bonds, twisting my wrists and ankles, searching for any weakness.
My heart pounds faster as I realize just how tight they’ve been fastened, as if whoever put me here knew I’d fight.
I close my eyes, trying to reach for my wolf, hoping to shift, to force my way out of this, but there’s…
nothing. A hollow absence. It’s as though she’s been locked away, cut off from me, leaving me more vulnerable than I’ve ever felt.
How long do I have before they come back?
Before Rhett returns and finishes what he started?
Panic surges, sharp and hot. My mind is a foggy mess, memories swirling and tangling like smoke.
I try to grasp at them, to piece together how I ended up here, but each attempt sends a fresh wave of pain slicing through my skull, sharp and relentless.
I force myself to slow my breathing, to focus, even as nausea threatens to overwhelm me.
Inhale. Exhale. Think through the pain, through the panic. I can’t afford to lose control.
There are no windows—just cold, gray walls enclosing me in a box.
One heavy metal door stands on the far side, its surface marred with patches of rust that look like dried blood under the flickering light.
A steel slab in the middle of an industrial dungeon.
This isn’t anywhere I’ve seen before. It’s definitely not the packhouse, or any place familiar to me.
A chill runs down my spine, a sense of dread settling deeper into my bones. This room wasn’t designed for comfort—that much is clear. No, this room was designed to hold someone, to keep them trapped and alone. To break them.
Raised voices echo from somewhere beyond the walls, slicing through the oppressive silence.
My heart leaps into my throat as I strain my ears, trying to catch every word.
Twisting on the metal table, I tilt my head, scanning the walls until I spot a small vent high up, barely visible in the shadows.
The voices must be carrying through it, distorted but unmistakable. I hold my breath, listening intently.
“Rhett, you can’t be serious!” a woman’s voice snaps, laced with fury. Bianca. I recognize her tone, sharp and biting, each word filled with contempt. “You think marking her is the answer?”
My blood runs cold. There’s a pause, then Rhett’s voice, low and dangerous, filters through the vent.
“She’s more useful this way, Bianca. A marked mate won’t have any choice but to obey.
She’ll fall in line, or she’ll suffer for it.
” His tone is calm, calculated, as though he’s discussing nothing more serious than a business deal.
I twist my wrists harder, ignoring the bite of metal against my skin as adrenaline pumps through me. The thought of being marked by Rhett, of being bound to him in a way that strips away my freedom, ignites a new form of terror.
I pull harder at the restraints, each tug sending fresh pain through my wrists, but I don’t care. I’d rather tear my skin open than let this happen.
Bianca’s voice rises, thick with disgust. “And if she resists? You think she’s just going to submit willingly after everything?” Her words are edged with a warning, as though even she sees the danger in this plan.
“She won’t have a choice,” Rhett replies coldly. “Once she’s marked, her instincts will force her to obey. She won’t even be able to think of defying me. It’s a mercy, really.” He chuckles, a dark, humorless sound that makes my skin crawl. “Better than what she deserves.”
I’m nothing to him but a tool, a pawn to be controlled and discarded when I’m no longer useful. Rage bubbles up inside me, hot and fierce, cutting through the fog of pain and fear. If I get out of this—when I get out of this—he’s going to regret every word he’s just said.
“And what about me? Huh? You can’t take both of us as mates!”
I lie still, forcing myself to calm, to think clearly. If I let the panic take over, I’m done for. I need to find a way out, to buy myself time before Rhett tries to make his twisted plan a reality.
All I can focus on is escape.
But the straps hold firm, and exhaustion quickly sets in. I fall back against the table, panting. Tears of frustration prick at my eyes.
“I have no other choice, Bianca. Do you think I want to be tied to the bitch?” Rhett’s voice cuts through the silence, low and dangerously calm, a quiet fury lurking beneath each word.
“It’s the only way to secure my claim over the ports and Jefferson’s pack.
Once I mark her, there will be no question of my authority within the council—not now that her father’s dead. And her mother…”
My heart sinks, cold fear slamming into me.
No. No, please don’t let that be true. The thought that they could both be gone, that I might never see my parents again, claws at me, threatening to drown me in grief.
I force it back, shoving the emotions down with every ounce of will I have left.
There will be time to grieve later. If I let myself fall apart now, Rhett will win. And I can’t let that happen.
I cling to that thought, using it to steady myself.
My survival—and any chance of stopping him—depends on keeping my mind clear.
I don’t have the luxury of breaking down, not here, not now.
Instead, I focus on the only thing that matters: escaping.
Whatever twisted plan Rhett has concocted, I have to stop it.
Because one thing is clear—if he succeeds in marking me, everything will change. And not for the better.