Taken (The Nightwolf Pack #4)

Chapter 1

CHAPTER 1

C hristophe

“Ashley, wake up,” I whisper-yell through the tiny hole of the concrete wall separating our cells.

But within the darkness of our confines, my order is only met with whimpers and murmurs.

“Ashley,” I say a little louder, but I attempt to keep my voice low enough not to attract the attention of the guards who patrol the halls of our prison throughout the night.

“Stop it!” a harsher cry comes from her cell.

She’s having another nightmare.

My fingertips curl against the coarse wall, creating tiny abrasions as my weakened wolf and human mind somehow think I have the strength to break through the wall to get to her.

I don’t.

I’ve tried.

Whatever those bastards have drugged us with drains my natural strength as a shifter. However, my omega wolf cries out, yearning to get to the woman only inches from us, but beyond our reach.

“Ashley, open your eyes. Wake up! It’s a dream.”

Another one of her whimpers cuts off. I can almost feel her eyes peeling open. Mother Moon, the part of me I thought was dead—that should be dead—yearns to see those eyes. Her eyes, nose, mouth, everything. I ache to see the face I’ve yet to see.

“Chris-Christophe,” her strained, terror-filled voice calls out to me.

“I’m here.” I press farther into the wall, placing my mouth directly close to the tiny hole at the bottom of the wall, so she can hear me clearly.

“Christophe, is that you?”

She’s confused. If this keeps up, she’s going to ask where we are, and start to demand answers. That will bring about too much attention.

I can’t let her spiral into her fears.

“You were having a nightmare,” I tell her.

“Th-They did it again,” she says. “Sh-She’s the reason I’m h-here. They told me it’s true.”

“No,” I say harshly, silencing her. “They’re liars, remember?”

“It’s true … it’s her fault. They said?—”

“It doesn’t matter what those devils say. They are our captors. They’re trying to deceive you into believing them. Don’t buy into it … Remember I told you about how computer viruses work?”

There’s a pause for a beat, and I contemplate bashing my head against the wall for bringing up such a stupid topic. I always got strange looks for bringing up computer viruses or anything technology related in a conversation that had nothing to do with either one.

“I remember,” she whispers faintly.

Something warm skitters across the skin of my chest. A gust of air, almost, but I feel it deep in my chest. It’s as if something is awakening there.

Knowing I can’t let that happen, I suppress whatever the feeling is.

“Yeah, they’re innocuous at first,” I tell her. “Harmless, sometimes. But there are more vicious types that gather all of your information and lock you out of important accounts to do whatever they want. What’s the first step to preventing it?”

Nothing.

“Ashley, I know you can hear me. How do you prevent it?”

“Don’t let them get in.” Her voice so low that I have to press my ear against the hole to hear her response.

“Right. Don’t let the bastards get inside of your head.”

“I-I think they’re already there,” she confesses, shame and guilt lacing her tone. “My virus protection failed.”

My stomach muscles clench.

“Then we have to double down on our security measures,” I state.

“How?”

“Your sister,” I reply as I’m aware that Ashley goes along, without question, with my computer talk. “They’re trying to use her against you. Tell me, think hard about this one, what’s your favorite memory of her?”

“I-I can’t think of any. All I hear is their voices in my head—” Her voice breaks off onto a sob.

A growl escapes my throat, and for a moment I think my teeth are going to descend. But my wolf is too weakened.

“That’s not true,” I say to Ashley once I calm down. “You’ve mentioned to me how much you love your sister. When you love someone, you have memories of the good times with them. The moments they comforted you when times weren’t so good. Tell me.”

I need Ashley to fight back against these sons of bitches. She can’t let them win. I won’t let them take her last bit of freedom—her love for her sister, her happy memories.

It’s what will sustain her until she can get out of this hellhole.

“What’s her name?” I ask, though I already know the answer since she’s told me more than once.

“E-Emery,” she says. “My sister’s name is Emery. But I call her Em.”

“Emery and Ashley.” The two names play out on my lips. “Tell me one of your favorite moments with Emery.”

The silence stretches so long that I think either she’s trying hard to pull a memory that’s stored deep in her psyche, or she’s fallen back into the deep darkness of her despair.

“Ash—”

“My birthday,” she finally says.

“Tell me more.”

“At the end of the night, she always let me have a sleepover in her bedroom. Sh-She would have my favorite vanilla rainbow cake …” Ashley trails off as if becoming absorbed into the memory.

Good. That’s what she needs. To forget where she is, if only for a few minutes.

Slowly, I close my eyes and try to imagine her face. I can’t. It’s as if my mind refuses to conjure up what would only be a shoddy representation of the real thing. I know she’s beautiful, though.

My wolf whimpers.

“No,” I growl at him. We have no right yearning for anything or anyone. We’ll never know freedom again.

“What?” Ashley asks, curiosity lacing her voice.

“Tell me more about Emery. What did you do during those sleepovers?” I encourage.

“Watch movies,” she replies, and from the lilt in her tone, I imagine she’s smiling faintly. “She would let me watch everything from rom coms to documentaries and she never complained. Our adopted mom never let us watch movies, because she said it was a waste of time. She always insisted I have a party with the snooty kids of her stuck-up friends. But Emery let me have the birthday I wanted.

“Oh, and there was that one time I wanted to take up sewing, and Em happily accepted the shirt I made for her.”

“I bet it was great.”

An honest giggle, followed by a snort reaches my ears.

“No, it was terrible.” She snorts again.

Without warning my dry, cracked lips spread into a grin. Ashley always snorts at the end of her laughs.

Not that she does it a lot in this place, but like just now, I’ve managed to make her laugh. Those are the best nights.

“Sorry,” she whispers. “I can’t help the sn?—”

“Stop.” My voice cuts through the needless apology. “I love the sound of your laughter. Especially when you snort. It’s better than that time I cracked my first database code.”

Though it’s meant to be a light-hearted moment, as soon as the words leave my mouth, I freeze.

The silence on the other side of the wall makes me believe she’s frozen also.

I never meant to say that. Did I use the word love ?

I part my lips to take the words back, but refusal clamps around my voice box, stopping me from expressing regret.

Is it because I don’t feel any?

I shake my head. My matted, shoulder-length dark hair, stained with my blood and sweat, smacks my cheeks. The repulsive smell of my hair and body used to make me queasy, but I’ve gotten used to it.

“Christophe?” Her soft voice pulls me out of my own dreadful thoughts.

“Yes?”

“When we get out of here?—”

“You,” I counter. “When you get out of here.”

“Why do you always say that?”

She doesn’t even give me time to reply.

“We’re both getting out of here. All of us,” she says, referencing the other prisoners. None of whom I’ve ever seen either. We can all hear one another, but the concrete walls and silver bars stop us from seeing one another, let alone escaping.

That and the constant torture and potions they keep most of us dosed up with.

“Ashley, you will be free soon,” I assure her. “Don’t waste your time thinking about me. I’ll never?—”

“Stop that!” she shouts.

I flinch and then cringe because I’ve pushed her too far.

“What the hell is going on in here?” a voice booms from the far end of the hallway.

No. No. No, my wolf cries out in my mind. We both know Ashley’s outburst just put her in the crosshairs of danger.

“Why are you in here yelling, girl?”

I jump at the sound of the metal baton all of the guards carry clashing against the metal bars of Ashley’s cell.

“Go away!” she yells.

The sounds coming from her cell are muffled, and I suspect she’s scurrying away from the bars to the corner of her cell.

My heart drops at the sound of the cell door creaking open.

“You think you can get away from me?”

“No!” Comes from my mouth without me thinking. My heart races from the sound of her screams. She’s fighting to get free of the guard.

I push myself against the bars of my prison, grabbing the bars without thinking.

A yell erupts from my throat at the instant burning that cuts through me from the touch of silver against my flesh.

My body recoils from the bars, but Ashley’s continuous screams and fight to get free urge me not to give up. I can’t let them take her down to the dungeon.

The head doctor, Dr. X, might be gone for the day, but night is when the guards like to have their most twisted, sick fun with us prisoners.

Despite the agony, I press myself against the bars. Nausea rolls through me as searing pain floods every cell of my body. I should be used to pain by now, given the torture our captors have put me through, but I can’t get used to this.

I push the useless self-pity aside as Ashley continues to scream and cry for the guard to let her go.

Through the bars that my face are pressed against, and the darkness of the cells, I can barely make out the black pant leg of the guard as he struggles to contain Ashley.

I reach out my arm, barely able to grasp his boot-covered ankle.

“Ahh!” I yell out as he kicks and then stomps on my hand. More pain reverberates through me, and I know he’s broken at least one bone in my hand. I don’t let that stop me. He’s still trying to get Ashley.

Broken hand and all, I manage to reach out and clasp his leg this time. Out of nowhere my fingernails sharpen into claws, and without thinking, I use them to slice through the flesh of his calf.

“Aw, fuck!” he barks out.

“Lenny!” another voice yells out from the end of the hallway. “What happened?”

“Lock this bitch’s door up!” His voice grows closer.

I don’t back away from the bars of my door as he approaches. In the darkness, I can’t make out his face entirely. But I can make out his eyes.

They’re a dark green color. And dead.

No soul resides behind those eyes.

“Fuck you!” he yells as he opens the door of my cell, charging after me.

The first blow of his baton against my stomach barely registers. My body still reels from the new silver burns and broken hand.

“Help me with this motherfucker,” the irate guard calls out.

A second later, a second guard enters my cell, wielding his baton.

And right before one of them swings the blow across my face that knocks me out, my only thought is, Good.

If they’re occupied with me, they’re not attacking Ashley.