Chapter 2
CHAPTER 2
A shley
“Christophe,” I whimper as I hear him being dragged down the long hallway.
My wolf howls out, but she’s pushed so far into the background that barely a squeak makes its way out of my mouth.
Have they killed him?
The thought nearly sends me into a frenzy. This isn’t the first time he’s intervened when a guard’s threatened or tried to attack me. And every time he does it, I fear it’ll be the last time that I ever get to hear his voice.
While all of the male shifters in this prison get treated badly, I know Christophe’s attempts to save me have him receiving the worst of the worst torture.
I cry out just thinking about what they could be doing to him. He’s never told me. Only that it’s not that bad.
It’s a lie.
The guards make it so that we can hear the yells and screams of the males they torture in that horrendous dungeon room.
“Let him go!” I try to scream but my voice is so weak.
The words are hollow as they exit my lips. As hollow as the center of my chest feels right now.
The first tear falls, hitting the concrete floor. The sound is slighter than even a pin drop, but I swear I can hear it. It’s the sound of my heart shattering. Thoughts of what they’re doing to him down there fester in my mind like the rats that sometimes crawl into my cell at night if I sleep for too long.
My mind nearly splinters with images of ways they could be hurting him.
“Christophe,” I mumble as more tears stream down my face.
“Be strong for me.”
The words he said to me last time they brought him back from the dungeon. I don’t have any way to know how long ago that was.
A day?
A week?
A month?
Time stands still in this awful place.
“Stay strong, butterfly.”
Another piece of encouragement he’d told me after he heard me crying when they brought him back to the cell. He could barely speak due to whatever injuries he had and the concoctions they fed him.
Yet he still reminded me to stay strong. To hold on to the idea that I would get out of here one day.
All while calling me his butterfly.
That’s the nickname he gave me after I told him the reason I love butterflies so much.
“They’re stronger than they look,” I’d said to him.
“So are you ,” he’d whispered back.
I don’t know why that’d made me giggle, but it had.
“You’ve never even seen me,” I had to remind him.
There’d been a long pause after that. I thought I’d said something wrong. But he’d only replied that I needed to remember that I was strong, like the butterflies I adored. And, that strength is what would sustain me until I got out.
When I got out.
He never said when we become free.
Without ever saying it explicitly, Christophe had condemned himself to a lifetime of this … this pain and agony.
“I don’t deserve my freedom.”
He’d confessed those very words to me once when I pressed him for an explanation. But he wouldn’t elaborate after I told him that nobody deserves this.
I don’t care what they’ve done. What we’ve been subject to is beyond any necessary punishment.
Even still, I know in my heart that Christophe isn’t capable of anything that would warrant lifetime imprisonment.
I press my palm against my chest as I ache from the inside out. Sobs rack my body. The tears don’t last too long as I’m probably too dehydrated to shed that much water.
Weak and barely able to hold myself up even in a seated position, I crumble to the ground and curl into a ball. My tears aren’t flowing but my body continues to shake with sobs.
“ Don’t call out for me. It only hurts more.”
He’d said that another time after they brought him back to his cell.
I try hard to keep my promise to Christophe. I won’t call out or bring too much attention to myself, but pain lashes through my body.
I remain in the corner of my cell, curled into a ball, desperate for this torture to be over.
“What? Where am I?” a female voice suddenly calls out.
I flinch at the sound of the unfamiliar voice, afraid the guards will somehow use it against Christophe.
“Shshsh, don’t be too loud,” I tell her without thinking.
“Who are you?” she replies, obviously not heeding my request. “What is this place?” she asks, her voice getting louder.
“You have to …” I trail off as pain swiftly washes over my body. It’s happening. They’re hurting Christophe.
Somewhere along the line, I started to feel them hurting him.
I cover my ears as the woman keeps talking to one of the other prisoners I’ve heard before. None of us knows who the others are. Aside from Christophe, I don’t communicate with them.
I try to replay the conversations Christophe and I have shared to ease the pain reverberating through my body. But then a shout of pain sounds around the entire area of our cells.
Next thing I know, I’m drowning in a sea of anguish and agony.
I must cry out from the pain because my throat aches.
“What are they doing to him?” I ask, knowing I won’t get an answer back.
When Christophe yells again, both me and my barely-there wolf sound off as well. I cry out, demanding somebody to make them cease. To make them stop torturing him.
I can’t heed his words to not overreact or to not bring attention to myself. He’s being hurt and now it’s my fault.
“Stop it!” I yell at a guard who’s suddenly made an appearance.
He moves toward the cell on the other side of Christophe’s cell, next to mine.
Is it the cell of the latest prisoner? The woman who asked me my name?
My head is too clouded with pain and their drugs to make sense out of anything. I keep my ears covered in an attempt to shield myself from hearing more screams, but then decide to lower them.
I can’t be a coward and do that to Christophe.
He’s down there being tortured because he protected me. He threw himself into danger to cover for me the only way he could.
“You son of bitches!” I cry out, anger, more so than pain, washing over my emotions.
I can’t make out the words but there’s some sort of commotion happening in the cell next to mine. I want to claw and break through the wall to gouge out the eyes of the guards and whoever it is they’re taking orders from.
Another yell or threat pushes its way past my lips, but then a loud boom shakes the entire building.
The impact of whatever it was causes a few of the cracks in the walls of my cell to further splinter as dust and debris rain down on my head.
What happened?
I search my barren cell but, of course, don’t see anything. However, I’m not given time to figure anything out before all hell breaks loose.
Sudden shouts and calling out of someone’s name sound around the hallway. Boots stomping against the concrete floor pound like thunder. My body begins to tremble with fear as a popping sound whizzes past my cell.
Bullets.
Gunshots.
Bombs.
I start to duck my head, trying to get to safety, though there’s nowhere to go, when my cell door flies open.
The silhouette of a huge body fills the doorway.
“Stay back!” I yell while shrinking farther into the corner of my cell. “Don’t come near me,” I demand as he, whoever he is, approaches.
“I said get away from me!” I kick out at the man, but I’m so weak that even when I do make contact, it barely deters him.
“You have to come with me,” a deep voice orders.
“I’m not going anywhere with you.” I stumble as I rise to my feet while at the same time fighting to get out of the grips of this man.
I can’t let him take me. Is this a new guard? His voice doesn’t sound familiar. And what’s happening outside of my cell? All of the shouts and noise haven’t died down at all. I don’t want to go out there.
And where’s Christophe? He’s not back in his cell.
“Let go of me,” I yell and fight and kick as the masked man attempts to pick me up to carry me out of the cell. I can’t willingly go wherever he’s taking me.
“Stop fighting,” he says.
And for a split second, I swear I hear a calming comfort in his tone. But that’s a lie. Our captors use psychological manipulation as a form of torture. This new guard is only trying to get me to play nice so he can take me wherever he wants. Likely, somewhere for more torture and pain.
I can’t let them take me. What if I never hear Christophe’s voice again?
“Let me go.”
The man wraps a strong arm around my body from the back, pulling me up against his chest, I think. I raise my hands over my head. My fingers make contact with a mask covering his face. Somehow, I manage to get the mask off, and out falls long, dark locks.
For a brief second I get a whiff of the man carrying me out of my cell, even as I fight him. My body stiffens.
I recognize something in his scent, but I can’t quite place the smell. It’s distorted, even as my subconscious tries to tell me I should know it. My wolf whimpers in an odd familiarity.
I wish I could shift right now and tear into the man’s leg to get free.
I can’t think straight.
“You have to stop fighting me,” he grunts after I manage to elbow him in what I think is his ribs.
“Never!”
“I didn’t want to do this,” I swear he mumbles.
There’s no time to process his comment before there’s a pinch in the side of my neck, and suddenly, all of the fight wanes from my limbs.
A slurred, “Let me go,” makes its way out of my mouth before everything goes dark.