1. Annabella #2
“Rise and shine, half-breed.” Daniels rapped his baton against my bars, the silver singing with the impact.
He wore his Council insignia like a badge of honor, the silver wolf gleaming against his uniform.
One of those guards who’d probably volunteered for this post—the type who believed we were all dangerous elements that needed to be contained.
I didn’t move from my position on the bed, staring at the ceiling. Every muscle in my body ached.
“Is there coffee service with this wake-up call, or should I file a complaint with management?”
Daniels snorted. “You’re a real comedian. That mouth’s gonna get you killed in here.”
I rolled over to look him in the eye, “Sweet-talking me before breakfast, Daniels? Buy a girl a coffee first. Or does the Council not teach you manners?”
His face darkened, and I filed the reaction away.
Quick temper. Dangerous, but predictable.
Before he could respond, two more guards arrived.
Martinez had the kind of face that revealed nothing—all sharp angles and hollow cheeks, like she’d carved away anything soft years ago.
Her hand never left her baton, fingers tapping an irregular rhythm against the weapon.
A nervous habit, or maybe just anticipation.
Reid towered behind her, broad-shouldered and thick-necked, the kind of bulk that came from dedicated gym time rather than just Shifter genetics. There was a stillness to him that reminded me of prey animals trying not to be noticed—strange for someone his size.
Daniels swung open the access panel in the bars and the three of them filed in, crowding my already claustrophobic cell.
“Sorry about the tight quarters,” I said from my position on the bed. “If I’d known I was having company, I would’ve requested the penthouse suite. Maybe some champagne.”
Martinez’s expression didn’t change, but her fingers tapped faster against her baton. “Hands.”
I sat up slowly, each movement sending fresh pain through my ribs. Not fast enough, apparently.
Martinez’s baton cracked against my shoulder blade. “Move.”
I bit down on my tongue hard enough to taste copper, refusing to give them the satisfaction of a cry.
“Jesus, Martinez,” Reid muttered, though he didn’t stop her when she yanked my arms behind my back.
The silver cuffs clicked around my wrists, and agony shot up my arms like liquid fire.
My wolf howled somewhere in the distant fog of my mind, but I couldn’t reach her, couldn’t draw on her strength to dull the pain.
The nullstone walls seemed to pulse with satisfaction, drinking down even that faint connection.
“On your feet.” Martinez hauled me up by the cuffs, twisting them just enough to make me gasp.
I stumbled, and Reid caught my arm—surprisingly gentle, steadying me before I could fall. Martinez shot him a look that could have frozen blood.
“She can walk on her own.”
“Council will want to question her soon,” Reid replied. “Might be a good idea to keep her in one piece until then.”
“Then she needs to learn to move faster.”
They marched me through the labyrinthine corridors of Adarcan.
The prison was a maze of reinforced concrete and silver-lined walls, designed to confuse and disorient.
Every turn looked the same; gray walls, flickering fluorescent lights, the constant smell of fear and silver and unwashed bodies.
I memorized every step. Left at the first junction.
Right at the second. Through a security gate that required Martinez’s keycard.
We passed other cells. The prisoners all wore the same dull red jumpsuits, marking us as Alpha level.
In one cell, a muscular wolf Shifter sat perfectly still on his bunk, but his eyes followed Martinez with the kind of attention that made the hair on my neck rise.
Not rage. Not fear. Something colder. Calculated.
His forearms were covered in silver burns—old ones, layered like tree rings. A veteran.
“New blood,” crooned a voice from another cell. I turned my head to see a rail-thin woman with lank hair hanging front of her face, her smile showing yellow teeth. “Fresh meat for the grinder. How long you think this one lasts, Martinez? I give her a week.”
Martinez didn’t respond, just kept walking.
Other prisoners watched with dead eyes or didn’t watch at all—staring at their walls, at their hands, at nothing. A few whispered as I passed.
“That’s her.”
“The half-breed who attacked the Council.”
“Webster’s pet project.”
I kept my gaze forward, my posture rigid despite the exhaustion dragging at my limbs. Let them whisper. I wouldn’t give anyone the satisfaction of seeing me broken.
Daniels’s baton found my kidney when I slowed at a corner. “Eyes ahead. Keep moving.”
I swallowed the bile that rose in my throat and forced my legs to keep going.
They brought me to a processing room—sterile and cold, with harsh fluorescent lighting that made my eyes ache. A drain sat in the center of the floor. That couldn’t be good.
“Strip,” Martinez ordered, uncuffing me.
I stared at her. “Excuse me?”
“You heard me. Strip. Daily decontamination protocol.”
I eyed Reid and Daniels. They had stayed by the door, watching. There was no privacy here. No dignity. But I guessed that was the point.
“I had a decontamination shower when I arrived.”
“And you’ll have another one today. And maybe tomorrow. And every day I say you need one.” Her smile was thin and cruel. “We can’t have you getting comfortable.”
I wanted to fight. Wanted to tell them to go fuck themselves. But what would that accomplish? It would be satisfying, sure. But then I’d get another beating. I needed to conserve my strength. Needed to stay functional. Because I had to get the fuck out of here; Ellie was counting on me.
I stripped off the jumpsuit, wincing as the movement pulled at my injured ribs, and stood there in my underwear, feeling exposed and vulnerable.
“Everything,” Martinez said.
I met her eyes as I complied, refusing to look away. She wanted me to feel ashamed, embarrassed. I wouldn’t give them that. I’d survived worse than this.
The water, when it came, was ice cold and silver-infused. It hit me like a thousand tiny needles, burning everywhere it touched. I gasped, couldn’t help it, and heard Daniels laugh.
“Hurts, doesn’t it?” Martinez’s voice echoed in the tiled room. “Silver concentration’s higher in the decontamination showers. It soaks into your skin, leaves tiny deposits each time; means every time you come in here, it hurts worse. Keeps everyone docile.”
My skin felt like it was on fire, every nerve ending screaming. My wolf whimpered somewhere deep inside, and even that distant sound was fading, drowned out by the silver saturating my system.
You will not break. You will not break. You will not—
When it finally stopped, I was shaking—from cold, from pain, from the effort of staying upright.
They threw me a thin towel that barely covered anything. No time to dry off properly before Martinez was shoving my scratchy prison clothes at me.
“Get dressed.”
I pulled on the clothes with shaking hands, my skin still burning from the water, the fabric sticking to my damp skin.
Martinez tapped her fingers against her baton as she looked me up and down. My hair dripped icy water down my back, and I could feel the silver residue itching along my scalp.
“I don’t suppose it’s the hair salon and massage therapist next?”
“If you’re that desperate, I’m sure we can arrange for another inmate to come give you a midnight massage, McGrath.”
Her tone told me exactly what kind of massage that would entail. But I’d learned long ago that with bullies, you never show your fear.
I grinned at Martinez. “No hair salon, then? Pity. So, what’s next?”
What was next was a baton jabbed in my stomach.