Chapter 30
Poe
The cell smells of piss and desperation.
Not mine—not yet—but the lingering misery of countless prisoners before me.
I sit with my back against the damp stone wall, legs stretched out on the narrow cot that passes for a bed.
Three paces by four. I’ve measured it a dozen times since they threw me in here, calculating angles, assessing weaknesses, planning escapes that won’t happen.
Old habits.
My wrists throb beneath the iron manacles, the skin already raw and weeping. Amateur mistake. I should have gone limp when they chained me, allowed for circulation rather than testing the restraints immediately. Now I’ll have less strength when an opportunity presents itself.
If an opportunity presents itself.
“Poe?” Dani’s voice drifts through the small barred window connecting our cells. “You still with me?”
“Where else would I be?” The words come out rougher than intended, my throat parched from hours without water.
A soft laugh answers me, surprising in its genuine amusement. “Fair point. Though you’ve been quiet so long I thought maybe you’d found a way out without telling me.”
“And leave such charming company?” I shift, metal scraping against stone as I reposition myself to face the window. “Never.”
Through the bars, I can just make out her silhouette in the adjoining cell—a darker shadow against the general gloom.
The guards took her weapons but left her clothes, unlike me.
They stripped me to my undergarments, searching for hidden tools or poisons.
They found three of the five I was carrying. Small victories.
“I’m sorry,” Dani says after a long silence. “This wasn’t how it was supposed to go.”
I close my eyes, leaning my head back against the damp stone. “No plan survives first contact with the enemy. Basic tactical principle.”
“The Queen Mother will be furious.” There’s genuine fear in her voice now. Not for herself, I realize, but for having failed her mistress. “We were supposed to destroy the research, free the women there, and get out clean. Instead...”
“Instead, we’re guests of the king’s hospitality,” I finish for her. “Enjoying the finest accommodations the royal dungeons have to offer.”
Another laugh, this one tinged with something darker. “You’re taking this well.”
Am I? I consider the question, probing my own emotions like testing a wound. There’s anger, certainly—at being captured, at failing our mission, at the risk our presence here poses to the others. But beneath that, a strange calm I hadn’t expected. Almost relief.
“I’ve always known how this ends for me,” I say, the admission slipping out before I can consider its wisdom. “Better to die for something that matters than live as a coward.”
“Is that what you think the others are? Cowards?” Dani’s voice sharpens, defensive of her Queen Mother, of Logan by extension.
“No,” I correct, meaning it. “They’re strategists. Politicians. Playing the long game while people suffer in the short term.” I flex my fingers, trying to restore circulation to my numbing hands. “Someone has to be willing to act now. To take the risks they won’t.”
Silence falls between us, broken only by the distant drip of water somewhere in the corridor and the occasional scurry of rats in the walls. I’ve lost track of time in this windowless hole, but it must be nearing dawn. Soon the guards will return, and with them, the questions.
Or worse.
“Do you think they’ll bring us before the king?” Dani asks, voicing the fear we’ve both been avoiding.
I consider lying, offering false comfort. But we’re beyond that now, in this place where truth is the only currency worth trading. “Yes,” I say simply. “Once they realize who we are, what we were trying to do...the king will want to deliver our death sentences personally.”
A distant sound catches my attention—the metallic clang of a door opening, followed by the steady rhythm of boots on stone. Guards, approaching with purpose. My body tenses instinctively, preparing for whatever comes next.
“Someone’s coming,” I whisper, just loud enough for Dani to hear.
“I hear them,” she replies, her voice steady despite the fear I know she must feel. “Remember, whatever happens—“
“I know,” I cut her off. “We give them nothing.”
Keys rattle, metal scrapes against metal. I push myself to my feet, ignoring the protest of stiff muscles and the bite of the manacles. If this is it—if they’ve come to take us to the Inquisitor—I’ll meet my fate standing.
My door swings open first, revealing three guards in royal livery. Their expressions are professionally blank, but I catch the subtle tells of anticipation in their postures. They’re looking forward to whatever comes next. Not a good sign.
“Against the wall,” the lead guard orders, hand resting on the baton at his hip.
I comply, turning slowly to face the damp stone, arms spread as wide as the chains allow. No point in resistance. Not yet. Not until I understand what game we’re playing.
Rough hands pat me down again, though there’s nothing left to find. The search is perfunctory, an excuse for unnecessary force. I don’t react as fingers dig into pressure points, as hands wrench my arms higher than the manacles comfortably allow.
“Clear,” one guard announces.
“Turn around,” the leader commands.
I obey, keeping my expression neutral despite the urge to spit in his smug face. He’s enjoying this, the power trip of having a dangerous prisoner at his mercy. I’ve seen his type before—weak men made strong only by the uniform they wear, the authority it grants them.
The door to Dani’s cell opens next, and I hear the same procedure repeated. Her compliance is silent, dignified. No protests, no pleas. I can appreciate that her courage hasn’t faltered, even if she must have figured out we aren’t facing slow deaths.
“Bring her out,” the lead guard orders.
Two guards enter Dani’s cell, emerging moments later with her between them. She looks smaller somehow, her compact frame diminished by captivity and rough handling. But her eyes remain defiant, her spine straight despite the chains binding her wrists and ankles.
“Where are you taking her?” I demand, the words escaping before I can consider their wisdom.
The lead guard turns to me, a slow smile spreading across his face.
“Worried about your girlfriend? How sweet.” He steps closer, invading my space with deliberate intimidation.
“If you must know, she’s being transferred to a special facility.
One better suited to her deal with someone of her… condition.”
Confusion flickers through me, overcoming the dread. “What condition?”
The guard’s smile widens, revealing teeth stained by cheap tobacco.
“Her defect, of course. The genetic anomaly that turned what could be a useful woman into an Alpha.” He leans in, his breath hot and sour against my face.
“Fortunately, the very clinic you two tried to destroy has been having great success treating these kind of abnormalities.”
Horror dawns as his meaning becomes clear. The fertility clinics aren’t just for breeding Omegas, the king’s plans are somehow even worse than we feared.
I look at Dani, seeing the fear she can no longer hide. Her face has gone pale, her eyes wide with a terror that has nothing to do with pain or death. They’re going to try to change her, to break her not just physically but fundamentally—to erase the very essence of who she is.
“You can’t do this,” I say, pulling against my restraints despite knowing it’s futile. “She’s a member of the Queen Mother’s staff. Protected by royal decree.”
The guard laughs, the sound echoing off the stone walls.
“The Queen Mother’s authority extends only as far as the king allows.
And His Majesty is very interested to know why his mother’s personal guard was found sniffing around one of his clinics.
If she survives her treatment, maybe he’ll get around to asking her.
” He gestures to the other guards. “Take her.”
To her credit, Dani fights. But even the strongest Alpha wouldn’t be a match for this many guards while shackled.
She looks back over her shoulder, our eyes meeting for one brief, intense moment. “Don’t let them break you,” she says, her voice steady despite everything. “Don’t give them anything.”
Then they’re hauling her around the corner, her footsteps fading down the corridor, leaving me alone with the lead guard and my impotent rage.
“Don’t worry,” he says, patting my cheek with mock sympathy. “You’ll be joining her soon enough. The king has special plans for you.”
I lunge forward, chains be damned, driven by a fury that overwhelms caution. My forehead connects with his nose, the satisfying crunch of cartilage followed by a spray of warm blood. He stumbles back, howling in pain and outrage.
“You’ll pay for that,” he snarls, drawing his baton. “I’m going to enjoy teaching you some manners before the Inquisitor gets his turn.”
I brace myself for the beating I know is coming, a strange calm settling over me. Let him do his worst. Physical pain I can endure. It’s nothing compared to the knowledge of what awaits Dani, what awaits any Omega or female Alpha who falls into the king’s hands.
The first blow lands across my ribs, driving the air from my lungs in a harsh gasp. The second catches my temple, sending stars exploding across my vision. I taste blood, copper and salt flooding my mouth as I sink to my knees.
But even as the baton rises and falls, even as pain blooms across my body in bright bursts of agony, my mind remains clear, focused on one absolute certainty: I will escape this place. I will find Dani. I will burn those clinics to the ground, with everyone responsible for them inside.
And if I die in the attempt—well, that was always how this story was going to end.