Chapter 39
AXE
In the vaults of Lupine Manor, my prisoner waits, refusing to break.
This guy smells like shit. Looks like it, too.
For twelve hours, Jabir has flayed the male with silver while Dom tries to pry his way into his mind.
Tiring of the stench of singeing flesh, Jabir resorted to cutting off his nipples to conclude the first round of questioning.
The lack of a tongue, while inconvenient, just means we must get a little more creative if we want answers.
It will grow back in a week or so, but Vessa doesn’t have that kind of time.
Dismissing Dom for the moment, I unhook the rogue from the hanging chains, unclasp his wrists, and promptly seat him at the desk. He meets my eyes for a moment, then slumps backwards. I set the tone by fisting his hair and slamming his head against the table, face down.
Moans of agony fill the dark chamber as Jabir reenters with a notepad and pen.
“You are going to write down the name of the person who sent you here as well as your accomplices,” I grunt. “The longer you refuse, the closer I will bring you to death, only to deny you. Understood?”
He snatches the pen and scribbles furiously.
Go to hell.
The glowering prisoner looks away and I redirect his attention by slamming down my fist, shattering the knuckles of his spare hand. “Good thing you’re not a leftie.”
I’ve endured nearly a month of torture as a former captive of Marsdan insurgents. Survived weeks at a time in the shriveling heat without food, water, or sleep. But the thought of facing another day without her . . . I’d rather have a blade wedged in the gut.
Go to hell? Motherfucker, I’m already there. And if I have to drag this rogue down with me to get the answers I need, then that’s what I’ll do.
I swipe the pen, ramming it into the man’s lower abdomen. On my left, Jabir flinches as if he is remembering the experience he once shared alongside me.
“WHO TOOK HER?”
“Em-ma,” the tongueless male screams.
“Gemma’s nailed to the other side of this wall. We found her dead across the border this morning. Try again, dickhead.”
Panic flares in his eyes, growling and heaving as it sinks in.
Jabir tenses, unsheathing his knife. The last time they pushed him this hard, the male sprouted fur, nearly shifting.
Trembling before us, bloodshot eyes sharpen, glowing teal.
Canines drop in place with a snarl. Only my wolf is equally ready to play.
Those teeth are ripped out of his head before he can escalate any further. Blood spurts on my hands, all over the desk. The male screams until his voice dulls to static moans.
“Names. Now. Or else the next thing I do is put your eyes out with your teeth.”
With a depleted sob, he yanks the pen out. Soiling himself right there, the rogue male lifts his trembling hand and jots onto the paper.
Only know aliases. Snow & Stinger.
Jabir cocks his head, committing the intel to memory. It’s a small lead, but it’s enough for him to start scouring the dark web.
I’m about to follow him out the door when the sound of scribbling snags my attention. The male has the fucking audacity to smirk at me when he turns the paper around.
Don’t you wanna know the price on your Luna’s head?
Fury rushes into my veins, so hot that I can’t see straight.
With a roar, I ram his chair into the wall.
The prisoner raises his forearms to block, but it’s no use.
He’s exhausted. So much that he’ll do anything for this to end.
Crackling rage is the only sensation I feel as I throw punch after punch into his battered face and stomach, obliterating ribs.
But it’s not enough. I need to split this asshole open.
Need ribbons of his flesh in my jaws. Need to bruise my knuckles along the sharp edges of his spine.
The blood of Kismet’s clan is on his hands, my wolf sneers. He must pay for what he’s done.
Jabir rips me back just as two more pearly teeth clatter onto the floor.
“Let me finish,” I bark. My back hits the wall as the Beta stares me down, red droplets splattered on his own face.
“You already did,” he rasps.
I blink through the remnants of my bloodlust. There is nothing left of the man’s chest. Or the chair we bound him to. In my hand, I clutch his drooping lung.
Vessa
One of the younger guards has no choice but to escort me to the shower. He doesn’t look at me as he fights the urge to gag, seeing as I am covered in my own vomit.
Blood collects beneath my feet, swirling and vanishing down the drain. As the piping hot water pelts my face, I begin to wonder if this body even belongs to me. If I will ever be the same.
I tear my face away from the overhead light, the fluorescence overwhelming me. A sob tears through me as I bring my fingers to my neck, resulting in an agonizing sting that sends my knees buckling. Vomit heaves out of me again, scorching my throat. My elbows wobble.
What I would give to wake from this dream. Only it isn’t one. No matter how many times I pinch myself, my skin still bruises. This nightmare is very real.
After toweling off, I am given a change of clothes—a pale yellow slip with stringy undergarments.
Taking a passing glance in the mirror, I startle at Axe’s bite.
The puncture wounds are swollen and aggravated from the burns, starting to seal over with red-black scabs.
A shiver creeps down my back. Does Levi think it’s possible to nullify it?
As I apply a fresh bandage, the guard presents a sandwich and a cup of water to me. I am told that I will not leave the room until they are consumed. I scarf it down immediately. Under no circumstance am I going to be alone with another hostile male if I have a say in the matter.
The guard is young, perhaps the same age as Tripp. Porcelain skin is offset by ash brown hair, combed neatly over his damp forehead. He leads me down a hallway of grey tiles, passing what appears to be a reception desk area, a laboratory wing, and a fully functioning cafeteria.
Latching onto my arm, he tugs me around the corner, where a slender, middle-aged woman greets us.
On the other side of the door is a massive laundry room.
Two dozen women wearing garments identical to mine are hard at work.
My eyes widen as I note the ages of them—from early forties to as young as nine or ten.
Just as striking is their varying ethnicities.
Three to a table, some are scrubbing at blood stains, some operating the machinery, others folding clean clothes.
The woman, who I take to be the manager, escorts me to the right wall, where another guard supervises the operations from a large wooden desk. She says nothing to me as I take a seat. As the guard gives me a lustful look over, she coils my hair into a bun and drapes a net over it.
At another table in the very back, three girls grind up bowls of yellow powder.
I follow the manager in that direction. She has me stand in between a young girl and another in her late teens, instructing me to watch as they peel apart baskets of yellow flowers with triangular leaves that closely resemble dandelions.
Could this be where they are producing the Ludone?
“Emilia, you have five more minutes until break. When the timer sounds, have our new helper stand in for you.”
“Yes, ma’am.” She nods to the supervisor.
When she slips away, I clear my throat. “How long have you guys been at this?”
The dark-haired teen to my right glances over her shoulder before responding. “Four hours.”
Holy shit.
Glancing down at Emilia’s hands, I can’t help but shudder. Her fingertips are ragged with hangnails, stained a mustard hue.
“This is the biallow flower. They grow plentifully in these lands. This is all that remains of last year’s harvest,” the indigenous girl says, pinching off another stem.
The child, Emilia, passes her partner another basket full of stems and debris. She places it under our table.
“You’re pretty. Just like Charlotte was.”
Was?
She tilts her head, studying my neck wound. “Are you lycan?”
The alarm clock rattles on the desk, causing me to jump. Emilia skips away, joining the line of girls who wait to wash their hands in the sink.
“Don’t be alarmed,” my partner whispers. “We’ve seen several girls like you come and go. Levi has a type.”
A type? Oh no, I think it’s far more complicated than that.
I reach for another handful of yellow blooms. “What’s your name?”
“Fawn,” she answers.
“Do you know what happened to her? The last girl who looked like me?”
“The doctor has these . . . pets. If someone displeases Levi, they are given to the creatures. For them to feed on.”
The disturbing words circulate in my mind the rest of the day.
Waiting in a dinner queue, I try not to imagine Charlotte’s last moments as a bowl of soup is set on my tray. The cafeteria is silent, save for the clinking of spoons and dishes. No one looks at each other.
Taking a deep breath, I find a vacant seat next to my cell neighbor. Several minutes pass before she speaks to me.
“I’m sorry,” she mumbles, gathering a spoonful of tomato soup. “His augment is abhorrent.”
I nearly spit out my mouthful. “Who, Levi? What do you mean?”
Without warning, a guard slams his fist down on the table between us, splashing the hot soup on the woman’s lap. Both of us grimace as he barks out, “No private conversations.”
I hold my breath as he bends over the table. The other girls avert their eyes, biting down on their lips. Some of the soup splashed upwards, splattering my acquaintance’s chin and cheeks with tiny red speckles.
“Now take off your uniform and clean up your mess.” The barrel of his gun hovers between us. For a moment, I consider wrapping my hands around it and taking matters into my own hands.
The woman next to me gives me a cautionary look, as she loosens the ties on her shoulder straps. Don’t.
Exposed to the entire room in just her underwear, she sinks to the floor, bunching up the thin fabric of her dress. The guard hums to himself, satisfied. Then, he leaves us.
I remain still as she reaches under the table to retrieve her spoon, dropping her voice to the lowest decibel. “Remember what I said. Hold fast, no matter what they put you through.”