Chapter 36 Mona #2
Before they pass, Andrea reaches into her pocket and flings the truck keys toward the alpha.
He’ll find the medication for the omegas, and the truck offers at least some of them a faster way out of here.
The alpha’s eyes lock with hers. Andrea only tilts her chin slightly, jaw set tight.
He gives a single nod of understanding. The witch shoves the two into the elevator, and up they go.
The fourth and fifth doors are unlocked.
One by one, they shuffle the remaining battered wolves out of their cells.
Their broken steps fuel my resolve.
“Oh, come on already,” Deidre whines. “Enough of the theatrics. Hurry it up.”
The irony almost makes me laugh—they can barely stand after days, weeks of starvation and torture, yet she taps her foot impatiently as if they’re deliberately wasting her time.
Still, the witches prod and kick at their backs, making them move faster.
The problem is, they don’t know where they’re being led.
They might move faster if they knew freedom was on the other side.
The final cell door scrapes open on the far side of the wall, closer to the larger opening at the back.
Sam emerges first, snarling and fighting against the witch who keeps blasting him with magic.
Sam is strong, though not as strong as Andrea.
But he’s a powerful alpha, and despite the abuse, he keeps positioning himself between the witch and his mate.
And then a dark hand reaches from the shadows, grasping for Sam, and Ingrid emerges into the light.
Her once-lustrous black curls mat in grimy tangles around hollowed cheeks.
Dark circles shadow eyes that burn with defiance despite the sickly pallor of her skin.
Cracked lips pull back from sharp teeth as she clenches her jaw against whatever pain they’ve inflicted on her.
She and Sam hold hands, but the second they both step out onto the platform, ready for a fight, their eyes both snap to Andrea.
It takes all of two seconds for them to recognize her—for Ingrid, her fated mate.
For Sam, a pack mate. Both bonds forged by the Moon Goddess’s magic.
Andrea stands rigid and doesn’t react. She keeps her head high, not acknowledging Ingrid. Not letting Deidre know who she is to her.
“Andrea,” I start quietly. “It’s time for you to go, too. She has me and Ghost. You don’t need to stay here.”
She shakes her head once.
“Go with them,” I growl, more forcefully. She doesn’t move. “What the fuck are you doing? Get out of here.”
She turns to look at me. “I’m not leaving you. Now be quiet.”
I look over at Ingrid, and in the slow walk here—as she listens to our stilted, low conversation—it hits her. That somehow Andrea is responsible for her newfound freedom. Ingrid slows her steps. Sam notices and pauses, which earns him another zap from the witch, but he barely flinches.
Ingrid lifts her chin, squares her shoulders, turns around and marches right back into the cell.
I almost laugh.
Andrea, enraged, breaks formation and chases after her, with Sam on her heels. The witch escorting them shrugs, looks to Deidre for confirmation, who can’t be bothered to care, and locks them back up.
Well, shit. At least they’re together.
With most of the cells now empty, yet somehow even more desolate, Deidre sighs impatiently.
“Call your mates now. Those shifters are still on my property, and they weren’t looking too healthy. It’s going to take them a while to get out of here. If you don’t hold up your end of the bargain, I’ll just snatch them all back.”
“You’re not worried about them coming here at all, are you?” I ask, realizing that she agreed I contact my mates, to our new deal, way too easily for a reason.
She smiles wistfully and shakes her head. “Whether or not they come won’t matter. If they show up in time, I gain three virile alphas. If not, I’m spared the hassle of dealing with them. The outcome changes nothing.”
I look at Ghost. His lips are pressed into a thin line. I fucked up. Did I fuck up? I don’t know what to do. But he’s still glaring at Deidre.
“Well, come on now. Call your mates.”
Ghost pulls the tracker off his shoulder and tosses it at her. She catches it, then rolls it between her fingers and starts laughing.
“Well played, dears.”
Ghost shrugs, then reaches out to hold my hand, gripping my fingers tightly in his. It’s only us three left on the platform now. We’re outnumbered by witches at least ten to one, and Andrea and her mates are locked behind silver bars.
I squeeze his hand tightly, like he’s a lifeline. Because he is.
“We might as well get started,” Deidre announces, then walks across the plank, opposite the other cells.
We follow because we don’t have much choice. The witches converge from the shadows, just as they did above ground, seemingly out of nowhere. Andrea shouts from her cell. I can smell the acrid stench of her skin burning as she clutches the bars. I tell her to stay calm.
They march us along the catwalk, Andrea’s figure shrinking behind us, until we reach an empty cell.
With a shove, we stumble inside. Ghost circles his arms around me, pulling me backward until I’m behind his body, away from the witches, until the bars swing shut.
His hands slide off me as he steps forward, gripping the silver bars to watch our captors leave.
Deidre says, “Your first bloodletting begins in an hour. I need to prepare a few things first.” And with that, she turns and stalks off.
I look at Ghost. We’re alone now. Funny, I’d have given so much to have time with him before. This isn’t exactly what I had in mind.
“I’m so sorry,” I start.
“What can you possibly be sorry for?”
“You’re here because of me. You’re locked up with her,” I point toward where the evil witch disappeared from, “because of me. “
He shakes his head sadly, almost admonishing. He’s still stark naked. I try not to notice, but I keep failing and looking down.
His lips press, and he comes to some kind of decision. Coming forward, his hand reaches out, stopping with only a foot of space between us. My fingers wrap around his, and he tugs me into a hug. He wraps both arms around my back, leans down and rests his chin on my shoulder.
”None of this is your fault, Mona.”
“But—” I start, but he cuts me off.
“None of this is your fault, and it may not seem like it right now, but we’re going to be okay. I promise you.”
I want to believe him. The truth is that I don’t really know Ghost. He doesn’t seem like the optimistic type—cautious, maybe. But he’s kept himself so distant from me that I don’t know if he’s confident or knows something I don’t.
Holding my hand, he leads me to the back of the damp, cramped cell. We sit down, leaning our backs against the cement wall. It’s not comfortable, but beside him, it’s bearable. I can see the gears still turning behind his eyes, thoughts racing a mile a minute.
“So, you don’t have any clothes on,” I muse, trying to lighten the mood.
A small laugh escapes him, brief but genuine. “I’m actually used to this.”
He wraps his arm around my shoulders. Tentatively at first, as if he’s nervous touching me. But I’m not nervous touching him, so I lean in and rest my head against his shoulder, getting as close as possible. He sighs and exhales from his chest, relaxing me.
We stay like that—me, trying to stay calm, breathing in his scent, trying to trust that he knows how to get us out of this, and Ghost, silently plotting—until Deidre returns.