Chapter 3
THREE
NATALIE
My body stiffens as Veronica clenches onto me even tighter.
Her hair, a tangled mess, nets around my face in the embrace.
She doesn’t smell of the high-end perfume anymore.
No, distinct odor of dirt and sweat emanates from Veronica Tate now.
Heavy sobs bump her chest against mine, and it takes everything not to shove her back to the floor.
“They drugged me in that backroom, and I woke up here,” she cries, nuzzling into the crook of my neck. “With all of these …” She pauses and takes a sharp breath in. “People.”
I peer between her matted hair to the couple of dozen other captives.
Nik said Viktor stopped following his orders and started taking whoever he saw fit.
Apparently, no one was off-limits. They were ripped from the streets with no clue who the Vostiks even were.
And now, they’re here with me, and Veronica fucking Tate.
“Nikolai. I knew there was something wrong with him,” she says, panting in my ear. “He’s a monster, Natalie. Him and the rest of the people working there.”
I hold her at arm’s reach, pleading to whatever god exists she doesn’t grab on again. “Because they are monsters.”
“What do you mean?” Her unkept brows weave together.
I sigh out the curses I want to scream at her and shake my head. “They’re werewolves.”
“What?” Veronica either gasps or squeaks, but I can’t tell the difference.
“Werewolves. Half-human, half-monster. Full moons. Claws. We’re standing beneath the pack’s den,” I say and point to the ceiling, her eyes following my finger and mouth hanging low.
It’s at this point everyone else in the cage focuses on us, some wide-eyed while others appear skeptical.
I don’t blame them. It is absolutely as crazy as it sounds.
I’m sure most of them assume it’s some human-trafficking ring, but unfortunately for all of us, this place is worse. Way fucking worse.
“You’re not serious?” she says.
I scoff with annoyance and drop my hands from her shoulders. Did this really have to be the only cage? “Yes, Veronica. I have seen them.”
“But what would werewolves want with me?” Concern etches deep in her cheekbones.
“Us,” I correct her. “They brought us here for something.”
She doesn’t respond but simply stares at me, eyes even bigger and more bloodshot than before.
“What—” A man breaks the silence and his voice trails off, a hand at his mouth. “What do they want?”
I glance from the door atop the stairs to each wall of the basement.
We’re closed in on all sides by layers of concrete and a single exit from the look of it.
There’s no chance in hell we can dig our way out of here, nor does it seem likely any of us can fight off even the smallest of wolves keeping watch.
“To do what wolves do best.” Bile rolls in my stomach. “Hunt.”
We sit there in silence, each of us exchanging glances, some more frightened than others.
Veronica hasn’t left my side, even when I stand and make a lap around the small cage to stretch out my limbs.
Something in me knows it might be best to be limber for when these monsters decide they’re hungry.
Sitting on concrete all day and enduring numbness in each leg will only make me an easier target.
I won’t give these animals the satisfaction.
More importantly, Viktor will have to work for his meal.
Questions come from the captives in waves.
Some might hold back because of fear. Others might think it’s too ridiculous to say out loud.
I can’t blame the ones who don’t believe me, though.
If I never saw Nik transform in his loft, I’m sure I’d have a hard time believing me right now, too.
Werewolves. Fucking werewolves? It’s like the plot of a B-rated horror movie, and yet?
Here we are, awaiting execution by a pack of monsters ready to feast on our most vital organs.
The door atop the staircase slams open and two silhouettes stretch down each step. One is small, hunched over if I had to guess. The other, tall with broad shoulders.
“Bystreye, Shchenok,” a powerful voice echoes in Russian.
The smaller shadow staggers down the steps while the other seems to take them two at a time, stomping his large feet for the bottom.
One comes into view, hugging a bucket and dragging his foot behind him.
When the other appears, I take note of the annoyed expression carved on his long face, and how he swings his bucket carelessly by the handle.
It only takes a moment to figure out what they’re bringing to us.
Food.
Brown chunks of burnt bread poke over the top of the bucket held by the man limping toward the cage door.
The other? Well, whatever liquid he swings with every stride sloshes and spills to the floor, darkening parts of the cement into a mouthwatering black. They’re feeding us. Giving us water. We are, for now, being kept alive until the pack decides otherwise.
“And after I give you and Courtney matching throats during the blood moon—” Victor had said.
The Blood moon. They are keeping us all alive to hunt on the next full moon.
There’s a reason Veronica is still alive.
Why everyone else here was taken and left in this cell.
We are being readied for something bigger.
Not just a snack for the Vostik pack, but the main fucking course.
I peer at each of my confined companions, taking note of the way they skitter from the men ambling toward the cage door, buckets in tow.
Not a single one will look them in the eye, Veronica included.
They all cower like cockroaches fleeing from a shoe.
Except me. I stand tall and walk past the rest clinging for safety on the opposite end.
I’ve seen the worst the Vostik pack has to offer, Viktor’s monstrous form still fresh in my mind.
I’m not afraid, not when I know we’re being kept alive for a reason.
“Sergei,” the larger one shouts, irritation in his firm features. He motions to the lock on our cell.
The smaller man with light brown hair and a pained expression hobbles to the door and pulls a key from his tattered jeans pocket.
He fiddles with the lock, fumbling the key in his hands until a loud click snaps it into place.
His wide, frightened eyes mirrors that of the captives around me.
Nothing like the large wolf staring absently to the side as if we’re some meaningless pets he was tasked with keeping alive.
Sergei peels back the door, and the metal hinges squeal at an ear-piercing octave.
He finally looks upward when I stand in front of him.
I force down the acid bubbling in my throat and grin, staring into his faint, glowing hazel eyes. “Thank you, Sergei,” I say, and reach for the bucket.
He recoils at first, and after a few moments of hesitation, hands the bread bucket to me.
A slight smile stretches from one side of his face to the other.
He’s nothing like the wolves I met at Volk.
Each glowing-eyed employee was a chip off Viktor’s block.
Sergei seems different. It’s almost like he’s just as scared as the rest of us.
“Ne govori,” the larger one says and stomps forward, his lengthy brow furrowed. More water splashes to the cement, meaning one of us might have to go without until another bucket is brought down here. There’s no telling how long that’ll be.
Sergei cowers and slowly tilts his head to him.
“Viktor,” the man says in a low gruff, earning a few nods from his smaller counterpart.
I place the bucket to the cement, and in an instant, every captive begins inching toward it with discernable unease.
They might be afraid of these two men in front of me, but I’m sure as hell not.
I know something they don’t. Both of these wolves are on Viktor’s orders, his payroll, and if Sergei can’t even talk to me, I have little doubt either would survive the night if they put a hand—or claw on me.
My smile wanes, replaced by a glare of pure malice at the one hurling out orders. He matches my scowl, and even snarls in my direction. His eyes, a pointed gray, start at my feet, trail up the clothes I woke up in, and finally land on my face.
“Viktor is not your alpha,” I say, vitriol dripping off each syllable. Slowly, my smirk returns, especially when I see this wolf’s hardened features twitch. “Nikolai is coming for me.”
For the first time since he came down here, there’s a flash in Sergei’s eyes, casting them a brighter shade. It’s as though the mere mention of Nik’s name stripped away whatever hell this pack has put him through already. And as quickly as it appears, the light is gone.
“Yeah!” Veronica agrees from the far side of the cage. “Nikolai is coming for us!”
I have to close my eyes to keep them from rolling. Again. Why couldn’t they have a second fucking cage?
A low guttural sound vibrates from his chest. I hear the people behind me falter back, but I refuse to move an inch.
We stare at one another, neither yielding.
He drops the bucket to the ground and more water sloshes as it teeters in the upright position.
He glides his tongue over his large and unnatural teeth.
“Viktor is alpha.”
Without another word, he kicks the bucket over, giving the cement floor a black sheen reaching for the farthest wall.
A collective gasp works from one side of the cage to the other, some of the captives muttering curses under their breath.
My jaw drops as a wicked grin twists his face.
He turns on his heel for the stairs, not bothering to give me a second glace.
“Sergei,” he demands, and starts to climb the steps.
The small wolf watches him go, giving me one last pitiful look before he limps behind him.
The door slams shut atop the staircase, followed by a latch locking it in place.
Silence is the only thing we hear now. Silence and the unmistakeable heavy breathing of more than a few people realizing this isn’t a dream.
“We don’t have water because of you!” a man shouts behind me.
When I turn, he shoves his finger in my direction. He has a large piece of bread in his free hand, and if I had to guess, he’s wondering how the hell he’ll wash the rest of it down while our water supply coats the floor. “You’re gonna get us all killed.”
I want to say something. To swear I was standing up for all of us, but there’s no point.
I taunted a wolf, and because of me, we will all go without water until the next pail is brought down.
It could be hours. It could be days. The Vostik pack will keep us alive until the red moon, that much is certain, but it doesn’t mean we won’t have to endure dehydration to get there.
If I could only explain how bad it’s going to get to all of them.
What the monsters upstairs are truly capable of.
But I don’t.
Instead, I lower my head in silence and turn toward the bucket of bread Sergei handed me. I kneel and scrape what I can from the bottom. Crumbs. All I’m left with are fucking crumbs.