White Wolf

The stone beneath me has leached every trace of warmth from my bones, leaving nothing but an aching hollowness where hope used to reside. I curl tighter into myself, desperately clinging to the fading wisps of my dream – Killian's voice, so clear and warm in my mind, now nothing more than a phantom whisper. The mind link that once bound us together feels like a severed limb, raw and throbbing with phantom pain.

Rusty hinges shriek in protest as my cell door swings open, the sound piercing through the darkness like a blade. Weak torchlight spills across the damp floor, casting long shadows that dance and writhe like tortured spirits. The rogue's silhouette looms in the doorway, a dark cutout against the sickly yellow light. The metal tray clatters against the stone as he tosses it carelessly inside, the grey slop within sloshing over the edges.

"Why?" My voice comes out as a rasp, weeks of disuse evident in its broken sound. "Why serve someone like him?"

His laugh sends ice crawling down my spine – a sound devoid of warmth or mercy. It reminds me of breaking glass and ravens' wings, of everything wrong and twisted in this world. "Eat up, little wolf," he sneers, his eyes glinting with malicious amusement. "You'll need your strength for what's coming."

"The king will find me," I say, trying to inject steel into my trembling voice. "When Killian reaches him—"

"When the king finds you?" The rogue's laugh turns darker still. "Oh, he already knows exactly where you are. It's all part of the game, isn't it?" The door slams shut with a finality that makes me flinch, the sound echoing through my prison like a death knell.

Darkness swallows me once more, but his words remain, circling like hungry wolves in my mind. I press my forehead against my knees, trying to steady my racing heart. The cold seeps deeper, and I can't tell anymore if I'm shivering from fear or the chill of the stone.

Killian's presence in my mind has never felt more distant, more desperately needed. I reach out through our broken bond anyway, sending my thoughts into the void like paper boats on a stormy sea, hoping against hope that somehow, somewhere, he can still hear me.

The basement's damp air clings to my skin like a second layer of misery as I huddle in the corner, my knees pulled tight against my chest. The concrete floor beneath me has long since stolen any warmth I had left, but the cold is nothing compared to the emptiness gnawing at my insides.

Killian wouldn't abandon us, Athen, my wolf, whispers in my mind, her usual confident voice tinged with uncertainty. I want to believe her – desperately need to believe her – but doubt slithers through my thoughts like a poisonous snake.

Our grandparents will come, I tell myself, though the words feel hollow. The darkness of the basement seems to mock my hope, stretching endlessly around me like a void of broken promises. My fingers trace the rough wall behind me, counting the ridges as I've done countless times before, trying to keep my mind from wandering to darker places.

Ace will find us, Athen insists, but even she can't hide the tremor in her mental voice. He has to.

The heavy door at the top of the stairs creaks open, and my heart stutters in my chest. Heavy footsteps descend, each one making my pulse race faster. The familiar scent of Alpha Caden – pine needles tainted with something sour and wrong – fills the air, making my wolf whimper and retreat deeper into our shared consciousness.

"Oh, looks at my little white wolf," his voice slides through the darkness like oil on water, making my skin crawl. My throat constricts, and I can taste the bitter tang of fear on my tongue. The pet name he's given me – a cruel reminder of my rare white wolf form – makes me want to disappear into the shadows.

I press myself harder against the wall, wishing I could phase, but the silver-laced cuffs around my wrists prevent any shift. Athen's presence in my mind grows smaller, more frightened, as Alpha Caden's footsteps draw closer.

Someone will come, I think desperately, but the thought feels like a child's wishful dream. The basement's shadows seem to whisper back: But what if they don't?

Alpha Caden's silhouette looms before me, and I can see the gleam of his teeth in what little light filters down from above. My stomach churns with dread as I realize that today might be the day my hope finally breaks.

Please, I pray silently to anyone who might be listening, please let someone find me.

The metallic taste of blood fills my mouth as Caden's rough fingers dig into my jaw. His calloused skin scrapes against my face like sandpaper, forcing me to look into those soulless gray eyes. My heart pounds against my ribcage, a desperate prisoner seeking escape.

"You're going to fetch me a pretty penny," he sneers, his breath hot and sour against my face. The dim light of the basement catches the silver scar running down his left cheek, making it look like a snake slithering across his skin.

Panic claws at my throat as I struggle against the restraints binding my wrists. "You can't sell me," I manage to choke out, "I have the king's mark!" My voice cracks with desperation as I twist my neck, trying to show the silvery crescent moon birthmark behind my ear – the sacred symbol that should guarantee my protection.

Caden's laughter echoes off the concrete walls, a sound devoid of warmth or mercy. "Marks or not, there are a lot of rich men that will pay for a white wolf." His fingers tighten, and I can feel tomorrow's bruises forming already.

"No!" The scream tears from my throat, raw and primal. The word bounces back at me from the shadows, mocking my helplessness.

The crack of his palm against my cheek sends my head snapping sideways. Pain explodes across my face, and copper floods my mouth. I watch through a curtain of tangled white hair as a tear drops onto my torn jeans, darkening the denim.

"Get some pictures for the site," Caden barks at his associate lurking in the shadows. "Betting starts at six." The other man emerges, camera in hand, his footsteps echoing like a death knell.

My body trembles, not from the cold basement air, but from the horrifying realization that I'm about to be auctioned off like cattle. The sacred mark that should protect me – that has protected my kind for centuries – means nothing to these men who see only dollar signs.

As the camera's flash burns my eyes, I silently pray to the Moon Goddess, hoping she hasn't abandoned her daughter to this fate.