Washed And Brushed

Ronan's smile lingered as he stepped back, as if he had already decided something about me—something I wouldn't like. Isla barely spared me another glance before turning on her heel, the sound of her boots echoing off the stone.

"Get her up."

Cian's smirk widened. "Finally, some fresh air, little hunter."

I barely had time to react before the cell door swung open, the heavy iron groaning in protest. Two wolves stepped in, their grips firm as they hauled me to my feet.

Wolf growled low beside me, but a sharp look from Isla was enough to silence him.

"You can walk, can't you?" she asked coolly.

I forced my legs to move, ignoring the stiffness from sitting too long on cold stone. My wrists ached from the restraints, but I refused to show weakness. I kept my head high as they led me out, through the dimly lit corridors of whatever nightmare of a fortress I had been dragged into.

The scent of damp stone and old blood clung to the air. The deeper we walked, the louder the sounds of the pack grew—voices, footsteps, the distant howls of wolves outside.

I was still very much in their world.

And I still wasn't safe.

They led me through a side passage, one that opened into a courtyard surrounded by high walls and arched doorways.

A large basin of water sat in the center, steam rising from its surface.

A bath.

For a second, I almost laughed. *I'd been thrown in a cell, manhandled, threatened—and now they wanted me cleaned up?*

Isla gestured toward the water. "Strip."

I froze.

Cian let out a low whistle. "Now this is a show I wasn't expecting."

My skin burned. "You have got to be joking."

Isla's expression didn't change. "You stink of blood and filth. You will not step into the Alpha's hall like this."

I swallowed hard. My pride screamed at me to fight back, to snap, to refuse. But what good would it do?

They would force me if I resisted.

So I clenched my jaw, lifted my chin, and didn't give them the satisfaction of seeing my hesitation.

Without a word, I reached for the tattered remains of my shirt.

Cian was still grinning when Isla shot him a look sharp enough to cut. "Out."

His grin widened. "But—"

"Now."

Cian sighed, holding up his hands. "Fine, fine. Ruin my fun." He gave me a wink before sauntering off.

Ronan, however, didn't move.

He wasn't watching me—not exactly. But he didn't look away, either.

Something in his gaze made my skin prickle.

Isla barely seemed to care. She nodded toward two female wolves who had been waiting nearby. "See that she washes properly."

Then, just like that, she and Ronan were gone, leaving me standing there, the heat of the water curling against my skin.

The two wolves stepped forward, their expressions unreadable.

I was out of the cell.

But I still wasn't free.

I stepped forward, the warmth of the water curling around my ankles as I waded in. It was deeper than I expected, the stone basin wide enough to fit several people. The steam wrapped around me, chasing away the lingering chill of the cell.

The two she-wolves stood at the edge, their sharp eyes watching my every move.

I ignored them at first, dipping my hands into the water and scrubbing at the dried blood and dirt clinging to my skin. It had been *too* long since I'd felt clean, and as much as I hated the circumstances, I wasn't going to waste the moment.

The younger of the two stepped closer, curiosity gleaming in her wide amber eyes.

"So, you're the human," she said, her voice soft with barely contained excitement.

The older one shot her a sharp look. "Inara."

"What?" Inara huffed, but she still lowered her gaze slightly. "I was just asking."

The older wolf—taller, with streaks of silver in her dark braid—turned back to me, her expression unreadable. "You should hurry. The Alpha doesn't like to be kept waiting."

The title sent a shiver down my spine. *The Alpha. The one I met few hours ago. The one everybody keeps warning me about.

I pretended not to care, dipping my shoulders beneath the water and scrubbing at my arms. "I don't suppose you two are going to tell me what he's like?"

Inara perked up. "Oh, well—"

The older wolf silenced her with a look.

I raised an eyebrow. "What, is it a secret?"

Inara hesitated, biting her lip. She looked young—maybe a few years younger than me, though it was hard to tell with wolves.

"He's just…" She glanced at her companion, then back at me, lowering her voice. "Different."

My fingers stilled against my skin.

The older wolf's jaw tightened. "Enough."

"But, Liora—"

Liora turned to me, her expression hard. "Be silent and Finish washing."

Her tone left no room for argument.

I exhaled, sinking deeper into the water. But the unease curling in my stomach only grew.

Because for the first time since I'd been captured, I wasn't just afraid of what the wolves would do to me.

I was afraid of who I was about to meet.

After a few mintues had passed, Liora murmured something, and I kind of figured that bath time was over.

I stepped out of the water, my skin prickling as the cooler air rushed over me. Inara quickly handed me a cloth, her hands fidgeting as if she wanted to say something but thought better of it. Liora simply stood nearby, arms crossed, watching me with the same unreadable gaze she had worn since the moment they dragged me in here.

I wrapped the cloth around myself and took a hesitant step forward. The floor was smooth beneath my bare feet, a sharp contrast to the rough stone and dirt I'd grown used to.

Then I saw it.

The mirror stood against the far wall, tall and unblemished, reflecting the dim torchlight that flickered along the room's stone walls. It had been so long—*too long*—since I'd last seen my own face.

I swallowed hard and walked toward it.

My breath hitched.

The girl staring back at me was a ghost.

Pale skin, hollow cheeks. A faint bruise shadowed my collarbone, a reminder of my struggles. But it was my *hair* that struck me first. It cascaded down my shoulders in wild waves, pure white, like untouched snow. The sight sent an unwelcome pang through my chest—I had almost forgotten how unnatural it looked.

A far cry from that of my sisters chestnuts, and jet black hair.

And then my eyes—

I exhaled sharply, gripping the cloth tighter.

Storm-gray. As distant and cold as the clouds before a storm.

A stranger.

I lifted a hand, running my fingers over my cheek, almost as if I expected the girl in the mirror to *not* do the same. But she did, her gaze just as wary, just as lost.

A soft voice broke the silence.

"You're… pretty."

I turned. Inara quickly looked away, pretending to focus on wringing out a cloth.

Liora sighed. "She's human."

Inara shot her a look. "She's still pretty."

I didn't know whether to laugh or scoff, so I did neither. Instead, I turned back to the mirror, forcing myself to hold my own gaze.

Pretty?

No.

I looked like someone barely clinging to herself. A girl who had spent too long surviving, too long running.

And now, I was standing in a castle that did not belong to me, surrounded by creatures that didn't see me as an equal, with an expecting from my father that not even him could accomplish.

In this moment I didn't feel pretty.

I was something...caged.