Nyra
The dungeon welcomed me back like an old lover– dark, damp, and with a stench that could gag a corpse.
The guards half-dragged, half-threw me inside. My knees hit stone with a crack that sent white-hot fire up my spine. Chains rattled loose as they unfastened the ceremonial restraints, leaving raw, bruised skin in their wake.
The door slammed shut.
Silence.
Only the faint drip of water, the scrape of rats, and the echo of the pack's howls still ringing in my skull.
I pressed my forehead to the floor- not because I was broken. Never that. But because it was the only thing that kept me from screaming.
Every inch of me burned. My back was a ruin of torn flesh, the steel whip's kiss still etched into me like firebrands. My muscles trembled with every breath.
But I hadn't screamed.
Not once.
A groan clawed up my throat, raw and ugly, before I bit it back. Too loud. Too much like defeat.
"Not broken," I whispered, tasting the blood on my tongue. "Not now. Not ever."
My shadows stirred at the edges of the cell, agitated. They pressed against the walls as if they could tear the stone apart for me. They couldn't... not yet.
But soon.
I rolled onto my side, the motion tearing another groan from me, and stared at Gregory. His hollow sockets judged me with their eternal patience.
"Don't look at me like that," I rasped. "You'd have screamed on lash one. Don't lie."
Gregory, as always, stayed silent.
I laughed, a broken, humor-less sound. Then bit my lip until the copper taste drowned it.
Hate kept me alive. Hate, and the memory of his face looming over me, whip in hand.
He'd wanted to break me.
Instead, I'd whispered "harder."
And his hand had faltered.
That memory burned hotter than the wounds. It was victory, however small. And gods, I'd take it.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
I don't know how much time passed before the door scraped open again.
The sound of bootsteps down the dungeon steps. But not the heavy stomp of guards, not Lucien's storm-wrought stride.
Must softer.
I forced my head up.
A girl stood there, clutching a wooden tray like it was a shield. Sixteen, maybe seventeen, with wide brown eyes and a nervous bite to her lip. Her dress was plain, patched at the seams, and her braid was pulled so tight it looked painful.
She didn't belong here.
I blinked at her, then smirked. "Well, look at this. My welcome basket. What's inside? Wine? Chocolates? A key to my shackles?"
The girl nearly dropped the tray. "I- I'm here to tend your wounds," she stammered, voice barely above a whisper.
Her knuckles whitened on the wood. The tray rattled with water, herbs, and linen.
I narrowed my eyes. "Ah. So the Alpha sends a child to clean up his mess. How thoughtful. Tell me, little mouse, did he also order you to slit my throat while you're at it?"
Her eyes went wide. "No! I'd never-"
"Relax," I cut in, lips twisting. "I'm only half-serious. Maybe a third."
She hesitated, then stepped into the cell. The tray shook in her hands. She set it down beside me, every movement careful, as though I might explode if she moved too fast.
I arched a brow. "Brave little thing, aren't you? Most wolves won't come within five feet of me."
"I'm not most wolves," she whispered.
Interesting.
She dipped the cloth in the bowl of water and reached for my back.
The first touch burned like fire. I sucked in a sharp breath, every nerve screaming. My shadows hissed along the floor, lashing toward her hand before I forced them still.
Her fingers jerked back, trembling. "I- I'm sorry, does it-"
"Don't apologize," I snarled. Then softer, "It's not you. It's him."
She swallowed hard, then tried again. This time her hands steadied, dabbing gently at the blood streaking down my spine.
I gritted my teeth, refusing to make a sound. Instead, I kept talking because silence meant feeling, and I wasn't about to give him that satisfaction.
"So, little mouse," I murmured, "what's your name? Or should I keep calling you that?"
"Aria," she whispered.
"Aria." I rolled it on my tongue. "Pretty. Doesn't suit this dungeon at all."
She said nothing, just worked. Cloth against skin, herbs stinging, bandages wrapping. Every touch was cautious but determined.
"Tell me, Aria," I said through clenched teeth, "did you draw the short straw to play nurse to the monster? Or did you actually volunteer?"
Her hands paused.
"I… volunteered."
That startled me enough to glance back at her. "Volunteered? For me? Sweetheart, you might be more reckless than I am."
Her lips twitched, like she wanted to smile but didn't dare. "My grandmother always said the wounded deserve kindness. Even if they don't ask for it."
"Mm. And did your grandmother also tell you about the big bad hybrid who ate naughty children for supper?"
Her lips twitched, trying not to laugh.
The shadows at my ankles hissed suddenly, curling tighter around me. Something brushed against my senses. A presence outside was… watching.
I froze. "Aria. Step back."
She blinked, confused, then obeyed, shuffling away from the bars.
A soft scrape echoed along the stones. Then a flutter of wings.
A raven landed on the iron, feathers glossy black, eyes far too knowing for a simple bird.
Aria gasped, crossing herself like the peasants upstairs. "Omen."
My heart lurched. No. Not an omen. A sister.
"Kaelen," I whispered.
The raven tilted its head, beak clacking once with recognition.
Then I heard a familiar voice deep inside my head. The same one we always used to communicate when we were mischievous kids stealing sweets from the market stalls.
"Your little field trip has come to an end, dear sister." The voice said. "It's time to get you out of here."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Above us, the council chamber burned with firelight. Lucien stood at its center, arms crossed, gaze locked on Darius.
"I've found Tatia," Darius said grimly. "She waits at the borderlands."
Lucien's jaw clenched. He didn't reply.
Darius stepped closer. "I still strongly advise against whatever this is, Lucien. Call her here, and the pack will revolt. Already they are on edge due to the reports of vampire rogues sniffing around our borders. Already they whisper of rebellion. Do not give them reason to sharpen their knives."
Lucien's eyes flicked toward the fire, shadow slicing across his face. "Let them. Then they will find that I am sharper still."
~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Below, in the dungeon, Nyra smiled faintly at the fading flutter of wings.
She did not know yet that the Alpha had summoned a witch. Did not know that the very bond- the only thing that kept her alive- was about to be severed.
But the shadows did.
They curled around her like armor, whispering secrets even she couldn't quite hear.
And outside the keep, in the cold night air, a raven circled once, twice, then vanished into the dark.