XIRA POV
After the twins ordered that I be thrown back in the cell, I had drifted in and out of consciousness. Now, pain was the first thing I felt when I woke up.
I tried to move.
I couldn't.
My wrists were bound above my head, chafing against rough rope that bit into my skin. My shoulders screamed in protest from the awkward angle. My legs were free but useless, sprawled awkwardly on cold, damp stone.
Wait, Stone.
Stone.
I forced my eyes open.
Darkness. Thick, absolute, suffocating. And for a terrifying moment, I thought I had gone blind. Then my eyes adjusted, and shapes came out of the black.
Bars, a wall, a low ceiling.
A cell.
I was back in a cell.
A jumble of emotions warred in my chest for dominance.
On the one hand, I was happy that I had not been molested even though when I had been brought before the Twins I had feared they would abuse me right there but the actually let me be, maybe they were not so bad.
I had heard what men did to women who had been enslaved by them.
My stomach rumbled loudly.
How long had it been since I had last eaten?
How long had I been here? Hours? Days?
What had happened to the rest of the pack members.
My throat was raw, my lips cracked. When I tried to call out, only a painful rasp emerged followed my coughing that echoes off the walls.
"Hello?" The word was a whisper, swallowed by the emptiness.
No answer.
I pulled at my hands. The rope didn't budge. The stone above me, I could feel it now, rough and cold, it was part of a wall.
I was chained to a wall in a cell in complete darkness and this one felt different from the one I had been in.
But wait, what if they had sold me off?
I remembered hearing some of the pack members speak about people who liked to trade in young female werewolves.
Panic rose, hot and choking. I fought it down.
Think. You have to think.
But thinking was hard when your head felt like it had been split open with an axe and you had no idea what was happening outside.
*
I don't know how long I hung there, drifting in and out of consciousness. Time had no meaning in the dark.
There was only the pain, the cold, and the slow, agonizing realization that I might die here.
Then I heard footsteps.
My heart lurched. I strained my ears, pressing them toward the sound. Footsteps, the sound of boots on stone, heavy, growing louder. Coming closer.
A torch flared to life somewhere outside my cell, and I had to squeeze my eyes shut against the sudden brightness. When I opened them, a figure seemed to have materialized before the bars.
One I did not recognize.
This was a different guard.
My heart sank to my feet.
"The Alphas are waiting. They don't like to wait."
I suck in a breath, panic rising in my chest.
If I was being summoned, it must not be for a good reason.
Then he came in and moved behind me, I felt him working at the ropes binding my wrists. The release was painful, my shoulders screamed as blood rushed back into my arms and I fell, too weak to get up.
"Up!" The man growls impatiently again.
He looked down at me in disgust.
The man snarled angrily at me and despite feeling an unbelievable amount of pain I tried my best and got to my feet.
"What.." I croaked, "What is happening?"
"You will find out soon enough." He grunted and impatiently dragged the ends of the rope so I had no choice than to stumble out after him.
As I was dragged out into of the belly of the cells and into the sunlight pouring into the courtyard, I blinked from the late afternoon sun hitting my eyes.
Standing before us were two faces I recognized and I almost sank to the floor with joy.
I recognized them as maids who worked in the packhouse.
Things must not be so bad if they were there, free to work.
My relief turned to horror as they grabbed me and started to take off my clothes right there. My mind went blank.
"Stop," I whispered, trying to pull away. "What are you doing?"
They did not listen. They stripped me down to my skin with cold efficiency, their hands impersonal, their faces blank.
Then, as I stood there shivering from cold and shame, they poured cold water on me, scrubbing me raw with rough cloths that smelled of pine and something sweet.
I bit my lip to keep from crying out as they worked, my body a canvas of bruises. When they reached my hair, I bit my lip as their fingers found the gash on my scalp. The water stung, but the maids did not stop.
When they were done, I was rinsed and dried, then dressed in a long white dress that felt oddly like the bridal robe I had worn for my mating ceremony. They pulled my hair back, their fingers harsh and punishing, as they braided it away from my face.
I looked down at my hands. They were clean, but the memory of Ronan's blood, my father's betrayal, and the scent of death, still lingered.
I felt like a ghost.
The maids stepped back. I was alone again for a moment before the guard from before came back into view.
He looked me up and down, then grabbed the rope again, making sure not to actually touch me.
"Move."
He was dragging me again, but this time we were not going to the cells. He was pulling me toward the entrance of the pack house. My heart hammered against my chest.
My mind raced with possibilities. None of them were good.
What if he was leading me to my execution? What if my father had been caught?
The reality of it hit me like a physical blow. I stumbled, my knees buckling, but the guard held me up, his grip like iron.
"Keep moving," he ordered.