Charlotte's strength gave out beneath her, and she slowly sank to the cold floor. The chains restrained her too tightly to allow full collapse, leaving her wrist suspended awkwardly in the air, her weight partially held by the unforgiving metal.
Her shoulders drooped as her gaze drifted across the room, unfocused and heavy with shock. She blinked through the blur of tears, trying to clear her vision, but it only sharpened the horror around her. The walls were rough, stained, and reeked of old blood a suffocating scent that turned her stomach and made bile rise in her throat.
Her eyes lingered on the wall ahead.
Weapons.
Dozens of them.
Each one gleamed with a cruel purpose, arranged like some grotesque display silver instruments of agony hung like art on a canvas of death. Her breath hitched.
He was going to use one of them on her.
Her mate.
The realization shattered something fragile inside her. Tears welled again, spilling freely now, tracing warm paths down her cheeks.
