From the distance we traveled, I gauge that we are no longer under the chapel. The tunnel is an escape route—a safety measure put into place ages ago by witches in case humans decide to hunt them again.
While most humans seem unaware of the supernatural community, it’s impossible to escape detection completely. Mistakes happen. There are just too many humans to guard against. Not to mention paranormals are a little too cocky, many of them believing they’re superior.
The few humans who are aware of the supernatural community usually keep quiet about it, not wanting to be hunted down by the paranormals. Others flat out refuse to accept thetruth, thinking the creatures that go bump in the night are just a figment of their imagination. A small percentage try to tell the truth, but many of them are often labeled insane by their fellow humans.
Remaining hidden is a delicate balance, the truth becoming harder to contain with overpopulation and the dawn of the digital age. More and more information is being leaked before it can be scrubbed from the internet.
After what feels like an eternity, a faint light sways in the distance. My feet should automatically quicken to escape the oppressive darkness, but I slow instead. Something tells me that I don’t want to know what happens in that room. It’s only sheer stubbornness that keeps me shuffling forward.
The new space isn’t overly large, more of a forgotten underground cellar. Rocks of all shapes are stacked on top of one another in a haphazard retaining wall. The mortar has long since been crushed, disintegrating to dust decades ago. The walls bulge out alarmingly, barely holding back an avalanche of hundreds of tons of dirt and stones.
The ground is nothing more than packed dirt, while the ceiling is barely held in place by rotten railroad ties. Roots are pushing through the ceilings and walls, trailing down in a snarled mess. Naked bulbs dangle from the ceiling, the light slowly brightening and dimming as the electricity surges off some generator humming in the distance.
Slimy water drips in the background, but the view is blocked by row after row of cells. Some are just three-by-three-feet crates, the metal barely large enough for a mutt, much less a human. Others are built more like an old-timey jail cell.
And each one houses a group of people—different types of shifters, some vampires, a few fae, even a couple of witches.
The one thing they have in common is a sense of helplessness weighing them down. Their spirits are all but broken. Each ofthem is wearing similar chains to ours. Some are so emaciated that they look like they’ve been down here decades instead of weeks. Most don’t even bother glancing up as we enter, and I struggle to take in the horror.
My wolf slinks forward, her snout pulling back in a snarl, the fur on the back of her ruff standing on edge at the gruesome sight. Her sense of justice is as strong as mine. Our need to make things right is so instilled in us by Gramps that we barely resist the urge to slaughter everyone responsible.
She slowly memorizes the different scents of the guards, a silent promise to hunt them down and make them pay for their crimes. I don’t realize we’ve stopped until one of the guards roughly pushes us toward a tiny cell no bigger than a closet.
The men instinctively fight back, everything inside them protesting the idea of being locked in a kennel. The mages gleefully use their metal batons to force them to obey, herding us into the tiny cell.
Dante knocks one man out cold, but the distraction costs him when another guard sneaks up behind him and cracks him across the shoulder with his baton, a vindictive smile twisting his face into a caricature of evil. Bellamy doesn’t hesitate to wrap his chains around the fucker’s neck before he can rain down another blow, the dragon heaving back with all his strength.
The sound of a gun cocking has everyone pausing, and I don’t have to look behind me to know the jackass with the scar has a gun pointed at the back of my head.
“Make another move, and I’ll start placing holes in the girl,” he snarls, slamming the barrel of the gun into the back of my skull so hard that my scalp splits. I lurch forward under the force, and the only thing keeping me upright is the tangle of his fist in my hair.
The men instantly release their prey. The mages aren’t gentle as they shove the men into the cell, the thuds of their batonshitting flesh churning my stomach. The guys don’t flinch or grunt under the attack, their silence freaking the mages out even more.
The guards aren’t used to their victims being able to fight back.
I’m the last one shoved into the cage before the door is slammed shut and the locks engage. Garth catches me before I can crash to the ground, and he immediately clutches me to his chest, turning so I’m partially behind him. My hair sways, and I twist to see Dante investigating the wound on the back of my head.
Now that we’re safely locked away, the mages are more confident. Their cocky attitudes rub me the wrong way. They ooze a certain malevolence that says they enjoy their job and would do it for free, just for the pleasure of hurting others. We’re obviously not the first supernatural creatures they’ve subdued over the years, they’re too efficient at their job, and I shiver as I imagine just how many dead bodies must litter in their wake.
Glancing around our new accommodations, I grimace and ask myself why anyone would build containment cells connected to the chapel. The only saving grace is that, outside of the current occupation, they don’t look like they’ve been used in years.
The whole cellblock is full of a variety of species. It’s almost like they were given a shopping list of creatures, and I can only imagine what bounties they were offered to capture them.
The scarred bastard saunters up to our cell, menacingly tapping the handle of his whip against the bars. Though he scans my men, his eyes settle on me, and a hideous smile twists his lips. “I should be thanking you. The going rate for an alpha is hefty, and you walked four of them right through the front door.”
The fetid stench of his breath wafts into the cell, avarice gleaming in his eyes as he leans closer. “But you, girl, they’reoffering a king’s ransom for you. We’re going to be set for life. Easiest million I’ve ever made.”
He leers at me and grabs his crotch, shaking his junk at me in a way that no woman finds attractive. “Maybe I’ll take a little sample before I turn you over. It’s not like they would know. If you’re a good girl, I might even take it easy on your boys. After all, an extra lover is no big deal to a girl who travels with her own harem. I bet your snatch is so stretched out that you can no longer feel it if anyone fucks you. You’ll need it rough and hard.”
Snarls fill my ears, and the guys lunge toward the bastard, their blunt teeth snapping. Though they might be locked in their human form, no one would mistake them for weak. Men like scar are all the same. I call it tiny dick syndrome. They act all tough, unable to get it up without violence because no girl would willingly touch them otherwise.
“You’re an idiot.” Laughter bursts out of me, and I snicker at his naivety. “You might as well be the bad guy in a cartoon, rolling your mustache.”
I shoot him a pitying look and shake my head. “Did they promise you a spot with them? Because if not, what happens when the shifters and witches figure out what you’ve really been doing? Do you think they’ll just let you escape without claiming retribution?”
Booming laughter escapes him, the fool obviously not believing me.
“I’d almost feel sorry for you…if you didn’t deserve every horrible thing coming.” I shake my head pityingly. “I’m just sad I won’t be there to see it happen.”
