“Right. Those three, in exchange for this pathetic group?”
“Not just them. Every shifter, every prisoner. Alpha, delta, and omega. Whoever you have, whoever you’ve turned.”
She hums, eyes sparkling. She’s silent for so long, I assume she’s going to laugh in my face. But then she smiles and says, “Aren’t you precious. I see your father’s arrogance in you.” She inhales. “Fine. I accept your terms. Bring your mates here, and I’ll release my little menagerie.”
“No,” I say, planting my feet wider. “Let everyone gonow. You obviously can’t keep your word.”
Deidre and I end up in a standoff. This place smells of death. None of them have died as far as I know, but it hangs over them, looming like a wraith. We’re underground and it’s so oppressive—the musty air, the rot, the despair soaked into the walls.
Andrea shakes her head, a subtle no. Her eyes widen with a warning. She rocks forward onto the balls of her feet, as if to do something stupid—preparing to lunge, to sacrifice herself.
“Oh, you sweet summer child,” I whisper, forcing my lips into a smile. The unexpected teasing makes her pause, her forehead creasing in confusion. I hold her gaze until her heels touch the ground again.
“Let them go,” I reiterate, turning back to Deidre. “Now.”
“Fine, fine,” Deidre surprises me. Her easy agreement sets off alarm bells, but I can’t take it back now. Or I won’t. Not much difference.
A witch lackey hovers, awaiting instruction.
“Deidre,” I snap, running impatient. Running on the thin line that if I don’t keep pushing forward, I’ll lose my will.
She smirks, rolls her eyes, then flicks her wrist dismissively. The witches surrounding us scurry off a moment later, somehow multiplying like roaches from the shadows. Witches swarm, an army of devotees—entire covens—lurking down here, all bowing to her every command. Keys jangle, a bright tinkling sound against the darkness, as they dart between cells that line the walls, unlocking the rooms one at a time.
Andrea remains at my side, muscles tense, eyes tracking every movement. She still looks ready to pounce. The first cell door opens with a metallic groan. A witch with matted gray hair yanks out an omega—a female with hollow cheeks and pale, bruised skin, silver chains binding her raw, bleeding wrists. I don’t recognize her, or the trembling woman huddled to her side. By their scent, and stringy blonde hair, they might be sisters. Their fingers entwine, despite the guard shoving them toward the elevator platform.
At least one witch escort per shifter, they herd their prisoners down the narrow metal plank, cramming them into the elevator, which shakes as it makes its agonizingly slow journey above ground before returning with only witches, ready for the next batch of prisoners. Another cell clangs open. An alpha male emerges, his massive frame thrashing against the witch, shoulders flexing against the silver restraints which bite into his neck and wrists.
An omega I recognize trails behind him, her fingers stretching toward his arm, clinging to him for protection. Though it’s only been a few days, and she’s not showing, with my heightened senses—and because I saw her in my visions—I know she’s pregnant.
And I know, from the visions, she’s forgiven the alpha already.
Before they pass, Andrea reaches into her pocket and flings the truck keys toward the alpha. He’ll find the medication for the omegas, and the truck offers at least some of them a faster way out of here. The alpha’s eyes lock with hers. Andrea only tilts her chin slightly, jaw set tight. He gives a single nod of understanding. The witch shoves the two into the elevator, and up they go. The fourth and fifth doors are unlocked. One by one, they shuffle the remaining battered wolves out of their cells.
Their broken steps fuel my resolve.
“Oh, come on already,” Deidre whines. “Enough of the theatrics. Hurry it up.”
The irony almost makes me laugh—they can barely stand after days, weeks of starvation and torture, yet she taps her foot impatiently as if they’re deliberately wasting her time. Still, the witches prod and kick at their backs, making them move faster. The problem is, they don’t know where they’re being led. They might move faster if they knew freedom was on the other side.
The final cell door scrapes open on the far side of the wall, closer to the larger opening at the back. Sam emerges first, snarling and fighting against the witch who keeps blasting him with magic. Sam is strong, though not as strong as Andrea. But he’s a powerful alpha, and despite the abuse, he keeps positioning himself between the witch and his mate. And then a dark hand reaches from the shadows, grasping for Sam, and Ingrid emerges into the light.
Her once-lustrous black curls mat in grimy tangles around hollowed cheeks. Dark circles shadow eyes that burn with defiance despite the sickly pallor of her skin. Cracked lips pull back from sharp teeth as she clenches her jaw against whatever pain they’ve inflicted on her. She and Sam hold hands, but the second they both step out onto the platform, ready for a fight, their eyes both snap to Andrea. It takes all of two seconds for them to recognize her—for Ingrid, her fated mate. For Sam, a pack mate. Both bonds forged by the Moon Goddess’s magic.
Andrea stands rigid and doesn’t react. She keeps her head high, not acknowledging Ingrid. Not letting Deidre know who she is to her.
“Andrea,” I start quietly. “It’s time for you to go, too. She has me and Ghost. You don’t need to stay here.”
She shakes her head once.
“Go with them,” I growl, more forcefully. She doesn’t move. “What the fuck are you doing? Get out of here.”
She turns to look at me. “I’m not leaving you. Now be quiet.”
I look over at Ingrid, and in the slow walk here—as she listens to our stilted, low conversation—it hits her. That somehow Andrea is responsible for her newfound freedom. Ingrid slows her steps. Sam notices and pauses, which earns him another zap from the witch, but he barely flinches.
Ingrid lifts her chin, squares her shoulders, turns around and marches right back into the cell.
I almost laugh.
