46: When Shadows Speak

Quincy St. Martin

I rest my back against the cold damp wall and trace the teeth marks on my neck with my fingers. It doesn’t hurt anymore, but it’s still there. I hate it.

The desire to kill the monster who gave it to me is like an itch I can’t scratch. It’s driving me crazy. Something dark and forbidding in me is hungry and is struggling to come out.

“If it’s any consolation, it doesn’t look much like a claimed mark from here. It looks more like a battle scar,” says Jorden.

He’s also sitting on the floor with his back against the steel bars, despite having a bed in his cell.

“You think so?” I ask him, still tracing the scar.

“Yeah, I do. It seems like it’s fading too.”

We’ve been sitting like this for hours now, or maybe just minutes. It’s hard to tell. Seeing the fear in Jorden’s eyes somehow helped me return to normal, somewhat. I’m not fully normal yet. I don’t know if I’ll ever be again.

The thing is, I don’t fully understand what’s going on with me. The uncontrollable fury is contained for now and, with that, the heat in my chest. The red veil that makes me see everything red is gone, but now I can see more. The dim light doesn’t bother my vision now.

I can see every single detail that escaped me before. For example, now I can see every stain, nick, and scratch on the walls, floor, and ceiling.

I can see that there is another door on the far wall. It’s rusty steel, and it looks solid. I wonder where it leads. I can see chains hanging from the ceiling in each cell with dark dried blood coating the bottom ends. I can tell that it’s dried blood with certainty because I can smell the revolting stench. I smell stale blood everywhere in here, also a faint smell of urine and puke, among other things.

That is something I couldn’t do before. I wish I couldn’t now. Sometimes it’s true; ignorance is bliss. I can hear Jorden’s heartbeat. I can hear his breathing, and if I listen hard enough, I can hear the blood rushing through his veins. Or maybe that’s just my imagination.

I also imagine that I can hear the noises from the floor above us. We are in the pack house’s basement, but it’s supposed to be soundproof.

I hear people talking, mostly women, though I can’t really make out what they’re saying. I can’t latch onto one specific voice so far. I feel like I could do it if I concentrated hard enough. There are so many noises blending together. It sounds almost like they’re having some kind of festivities up there.

Then there’s also this…thing that’s growing inside me. This newly awakened consciousness that responds to anger and hatred and intensifies them by tenfold. Whatever it is, it’s menacing. It’s getting more powerful, trying to take control of me, and it’s so easy to just let go, so very easy, but I’m struggling to keep it restrained.

I have a feeling that letting go would be deadly to everything and everyone around me, including Jorden, but I don’t know how much longer I could keep it restrained.

“J?” I call out. My voice echoes through the stark room. I can hear so many notes and layers to my voice now. “What’s happening to me?”

“Just now?” asks Jorden, shifting around trying to get comfortable. That’s not really what I was asking him, but I let it go.

“Your eyes were black, Q. All of it. You have these black lines…veins coming out on your skin.” He makes a motion with his hand on his face.

I remember seeing that happen to Caspian up on that mountain when I asked him to show me his lycan. Is that what’s happening to me?

“Was that what scared you?”

Jorden stops moving to look at me. His brows pull together.

“No,” he finally answers. “It’s the energy. The powerful energy of rage. It’s more powerful than that of an alpha. Stronger than anything I’ve ever felt. It’s so powerful that I felt like it was sucking the life out of me. Like you could’ve killed me without even touching me. It was scary. It’s the scariest thing I’ve ever seen or felt. I’ve never met a lycan, but I think you really are turning into one.”

I sigh.

“I always knew that you were meant for more than this place. You were destined for more…just more.” He rests his head against the steel bars and chuckles.

“Queen Quincy. Imagine that. Will you still remember me when you’re a queen, Q?”

“What’s that? J? J who? I don’t know any Jorden St. Martin,” I say, and he laughs.

“You’re getting ahead of yourself there, J. I don’t know if he’s ever coming back for me. He might have found somebody better and forgotten all about me.”

I miss him so terribly. It’s a constant pain in my chest now.

“No way. You’re awesome. Besides, lycans never give up on their mates. Never. He’ll find you.”

His words and conviction ease my pain, a little, but I dare not get my hopes up. “So, you think I’m awesome?” I ask him instead.

“I’m saying that one time only. I’m not repeating it. If you ever tell anyone I said that, I’ll deny it.”

We stay like that, just talking or lost in our own thoughts. It’s not like we have tons of things to do in here.

“I’m guessing it’s lunchtime now,” says Jorden, staring at his untouched breakfast, still sitting on the floor.

“Yeah, I’m hungry too,” I tell him. The cold toast, scrambled eggs, and orange juice look very good when you’re hungry, but neither of us wants to get drugged again. There’s some commotion just outside the door of our confinement. I struggle to my feet and stare at the door.

“What is it?” asks Jorden.

“We’re about to have company,” I answer.

“How’d you know?” Jorden is staring at me, looking incredulous. He’s a werewolf, so his hearing is usually a lot better than mine.

Before I can answer him, the key is being turned in the lock, and then the door swings open.

Alpha Maddox arrogantly walks down the stairs, brimming with self-importance. My eyes follow his every movement hungrily. After his last threat on Jorden’s life, I want his blood. My eyes stray to his jugular vein pulsing at his neck. I could sink my teeth into it.

Come now, Alpha Maddox. Come closer.

Unfortunately, he stops, moves aside, and stands by the last step.

I seriously want to rip the steel bars off the concrete floor to get to him, but I get distracted by the heaviness in the air. It crackles and sizzles with electricity.

An amazing scent reaches my nose.

My heart skips a beat when I catch sight of more men coming down the stairs until my golden god is standing at the bottom step. His eyes are firmly locked on me. I might be dreaming, but the wave of power from him, like a surge of electricity charging the air, feels so real. It jolts through my whole body.

My stomach feels like it’s bursting with a thousand butterflies taking flight all at once. My heart beats faster with every step he takes until it’s painful even to breathe. I’ve forgotten how big and tall he is. I’ve forgotten how utterly, heartbreakingly beautiful. His golden hair is shiny and stylish.

He’s wearing tan chinos that hug his muscled legs with a gray tweed jacket over a black dress shirt and a pair of black brogue boots. He looks like he just stepped out of a fashion magazine. In contrast, I must look a mess, but the way his intense electric-green eyes are drinking the sight of me makes me feel like I’m the most beautiful woman in the world.

A flash of hunger and primal possessiveness briefly cross his expression before a cold mask sweeps his features.

“How long have these prisoners been in here?” somebody asks.

I was too focused on Caspian, I didn’t even notice another lycan standing beside him.

“They’ve been here since last night, Your Excellency, Lord Archer,” answers Alpha Maddox, who is still standing behind the two.

Lord Archer. I turn to look at him as he watches me with unconcealed interest. I’ve never seen him before. He looks to be in his mid-twenties, though I’m very sure he’s a lot older than that. He’s beautiful in an exotic kind of way.

The first thing that I notice about him is his unusual eyes. They are closer to yellow than brown. His light bronze hair is almost the same color as his flawless skin.

I hear a low growl, so low that I doubt that anybody else in this room could hear it. The sound is unmistakably possessive.

Caspian is looking between the two of us with narrowed eyes. He’s almost baring his teeth.

His lips are stretched tight across his teeth, and I can see the bottom edge of his canines.

I think Lord Archer heard him.

A corner of his lips curls up into a faint smile before he dips his head slightly and turns to look at the person next to him, who happens to be a werewolf I don't know. I switch my attention back to the irate prince. There is no need for him to be jealous. I was not checking the guy out.

I was looking because he is very unusual, and I doubt that Lord Archer is interested in me in that way either. I bet I look like a nightmare. I’m dirty and smeared in dried blood. The white gown I’m wearing is torn and bloody.

One lace shoulder is in tattered pieces.

Anybody who wants a piece of this needs his head checked. Obviously, my prince does…need his head checked, I mean.

“When is the trial and the prosecution?” asks Lord Archer again.

“We haven’t decided yet, Your Excellency. Maybe in a week or two,” replies the alpha.

I can’t help but scoff. There will be no trial. They’ve already told us their plan. They will kill Jorden slowly and make me watch. Then they will have their fun with me before they end me. The alpha scowls, and I lick my lips hungrily. Something in me wants to come out and play. Lord Archer raises his eyebrow. Amusement flickers in his eyes.

Caspian’s eyes on me turn wicked and predatory. His lips slowly curl into a playful, yet sinister smile.

“I want it done today,” demands the crown prince suddenly.

The alpha looks like he’s about to object for a second, but catches himself.

“Get the preparations going,” says Lord Archer with finality. He dismisses the alpha and motions for everybody to get out.

Caspian is the last one in the room. I thought he was leaving like the rest of them, but when everyone has left, he turns around and leans close to me.

His lips almost touch my neck as he takes a deep breath like a man drowning, dying without oxygen for too long.

“My love,” he whispers. His voice is breaking. Desperate.

I can’t help myself. I raise my hand and run my fingers softly along his jawline. He closes his eyes like he’s tortured.

The crackles of energy flow between us, and we savor the brief contact. Then he turns around and briskly walks out without a backward glance.

“So that’s the lycan prince,” says Jorden. His eyes are wide with the look of awe.