Chapter 32 MERRY CHRISTMAS

Chapter 32 MERRY CHRISTMAS
Hazel P.O.V.

My eyelids open to a striped ceiling—one that is starting to look sadly familiar. My cage. My new home.
How long have I been here?
At least ten meals, though I'm not sure how often they come.
After my escape attempt, Danny left me without food for a long time—long enough to make me drowsy and unable to stand on my own. When he noticed my life force waning, he hooked me up to an IV, which gave me some strength back. After that, he started feeding me at regular intervals, though the amount is rationed. It always arrives when my stomach is already painfully cramping, so probably still not regularly enough.
Every day, when I'm not sleeping, I ask myself the same damn questions: How long will he keep me here? Will he ever manage to contact Derek? Will Derek really come? Do I want him to? Who is the person Derek took from him? What happened?
The same questions, over and over. But I can never guess the right answer to any of them.
I've also tried to think of ways to escape this hellhole, but I can't find any—not as long as I'm stuck in this cage twenty-four seven with this hideous collar suppressing my wolf and my powers.
I can only wish for a miracle, even if I know it's stupid. Miracles never happen. Not in the real world.
"Rise and shine," Danny's fake voice filters through the closed door at the top of the stairs. My mood sours even more.
Mind you, I'm happy to be getting food. But the frustration of not being able to get any answers out of him weighs me down. I wish he would just tell me his past. I'm sure we could work something out—in the name of our past friendship. I won't believe for one second that he was always faking it. There must have been at least one moment when he truly cared about me. Or maybe I'm just delusional.
He walks leisurely down the stairs, a tray of food in his hands. Today he's wearing a red jumper and black jeans. His hair is styled carefully—not really his usual style. He's more of a T-shirt, sweatpants, messy-bedhead kind of guy.
"Merry Christmas!" he announces happily.
My heart skips a beat.
Christmas. It's already Christmas. I've been here for around a month. Already.
The shock leaves me speechless.
It's Christmas. My favorite holiday of the year. And I'm here in a cold cage. Without Derek. Without my friends and pack members.
Tears fall before I can stop them. Danny scrunches up his face.
"Oh, come on. Don't go all sad on me now!" he says, sounding annoyed and impatient. Then he continues in his fake happy tone, "Look, I've brought you steak, wine, and a present!"
I want to tell him to shove those where the sun doesn't shine. But I've learned the hard way that it's better not to anger him.
It takes every ounce of my self-control to stop crying and somehow compose myself. Danny still looks disappointed. He was probably hoping for a smile. But Goddess, I wouldn't be able to give him that—not even if he threatened me with a gun to my head.
Then he does the unexpected. He unlocks the cage door and holds it wide open for me.
"You're allowed toilet access and a quick shower. I can't stand your stink anymore. You smell rotten, and the odor sticks to my nostrils for hours every time I check on you."
I'm not sure whether to say thank you or punch him in his shitty face. In the end, I settle for doing neither. I climb clumsily out of the cage and stand on shaky legs.
"Here." He hands me a red plastic bag containing something soft. A plushie? A blanket? I'm curious, though I don't want to give him the satisfaction of opening it in front of him. I'll check it out in the bathroom.
"You should ease up on the carbohydrates. That belly won't go down easily," Danny comments, making me feel exposed and ashamed of myself. Then he adds as an afterthought, "I'm clearly being too generous with your food."
Generous? My ass.
I call him every insult I can think of in my head until I reach the bathroom and shut the door behind me.
I wish there were a mirror in here to see the state I'm in. But maybe it's better if I don't.
I quickly do my business and take a hot shower, worried he'll change his mind and drag me out before I can finish. Still wet, I open the plastic bag and find a clean towel, which I use to dry myself off. And, to my surprise, a red jumper dress. It's soft and fluffy. I put it on immediately—for the first time since I arrived, I feel warm and decent.
I wrap my still-wet hair in the towel, not wanting to wet the jumper and hoping it will help my hair dry faster.
When I step out of the bathroom, Danny is still there, now seated on the floor in front of two plates of steak and two paper cups containing a red liquid—the wine he mentioned, I suppose. There's no cutlery, but the steaks have already been cut into small pieces. I guess he doesn't feel safe letting me near sharp objects.
"Feeling better?" he asks, motioning for me to sit across from him.
I nod and sit down, feeling anxious. Not sure what to expect next.
"Cat got your tongue?" He sounds annoyed again.
What does he expect from me? To chat happily as if he's not keeping me prisoner in a basement?
"What's all this?" I ask instead, gesturing to my dress and the meal setup.
"It's Christmas. And I'm not a monster, even if you might think so." He shrugs, but I'm still not convinced. He's hiding something.
"Eat," he motions to my plate. I comply.
The first bite explodes in my mouth—a hurricane of taste and deliciousness. This is the best steak I've ever had. Or maybe I'm just starving, and my brain is overthinking it. No matter. I'll enjoy every piece.
We eat in silence for a while. Then he raises his cup and waits for me to do the same. I do. He makes a toast, which feels all kinds of wrong. Toasting with my captor—something I never thought I'd do. But we were once friends. And especially on this day, that must still mean something.
So I gather my courage and ask the question he's never answered.
"Danny." I call him softly. He looks up, surprised at my initiative. "Who's the person you lost? Would you tell me?"
His expression hardens. For a long moment, I think he might decide this was a mistake or simply ignore me. Instead, to my utter disbelief, he says, "My mate."
He lost his mate because of Derek. That would explain his deep hatred and his mental instability. Some wolves go mad after losing the other half of their souls.
But the question remains. Who was Danny's mate?
"Why would Derek…? I mean, what happened between them?" I ask tentatively.
He slams his hands on the floor, making the plates rattle.
"Now you're getting too nosy!" he warns, his voice raised.
Then an idea pops into my mind.
I grab the china plate and smash it on the floor. It breaks into sharp-edged pieces. I snatch the sharpest one before Danny can stop me. I scramble to my feet and put some distance between us, the jagged edge pressed against my jugular. My eyes stay locked on Danny, who sits tense on the floor.
His calculating gaze assesses everything, gauging whether he can reach me before I do too much damage.
I press the edge into my throat—drawing blood, but not deep enough to hit any major artery.
"Who was your mate?" My tone is firm, demanding. Showing that I'm the one in charge now.
He can't let me die and lose his leverage. And he knows it.
Silence. He still won't spill the beans.
I press the blade harder. Darker blood gushes from the wound. An incentive.