Sliding a veil over my head and wrapping half of my face with it, I slipped out of the manor just as the rays of the first morning light stroked my skin, passing through the tall, shuttered windows and seeping in through the opening between the thick curtains that shielded it.
I climbed down the window, a dangerous feat that was but with Luther standing guard just outside my door, I didn't think he would appreciate me going out this early and alone just as I would like. Although he had suggested the meeting, I was certain Luther wouldn't let me go unaccompanied, so here I was, climbing down walls and attempting to go see Vaughn Thurlow in the dungeon.
In the distance, the sound of cicadas singing reached me as I made my way past the lush greenery that surrounded the manor. In stealthy steps, I slunk through the gates of the dungeon.
I pull down my scarf showing my face to the warriors stationed right at the mouth of the dungeon, spiraling downward.
They bowed to me respectfully as soon as they figured out my identity.
“Take me to Vaughn,” I said.
One of the two men led me down the vast stairs that sank below. The building was evidently dated centuries back. It was dreary and old, made out of concrete that was already peeling off from its walls, the inside awfully frigid, I let out a shiver at the chillness in the air.
It was deathly silent, the sound of our footsteps ricocheting amidst the stillness.
The otherwise dark building was lit up with oil lamps that hung on both sides of the walls as we made our way down the seemingly endless passageway. Thick, heavy doors enclosed the entrance of what I assumed would be holding cells.
Rows and rows of reverencing holding cells stretched out on both our sides, and I wondered about the people behind the doors.
What crime had they committed?
What were their stories?
How many more men had walked through this path, never to return?
A long time ago, I had snuck out of the cloak of my ignorance, and I had gone to watch the trial of a traitor caught in my pack — I should never have.
My uncle, Silviu, had been the one to behead the man, and the memory had caused nightmares to remain with me for weeks. That had been the beginning of my mother’s coddling, and somehow, we had found solace in the shared presence we gifted each other.
Finally, we took one last turn that led to a dead end, so I figured behind one of the closed doors of the numerous holding cells was Vaughn. The warrior stopped right in front of the last holding cell to the right.
On the wall was a panel that held a lever, and the warrior began pulling it down with difficulty, but slowly, the doors that concealed what was behind it began to lift upward, revealing the bars of the cells.
The cell was dark, and I assumed there would be no window inside it, the prisoners unable to distinguish between day and nighttime. Finally, the door was fully lifted, and the light rays from the lantern hung on the passageway streaming rays of light into one corner of the room, that corner empty.
Only silence came from the cell, and I wondered if Vaughn was still asleep. They might be unable to discern the time, but of course, their circadian clock would still be very well effective, and I hadn't thought of it.
Waking a prisoner up from sleep just to ask questions would certainly make him even more hostile toward me.
“You have a visitor, Vaughn. Light up your lamp!” the warrior bellowed the order.
Still, silence met his words, and I glanced at him, questions etched on my brows.
With a disgruntled sigh, he stretched and grabbed one of the lamps on the wall and brought it toward the entrance of Vaughn’s holding cell.
A scream clawed its way out of my throat as the beam of light settled on Vaughn’s figure on the floor at the farther end of the room. His blood trailed from the beginning of the room, reaching where he lay unconscious as though he had been struggling to escape whoever it was that had done this.
The warrior immediately unlocked the bars.
“Stay here,” he said to me and stepped inside the cell with careful steps, a dagger pulled out from its sheath so that when he reached Vaughn, he first pointed the tip of his blade to the man’s neck and when Vaughn remained motionless, the warrior kicked him overturning his form.
Another cry threatened to escape me, but this time I stopped it, covering my mouth with my palm.
From the multiple outlets of blood that seeped from him, I deduced Vaughn had been stabbed in multiple places. The knife used to do this was stuck in one of his eyes.
****
She fell to her hands and knees and began to crawl her way through the small opening. It had been years since she’d been here, back then, it had been quite easy for her and young Callan to easily slide in, but now here she was, a few seconds in, and she was already feeling claustrophobic. Sweat trickled down her back and temple as she passed through the tiny space.
It was the only passage into the dungeon without going through the main entrance that had the warriors on guard every second of the day.
Finally, she reached another opening, and she climbed up the wall. Doing stunts like this with Callan when they'd been young had been fun and exhilarating, but now she felt discomfort, filthy, and disgusted with the cobwebs that wrapped themselves around her.
As kids, sneaking into the dungeon had just been one of the numerous stunts they pulled and enjoyed. Finding another entrance from the main one had been all the invite they needed. They used to walk around it, his hand behind his back and she next to him as they patrolled the passageway pretending to be overseeing the dungeons affairs, and whenever they passed a prisoner in their holding cells, they would put their head together and whisper their sentence before moving on.
That was until they grew up.
Amelia shook her head, attempting to rid herself of those nostalgic thoughts. Callan obviously doesn't remember or didn't care about the past they shared, and she had no need to continue to hold onto the memories. He was over her, he didn't want her, he’d replaced her and now treated her like she was an irritant in his life.
She wiped herself off the dust and cobwebs. Sneaking out of the infirmary had been hard enough, her body still hurt from the fight, and she was deadly embarrassed by the outcome.
How was she to know the timid, quiet Sophia would have such a ferocious wolf?
The familiar taste of fear returned, and her steps slowed down as she headed to her father’s cell room. She had once more disappointed him and ended up embarrassing herself.
Luther had won her father in his challenge.
Sophia had won her in hers… It was obvious that they were at the losing end. Thurlow's line was once more going to lose to the line of Alpha Demetrius, Callan’s father, after how he had ruined them, ruined their pack, and her family.
“Father,” she called after pulling the lever causing the doors to lift.
Her father lit up his lamp, and she watched as he approached her. His beard had overgrown, a few days stubble, his hair was rough and unruly, and his eyes on her were bloodshot, anger-filled. “Amelia.”
They remained like that for the next few seconds, neither saying a word, and with every passing second, her heart hammered faster, her stomach tightening. She was well aware of the knife tucked on her waist, its sharp end dug into her skin, after all, drawing blood.
“We should give it up,” she urged softly, her voice barely above a whisper. “Beg for Callan’s forgiveness, and you won't be put on trial. There will be conditions to it, but I am certain he won't be cruel enough to continue to incarcerate you.”
Her father said nothing for the longest time but when he finally did, it was to grab her by the neck and pull her toward him, roughly slamming her face against the cell bars that separated them.
“You fucking idiot!” he roared. “I should have known all these while you were useless, a worthless weakling who couldn't do anything on her own.”
She found it ironic and hypocritical, too, that her father was calling her weak when he was the powerless Alpha whose pack was forcefully taken from him.
“Let me go….” she whimpered.
“That equally stupid Radley is dead, and you have just one thing left to do now. You must, against all odds, Amelia, become Luna. Today is your last day, and you come in here to tell me to give up.”
“What more do you want me to do?” she cried. “It is all hopeless now, Father, please….”
“Kill her!” he screamed. “If you can't do it in a fight, then you fucking poison her!”
Her heart stilled. “If I am caught….”
He sneered at her. “If you do it right, no one will catch you.”
“Isla has her watchful eyes on me all the time. I can't get away with poisoning Sophia, I….”
“I do not care one bit about Isla! You do as I say and get me out of here!” he growled.
She shook her head. “Don’t make me do it, Father.” The knife pressed deeper into her skin.
He let her go.
“Your mother was a hoe. Surely, you should have been able to sleep your way into becoming Luna, no?”
“Father…” There was a warning in her tone. “He raped my mother, and she died because of him. Don't call her names.”
“And your mother wanted it. She bore a child for him! She was a stupid whore who thought she could get into the favor of Demetrius by giving him a child and—”
Amelia pulled the knife out and brought it down hard on his chest.
“I warned you,” she said in a deadly cold voice.