Chapter 30 ESCAPE ATTEMPT

Chapter 30 ESCAPE ATTEMPT
Hazel P.O.V.

I wake up in my beautiful, cozy cage, and I'm pissed.
I have every right to be. This situation sucks. And my life sucks even in my dreams—why did she have to push him away? The look on Derek's face when she told him off broke me into pieces. Why did I have to be so cruel?
I want my Derek back. I want my freedom back. And I want to pee.
But I refuse to do it here. Seriously. I'm not sleeping in my own urine.
Minutes pass. Maybe hours. Finally, the door opens again.
Not knowing how long I've been here, or how much time has passed since we last spoke, still unsettles me. But I don't want to annoy him by asking something he might not want to share. I need to fight my battles strategically.
"Danny! You're here!" I fake elation and bat my lashes innocently.
I know—yuck, yuck, yuck. But a girl does what a girl's gotta do.
He smirks knowingly, reading right through me. Crap. We've spent too much time together. He knows all my tricks.
"What are you up to?"
"I need to pee," I say bluntly, no longer caring about shame.
"Then do it." He says it like it's simple and obvious.
"Not in here like a dog. I need a toilet. And even dogs are allowed strolls to relieve themselves," I point out.
"Weren't you a kitten? Maybe I should get you some sand," he mocks.
"Danny!" I growl, losing my cool and grabbing the bars without thinking. My palms frizzle and I hiss in pain. Bloody silver, I forgot about it.
He tuts, unimpressed.
"If that's supposed to scare me, you need to practice your performance."
Dick.
Threats won't get me far, so I change strategy.
"Please. Please, pretty please. I beg you. Don't make me sleep in my own waste. Please. I couldn't possibly survive that."
I know. I've stooped this low—begging my captor. But what else am I supposed to do?
"Plus, this collar is suppressing my wolf. And we both know that in hand-to-hand combat, I'll never win against you. I'll behave, I swear."
I put on a pitiful expression, cross my heart, squeeze my eyes shut, and press my palms together in silent pleading.
A long silence follows as he decides what to do with me.
Finally, he exhales. Before I can open my eyes, I hear the clinking of keys. My eyes fly open to witness this epic moment—the moment I finally get free of this bloody cage.
He opens the door cautiously, shooting me a warning glare. But honestly, he doesn't need to. I have no intention of trying anything. Toilet first. Escape plans later.
Unfortunately, there's a bathroom in the basement, so no chance of getting upstairs. But at least I don't have to use a bucket.
Now that I feel like a person again—more or less—someone needs to give me answers.
"How will you lure Derek here? Do you even know where he is?" I ask, posing at the cage's door. I have no plan of getting back in there so soon.
"None of your concern. What you need to do is behave and keep your little mouth shut. Now get back inside."
"I thought we agreed I didn't need to stay in the cage. I'm not a threat," I try arguing.
"You're a white wolf. Blessed by the Moon Goddess herself. You'll always be a threat," he says flatly.
"What's with the double standards? And you said it yourself—the Moon Goddess blessed me. Aren't you afraid of facing her wrath?"
"Gods don't meddle in mortal matters. You've come close to dying so many times. You should have learned a thing or two."
I don't agree with him. Gods do meddle, even if sometimes it's better they didn't. But I don't want to waste my chance of getting more information by talking about deities.
"Why did you save me? In the forest. At the warehouse. Why don't you kill me now? My death would definitely make Derek suffer."
I take a few slow steps toward him, studying his reaction.
He shakes his head, as if I'm talking nonsense.
"You don't get it, do you? I want to see him suffer at my hands. To crumble right in front of my eyes."
"Why? What did he do to you?"
I keep my voice level, showing no emotion. I take another couple of steps toward him.
"He took the only thing that ever mattered in my entire life."
"Someone you cared for?" My tone is soothing, understanding. I place a hand on his forearm—the arm not holding the tray of food.
His gaze locks with mine, full of sorrow, fury, and resentment.
He's distracted. That's my chance.
I grip the tray firmly with my left hand and smash it into his face. Pieces of salad and cake fly everywhere. In the confusion, I slip my hand into his jeans pocket and retrieve the bunch of keys—including the one that opens the door upstairs.
I bolt for the door. I might not be as strong as him, but I am definitely faster.
Let me correct that statement. I am definitely faster when I have my wolf. Not now that I'm practically human. And as I should have expected, before I can even reach the stairs, his hand tangles in my hair and yanks back with force, nearly tearing out half my scalp.
The force of his pull throws me backward, and I land flat on my back with a loud thud.
"Bitch!" he roars, dragging me back by my hair.
I push with my legs, trying to ease the tension on my scalp, which is drumming to its own beat.
He throws me forcefully inside the open cage, slams the door with a loud bang, and immediately locks it.
He takes a few steps back, nostrils flaring, hands clenching and unclenching.
Oh, he's pissed.
I massage my scalp gingerly. The pain sears through my head like a thousand needles, and I already feel a headache coming on.
"She said white wolves couldn't be trusted. I didn't want to believe her. But now I have confirmation right in front of my eyes."
What a cunt.
"Like sandy wolves can be trusted. You faked being my friend for months, then kidnapped me and caged me here. Fuck you and your double standards."
"SHUT UP!" he rages, his booming voice filling the room.
Alrighty. I really should learn to keep my mouth shut. For my own good.
"You will pay soon. You and your bastard of a mate."
With his threat still hanging in the air, he turns away—not caring about the mess of food on the floor—and goes back where he came from, locking the door behind him.
Damn it. I was so close.
My scalp is still throbbing, and my right shoulder aches too. It took the brunt of my unceremonious return to the cage—a hard shove followed by a hard fall. I can already see it turning purple. Just what I needed.
Now I'm back in my cage. No food. No water. No clothes. No toilet.
A silent tear betrays me and slides treacherously down my cheek. I wipe it away with the back of my hand. I won't give in. Because if I open the floodgates now, he'll know he's managed to break me. And I refuse to give him that satisfaction.
My stomach growls angrily. Cramps of hunger make me heave a heavy sigh. A flash of memory comes: Derek warming and massaging my belly with his warm hand when the poison cramps would make me crumble in pain.
Another tear escapes the dam I've put in place. This time, I don't even bother to hide it. I lie down on the floor of the cage in a fetal position, my legs cramped in the tight space. I massage my abdomen with my hand, pretending in my head that it's Derek's hand. Somehow, this thought relaxes me a little.
Surprisingly, my belly feels rounder than before—strange, considering how many meals I've already missed. Maybe it's the sitting position I'm forced into, making all the fat accumulate on my stomach. Well, I guess it doesn't really matter. I'll probably be a fat-bellied corpse soon enough. No one will care.