Chapter 57 Judgment without mercy
The truck jerks to a stop with a violent hiss of hydraulics, the sudden stillness more unsettling than the ride itself.
For a moment, no one moves.
Then the doors open.
Cold air floods in first, sterile, metallic, stripped of any warmth. It smells like disinfectant and fear. Not the sharp, panicked fear of prey, but the controlled, disciplined kind that men with guns carry when they’re facing something they don’t understand.
Hands grip my arms. Rough. Careful, but not kind.
“Move,” someone says.
I do.
As soon as my boots hit the concrete floor of the underground lot, I see them.
Blood Guards.
Too many.
They’re positioned in a semicircle, rifles already raised, red dots blooming across my chest, my throat, my forehead. The lighting is harsh and white, reflecting off polished floors and black armor. Their uniforms are darker than the ones I’ve seen before, sleeker, heavier. The insignia on their shoulders is unfamiliar, sharper, edged with authority.
The Council’s Blood Guard.
Or whatever name they’ve decided to hide behind.
I let out a short breath, unable to stop myself. “You know,” I say lightly, tilting my head just enough to look at them all, “if I wanted to kill you, this would be a very inconvenient setup for me.”
No one laughs.
Not a smirk. Not a twitch.
One of them steps forward, lowering their visor with a mechanical whirr. “Joke again and you’ll be sedated.”
I raise my brows. “Touchy.”
A hand presses between my shoulder blades, urging me forward. The silver cuffs bite into my wrists with every step, a dull burn that seeps into my bones. My ankles ache too, the restraints forcing me into shorter strides, a controlled humiliation.
The garage opens into a wide, spotless corridor, lit from above by long fluorescent strips. The walls are reinforced steel and concrete, layered thick enough that I can feel the weight of them pressing in on my senses. Every sound echoes: boots, weapons shifting, the faint hum of power running through the building.
This place isn’t just a facility.
It’s a statement.
We pass other doors, sealed, numbered, some with red lights glowing ominously above them. I try not to think about what, or who, might be behind them.
Finally, we stop.
The door in front of us isn’t metal.
It’s glass.
Thick. Reinforced. Layered with glowing runes etched into its surface, faintly pulsing as I’m brought closer. My skin prickles immediately, my beast stirring uneasily beneath my ribs. Whatever magic they’ve woven into this place, it knows what I am.
Or at least what they think I am.
“Inside,” the guard says.
The door slides open with a soft hiss.
I step into the containment cell, every instinct screaming at me to tear it apart, to rip and claw and prove them wrong about who holds the power here. The space is larger than the glass box I was kept in before, with a high ceiling, smooth floor, and a narrow cot bolted to one wall.
Still a cage.
The door seals behind me.
The sound is final.
I turn slowly, pressing my palms against the glass. It’s warm. Alive with energy. I can feel it pushing back against me, like a steady, unyielding pulse.
They unfasten the cuffs through an opening, retracting them with practiced efficiency. Even without the restraints, the magic in the room wraps around me like invisible chains. My limbs feel heavier. My senses muted, dulled just enough to keep me compliant.
One of the guards leans closer to the glass, his voice filtered and flat. “You’ll remain here until the Council decides otherwise.”
“And if I don’t feel like waiting?” I ask quietly.
His eyes flicker, just for a second.
Then the door slides shut completely, and they’re gone.
Silence rushes in to take their place.
Not peace. Never peace.
Just silence.
I sink onto the cot, the weight of everything finally settling into my chest. My hands tremble now that there’s no one watching, no reason to pretend I’m not afraid.
Because I am.
I hate that I am.
The lights dim automatically, shifting to a low, artificial twilight. I lie back and stare at the ceiling, watching the faint reflections of the runes ripple across the glass walls.
My father’s face surfaces without warning.
Jack Soren, laughing, tired, stubborn to the end. The way he used to ruffle my hair and tell me I was stronger than I thought. The way his eyes softened whenever he looked at me, like I was the best thing he ever made.
“I’m sorry,” I whisper to the empty room.
I don’t know who I’m apologizing to anymore. Him. Myself. The girl I used to be before everything shattered.
Before Darius.
My chest tightens at the thought of him.
The way he looked when they took me.
Fury. Helplessness. Something raw and unguarded that didn’t look like the Alpha King at all, but a man watching someone important being ripped away from him.
He said he’d get me out.
I want to believe him.
I really do.
But this is the Council.
They don’t care about bonds or kings or truth. They care about control. About fear. About erasing anything that threatens their fragile order.
And I am all three.
Sleep creeps up on me eventually, heavy and unavoidable. When it takes me, it’s not gentle.
I dream of mirrors again.
Of my reflection stepping out of the glass, smiling with my mouth full of fangs. Of claws reaching for me from the other side, pulling me apart piece by piece.
I wake with a sharp gasp, heart racing, tears burning behind my eyes.
I curl onto my side, pressing my forehead against the cold glass.
“Dad,” I whisper, voice breaking. “I don’t want to be alone anymore.”
Somewhere above me, beyond concrete and steel and politics, Darius is fighting.
I hope.
Because if he doesn’t mean what he said.
If he doesn’t come for me.
This place will break me long before they ever put me on trial.