Chapter 17 Sneaking Out Of The Pack-house
Aurelia
I couldn't just sit back and watch while Ravina conspired against me. If she was working with my father, then it meant he was after me.
It was the perfect explanation. He'd been searching for me for years, and it was no longer news that I was Alpha Zhayad's mate.
Somehow, he knew Ravina was desperate to get rid of me, so he gave her a golden opportunity.
I needed to act fast. Before moonset, I needed to be at the Eastern ridge. Varrick's scouts would never lay their hands on that vial, I would make sure of that. Because if that vial reached Varrick’s scouts by moonset, the breach would begin and the wards would falter.
NeonFang wolves would pour through like floodwater. And in the chaos, Zhayad would look at me and see only my father’s daughter.
I pretended to read throughout the day, skipping lunch so I wouldn't doze off.
My only problem was how to leave the pack house without anyone noticing. I mean, how do you walk out of the pack house full of wolves without them sniffing your scent?
A knock on the door startled me, ripping my thoughts apart and scattering them apart. A shifter-maid strode into the room, shutting the door behind her.
“I didn't order anything.” I said, sitting up at once and eyeing her warily.
“I know,” she replied in a clipped tone. “The matron sent for you.” She hissed, waiting for me to jump and obey.
“How about she comes up instead? As you can see, I'm quite busy.” I said calmly, waving the book in my hand.
She stomped her foot. “She said—”
“She said what?” I asked her calmly.
“You know, everyone is disgusted. The sight of you alone disgusts the whole pack. Everything about you is wrong, especially the dark magic running in your veins. You should be burned at the pyre.” Spittle flew from her mouth as she spoke the harsh words.
There was nothing innocent about this maid, so it wouldn't hurt to use her for the plan I had in mind.
I stretched out my arm and tugged on her mind with my magic, sending out threads of my magic to weave themselves through her mind.
Her eyes dulled instantly and she hung her head low like a puppet. She hadn't even put up a fight.
“Get me a uniform just like yours. If anyone asks you anything, you're just doing the laundry. Get back to me in twenty minutes time.” My voice was smooth, it needed to be just like the threads that I'd woven through her mind.
She nodded limply and turned around like a zombie. I held my breath as she headed for the door, her gait awkward and stiff.
Exactly twenty minutes later, she stumbled into the bedroom with a uniform bundled in her arms. She stopped at the bed, waiting for her next orders.
“Come and sit on the bed. We have somewhere we're going soon, and you will be my way out.” I said calmly, twisting the threads so she would lift her eyes and meet my eyes.
She nodded, then plopped down on the bed. I wasted no time in getting myself inside the uniform.
The uniform was small. Painfully small. I cursed under my breath as I wrestled the pleated pinafore over my hips. The stiff fabric fought back, scraping my skin, catching on every curve I’d never quite learned to hate or love.
My nails left angry red crescents along my thighs with each vicious tug.
One million tiny battles later, the dress finally surrendered, but barely. The waistband dug into my lower belly like a warning.
The blouse strained across my chest, the buttons pulling tight enough that I could hear the thread groan. I looked down at myself and almost laughed.
I looked ridiculous. I also looked exactly like every other overworked, underfed maid who worked in the pack house.
Perfect.
I turned to the enthralled girl sitting woodenly on the edge of the bed. Her eyes were still glassy, her pupils blown wide like ink spilled in water.
“Listen carefully,” I said, my voice low and threaded with the same silken magic that held her. “In a moment, we’re going to walk out of here. You will carry the laundry basket. I will follow two steps behind you with the second basket. If anyone speaks to you, you answer normally. You say you're tired and bored. If they speak to me—” I paused, tilting my head. “—you answer for me. You say I’m new and still learning. You’ll handle the talking.”
A faint, automatic nod.
“Good.” I reached out and brushed a stray lock of hair from her face, almost tenderly. “One last thing. If anyone tries to stop us… you faint. Right there. You will also make it super dramatic. Can you do that?”
Another slow blink, then, “Yes.”
“Then, let's go.” I grabbed the second basket from her limp arms, heavy with towels that smelled faintly of mildew. She rose like a marionette whose strings had just been jerked upright, lifted the larger basket, and shuffled toward the door.
I followed.
Our footsteps echoed too loudly in my ears. My heart slammed against the too-tight blouse like it wanted out more than I did.
We passed the first patrol, two young make shifters leaning against the banister, laughing about tits and asses.
Their eyes slid over us the way people look at furniture, present, unremarkable, and dismissible.
The maid didn’t even falter. She kept her head slightly bowed, the perfect picture of someone who’d rather be anywhere else.
I copied her posture and kept my breathing even. I kept my magic coiled tight behind my teeth so it wouldn’t leak.
In the second hallway, an older, sour-faced beta female swept past us with a basket of her own. She glanced once at us and herr nostrils flared.
My fingers twitched toward the threads still wrapped around my puppet’s mind.
But the beta only sniffed once more, wrinkled her nose in disgust, and muttered, “You girls reek of the lower laundry again,” before stalking off.
I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I was holding.
We descended a narrow staircase that smelled of damp stone and old blood.
At the bottom, the heavy door to the yard stood half-open. Cold air rushed in, carrying the scent of pine, wet earth, and distant freedom.
Together, we crossed the threshold into the gray afternoon.
The moment the yard gate clanged shut behind us, I felt the pack house’s attention loosen like a fist finally unclenching.
Twenty paces later, when we reached the line of service sheds, I stopped.
I turned to my unwilling accomplice. Her head was still bowed.
I lifted a hand, brushing the threads of magic free with a gentle, almost regretful pull.
Her body jerked once, hard, like someone waking from sleep paralysis. A gasp tore out of her throat.
Wide, horrified eyes flew to mine.
“You—” she choked.
“Shhh.” I pressed one finger to my lips. “You’re going to walk back inside now. You’re going to tell them you finished the laundry rounds. You’re going to forget my face. You’re going to forget this conversation. And if you ever try to remember…” I let the threat hang, “…you’ll wish you’d never been born with a tongue.”
Tears welled in her eyes. She nodded frantically.
“Go.”
She stumbled backward, then turned and fled toward the pack house like the hounds of hell were at her heels.
I waited until she disappeared inside.
Then I dropped both baskets behind the nearest shed, hiked up the ridiculous pinafore, and ran.