Midnight Howling Book 1

Chapter 39: Lyra/Alex

Lyras POV

Lyra woke up on the cold, hard floor, her senses filled with a strange mixture of familiarity and dread. Her body ached all over, and there was a painful emptiness in her chest that made her want to scream. She cracked her eyes open, her vision blurry, and the sight that greeted her twisted her stomach in knots. She was back in the basement of her old home. The place she had once been forced to call home, but it had never been that to her—never a true home.

The basement was slightly different than she remembered, but the changes only made her stomach churn more. She was in a steel cage, about five feet by five feet, with bars that went from the floor to the ceiling. A heavy chain connected her feet together, latching her to the wall, keeping her movement restricted. Her mind was foggy, but as she looked around, the realization of her situation hit her like a punch to the gut.

Lyra tried to focus, tried to find the one thing that always made her feel safe, her wolf. She closed her eyes, Onyx? she called out to her wolf, expecting her growl, her strength, her comforting presence. But there was only silence.

Panic gripped her, her breathing growing shallow. Onyx? she called again, her thoughts echoing in her own empty mind. But there was nothing. No answer, no warmth. She was utterly alone.

Fear curled around her chest, squeezing tighter with every breath she took. She was alone, and she was back in this hell. Memories flashed in her mind, one after another, a rush of pain and suffering she had tried to forget. Her fake father—John—throwing her down the stairs, his heavy boots kicking her in the stomach for breaking a vase, knocking her into the sink for not cleaning it properly, busting her face until she passed out. Her sister, standing by and dumping food over her head, blaming her, which always ended in more beatings. It all came rushing back, and the fear clawed at her, tearing her apart.

The sudden creak of the basement door opening snapped her back to reality, and her heart froze. The footsteps—she knew those footsteps all too well. The slow, deliberate thud of John's boots against the wooden stairs as he descended into the basement. Lyra's body went rigid, hatred and fear clashing within her, holding her in place.

John reached the final step, his dull gray eyes locking onto her, a sneer curling across his lips.

"Well, well," he drawled, his voice filled with mockery, "not afraid anymore, are we?" He stepped closer, his sneer widening. "We can fix that."

He unlocked the door to the cage, the metal creaking as it swung open. He moved toward her, and before Lyra could react, his hand was in her hair, his fingers curling around the strands and yanking her up to her feet. Pain shot through her scalp, but she refused to cry out, refused to give him the satisfaction. He pulled her close, his rancid breath hot against her face.

"You smell like one of them now," he spat, his voice dripping with disgust. "A filthy dog." He spat in her face, and Lyra snarled at him, her hatred flaring.

John's eyes narrowed, and a cruel smile spread across his face. "Oh, you've got some fight in you, huh? Let's see how long that lasts." He yanked harder on her hair, his free hand pulling back before his fist connected with her face. Once, twice—he punched her again and again, each blow knocking her head back, the metallic taste of blood filling her mouth. But Lyra refused to break, refused to submit.

"You think you can glare at me like that?" John hissed, his face twisted with rage. "You think you're better than me, you little bitch?"

Lyra's vision blurred, but she kept her eyes locked on him, even as tears gathered, even as her face throbbed with pain. She tried to pull away, but he only tightened his grip, his fist connecting with her face once more.