The Alphas Sister (Complete)

Chapter Twenty-Five: Caged Truths

My eyes felt like lead, lids glued shut. I forced them open—darkness, thick and disorienting. Groaning, I tried sitting up—thwack—my skull cracked against something solid. "Ouch," I muttered, hand flying to my head, then reaching up. Rough wooden slats met my fingers, uneven and splintered. A bunk. I blinked hard, vision swimming, and it cleared slow—grey concrete walls, a rusted toilet bolted in the corner, steel bars glinting faintly on one side. A cell—dank, cold, unfamiliar, the air stale with damp and metal, a faint mildew tang clinging to it.

"About time you woke up," a voice sneered from beyond the bars—grating, sharp, one I hadn't heard in months. My gut twisted, fury sparking through the haze.

"Shane..." I growled, venom lacing his name, eyes narrowing as his blurry shape sharpened—lean, dark hair shaggy, a scar hooking his lip from some old brawl, not my fists.

He edged closer, boots scuffing the concrete. "Yeah, didn't think you'd see me again, huh?" He chuckled, low and bitter. "Funny how we've switched sides—me free, you caged."

My wrapped hand clenched—still stiff, but movable—leg twitching beneath me, tender but waking from that damn dart. The fog clung, a dull ache pulsing in my neck, but I shoved it down. "Where's Electra?" I asked, voice steady, hiding the storm building.

Shane's laugh grated louder. "Oh, they're taking real good care of her." His tone dripped double meaning, smug and taunting, eyes glinting under the flickering bulb overhead.

I stood, slow—legs wobbly, head spinning—and scanned the cell: bare walls scratched with claw marks, a thin mattress sagging on the lower bunk, shadows jagged across the floor. Anger burned hotter, the sedative fading fast. He was lying—he had to be. I'd rip the truth out if I played this right. "You're full of shit," I said, nonchalant, drifting toward the bars.

He hummed, leaning in, smirk widening. "They were having a good time when I left—her and those guards—"

Too busy gloating, he didn't see me move. I lunged, arm shooting through the bars, fingers clamping his neck—hard. "Tell me where she fucking is, or I'll kill you!" I squeezed, his gasps rasping, face purpling.

A sharp jab pierced my arm—needle sting—and I snarled, grip loosening. Shane stumbled back, coughing, as dizziness hit—not blackout deep, just a sluggish wave. I glared at the new figure—blond, broad, camo pants—holding a syringe. "Why mess with him?" he snapped at Shane, voice clipped.

Shane rubbed his throat, glaring. "He's part of why I'm here—stuck, while my girl's pregnant back home." His arm jabbed toward me, rage twisting his scarred face. "Him and that damn pack tossed me out."

The blond sighed, exasperated. "We're supposed to explain shit when he wakes—calmly take him to his mate." He tutted. "Wanna get booted from another pack?"

"No!" Shane barked, defensive.

"Then follow the damn rules," the blond shot back, disapproval thick. I slumped to the floor, concrete biting my knees, head lolling—still dizzy, but ears sharp.

"Kyan," the blond said, softer, crouching to my level. "I'm Marcus. Sorry about the sedative—I had to stop you choking him." His blue eyes were steady, almost apologetic, blond hair cropped military-short.

I squinted up, breath steadying. Shane was a grudge-bearing ass, but Marcus might talk. "Where am I?" My voice rasped, throat dry.

Marcus stood, unlocking the bars with a keycard—beep, clank. "The Alpha'll explain better." He glanced at Shane. 

"You think this is smart letting him out?" Shanes eye's widened.

"You've done enough damage," Marcus grunted at him, then nodded to me. "His mate'll calm him—the sedative's only light now." They hauled me up—Marcus on my right, firm but not rough; Shane on my left, grip spiteful. My legs dragged, boots scraping, but I didn't fight—yet.

They pulled me through a steel door—keypad glowing red, then green—into a hallway: concrete, sterile, lined with identical doors, each with a frosted glass panel and keypad. Overhead, fluorescent strips buzzed, casting harsh light on scuffed floors marked with boot prints. "Don't worry," Marcus said, catching my dazed glance. "She's close—a few minutes away."

Countless doors blurred past—ten, twenty?—then a right turn into another corridor, narrower, air cooler, a faint hum of generators vibrating the walls. Feeling crept back—pins and needles in my arms, legs steadier. No trust here—Shane's hate, Marcus's calm, this maze of a base. I had to break free. I shoved Shane hard—he slammed into the wall with a thud, winded—and swung at Marcus. He caught my arm, twisting it sharp, forcing me to my knees. Pain lanced through—growl tearing out.

What he didn't expect: I knew the counter. I twisted right, broke his hold, and shoved him back—his shoulders hit the wall, breath whooshing out. Legs still numb, I couldn't stand. He charged again; I grabbed his ankle, yanking—he crashed backward, skull smacking concrete.

"Kyan! Stop!" Her voice—clear, angelic—froze me mid-lunge. Down the hall, Electra stood—green sweater dirt-streaked, brown hair loose—confusion knitting her brow. A man loomed beside her—tall, dark-haired, familiar somehow. I growled low, possessive.

She glanced at him; he nodded. She hurried toward me, boots echoing on the polished floor. I stumbled up—two shaky steps—before she knelt, breathless. "Kyan." Her voice trembled, relief flooding it.

I pulled her into me—tight, desperate—tingles erupting, warm and alive, chasing the sedative's chill. Pushing her back, I cupped her face—soft, unharmed, green eyes bright. "They didn't hurt you?" She shook her head, and I kissed her—hard, grateful, tasting wildflowers and dust.

"Kyan, listen," she said, pulling back, eyes shimmering with something—mystery, hope. "This is my brother's pack."

I blinked, confused. "But Cade—"

"Not Cade," she cut in, smiling soft. "My real brother—the alpha here." She turned, and the man approached—cautious, steady. "Kyan, this is Jacob. Jacob, my mate, Kyan."

Jacob stepped up—broad, mid-twenties, dark hair curling at the nape, green eyes like hers but sharper, a faint scar tracing his jaw. "Let me help," he said, voice warm, offering a hand—calloused, strong. I took it, unsteady, and he pulled me up. Electra slid under my arm, bracing me—tingles steadying my wobble.

Jacob glanced back. "You two—back to your posts," he ordered—Marcus and Shane, forgotten in my haze, shuffling off. Marcus rubbed his head; Shane glared daggers, limping slightly.

I looked down at Electra—safe, here—but my head spun. "What's going on?" I asked, voice rough, lost.

Jacob chuckled, low and easy. "Figured you'd be foggy. There's lots to unpack—come to my office, we'll sort it." He motioned down the hall—ahead, a wider door, wood-panelled unlike the rest, a brass nameplate reading "Alpha Jacob."

Electra snuggled closer as we walked, her warmth anchoring me through the corridor—past more doors, a stairwell humming with distant voices, walls lined with faded patrol schedules. "You okay?" I murmured, worry gnawing.

She smiled up, radiant. "Yeah—it feels right for once. I missed you." Her arms tightened, squeezing my waist.

"I'm glad you're safe," I said, kissing her head—wildflowers flooding me, mate bond humming.

"I'm glad you are too," she replied, pecking my cheek, then hesitated, stepping back from Jacob's earshot. He took the hint, pacing ahead. "One thing," she whispered, eyes pleading.

"Anything," I said, frowning—she looked upset.

"Hear Jacob out—what he says." She paused, voice firm. "You might doubt him, but I believe him. It's the truth."

I nodded, kissing her head again—soft, reassuring. "For you, I'll listen."