Agony fell short; she was shattered.
Charlotte, a werewolf, endured relentless abuse, leaving her utterly fractured. Austin, her supposed mate, subjected her to constant mistreatment and even infidelity.
In a daring escape, she fled, only to encount...
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"Awaken, Leon!" John's voice erupted, accompanied by a stinging slap to my hand.
"What!" I retorted, seething at the turmoil of emotions swirling within me, knowing my mate was still confined in the dungeon.
"Charlotte... she... she fainted," he gasped, obviously winded from his rush up here.
I shot out of bed, my werewolf instincts propelling me toward the dungeon with lightning speed.
And there she lay, my mate, unconscious and vulnerable.
"Why in the world would you handcuff her with silver!" I roared, my alpha voice reverberating throughout the dungeon.
"But... Alpha, you only instructed us to take her to the dungeons without specifying further instructions. We followed the usual protocol for prisoners," one of the guards stammered.
I swung open her cell door, cradling her fragile form in my arms. Removing the silver cuffs, stained with her dried blood, revealed the raw, bruised skin beneath.
Guilt clawed at my conscience, not on my chest, but deep within my mind. What I had allowed to happen was inexcusable.
My hands, smeared with her blood, seemed almost sinister under the flickering yellow light. They glistened in an eerie blackish-gold hue.
I couldn't bear to look at her now. The realization that she had suffered in silence, foregoing food just to see me, was unbearable.
A pack doctor arrived to tend to her arms and administer a much-needed drip due to her malnutrition. I couldn't face her, not with the overwhelming guilt consuming me.
Determined to rescue her, I retreated to my room, grappling with the remorse festering like a volatile fuel within me. It gnawed away at my insides, waiting for the slightest spark to ignite it. It consumed me until there was nothing left but an empty shell.
The image of her in that wretched state replayed in my mind. I vowed never to let her suffer again.
I resolved to convene an emergency council meeting. Within hours, they arrived, and I erupted in frustration. "Why hasn't my mate been released from the dungeon yet? It's been days, and you assured me it would only be temporary!"
"The investigations are ongoing, and your pack is in disarray. I'm beginning to question your ability to lead. Many alphas are interested in your territory, and we're doing our best to assist you," they replied.
"If you can't handle keeping your mate in the dungeon a little longer, perhaps it's time to relinquish your title as alpha of the Blood Moon Pack!" they declared, leaving before I could respond. I had failed to save her once again, but tomorrow, I would find her and explain everything.
Early the next morning, I rushed to the dungeon, only to find it empty. "Where the hell is she?" I bellowed at John.
"Did she escape on her own? I was planning to talk to her today, and she just left!" I seethed.
My knuckles turned white from clenching my fists, and my teeth ground together as I struggled to contain my anger. My rage was like acid, burning, slicing, and potent.
My face was flushed with suppressed fury, and when John touched my shoulder, I snapped.
My fist connected with the wall, leaving a small dent and my knuckles bleeding. I stormed out of the dungeon, leaving a trail of blood behind.
She had abandoned me without waiting for an explanation, but I was determined to find her.
"Search the entire area and neighboring packs for the Luna," I commanded the warriors. I knew she had nowhere to go, and given her stubbornness, she wouldn't return to her parents' home. Where could she have gone?
Hours turned into days, and my anger gave way to worry. I abandoned my paperwork, and the pack members scoured the area. The council was surely on its way, but I didn't care. I needed to find her.
News of my missing mate spread like wildfire throughout the werewolf pack.
When my doorbell rang, I hoped it was a clue or information about her whereabouts.
A box sat on my doorstep, and I anxiously opened it.
Inside was a photo of Charlotte badly beaten up and bruised as well as a small bottle of thick red substance.
It had a metal smell, like iron.
The scent of the blood was more than familiar, it was Charlotte's.
this story is all over the place but hope you like this chapter.
