Chapter 41

LEAH

Pain and I… we’ve been longtime companions. Breathing heavily, I looked front, and my body felt like it had been dragged through hell though I’ve fought through broken bones, bled for wolves who never once deserved my loyalty, and carried grief like a second skin. But this… this is a different breed of agony. One that doesn't just rake its claws through flesh, it scrapes against the soul.

The machine strapped to my chest hums like a predator, its silver gears whirring in time with the pulses of torment it feeds into me. Every time it surges, I feel something being pulled from my core, like muscle torn from bone. I bite down hard, swallowing a scream that claws its way up my throat.

My back arches violently, involuntarily. My breath hitches.

The cuffs around my wrists burn like open fir soaked in wolfsbane, they sear through skin and muscle, keeping my wolf sedated, quiet, caged. My ankles are locked down to the legs of the chair, chained with old iron laced in suppressive magic. I can’t shift. I can’t heal. I can’t even scream loud enough to drown the sound of my bones grinding under the pressure.

But I don’t cry.

I promised myself I wouldn’t, not for him, not for Victor, not for the smug bastard who paces this godforsaken lab like a victor before the war is even over.

“Still conscious, I see,” his voice purrs from the shadows, slick and vile. It drips with that condescension he wears like a tailored coat.

I had woken up after I passed out before, but I left my eyes to remain closed so I could stay longer within hearing his voice, but the bastard didn't stop talking, it's as if he knew I was awake but was pretending to be asleep

I don’t look at him. I won’t. Irritation coursed through my body knowing that I had already given him too much. Too much of my time. Too much of my blood. Too much of my power I didn't really have a choice, but I do in this one he won’t get my eyes.

His boots click across the floor with that arrogant gait I’ve memorized too well. The scent of him made me want to throw up so bad as it burns my nostrils. I turn my head slightly to the side, refusing to meet the smirk I can feel radiating off him like heat.

He crouches beside me, gloved fingers gripping my chin, tilting my head up with all the reverence one gives a corpse. “I must admit, Leah,” he murmurs, eyes gleaming. “You’ve lasted longer than expected. Most would have been unconscious by now.”

I stare right through him.

I want him to see it, that I am not broken. Even if I was far away from home, I knew deep in my heart that Dante would never leave me here.

His grin stretches wider. “You know, the blood in your veins… it’s legend. Moon-touched. Blessed. Sacred. That kind of power should be shared.”

No, that kind of power should never touch hands like his.

He turns his back to me and strolls toward the control panel, humming as if he’s not torturing someone with divine essence. His fingers glide across glowing dials and arcane levers, and the machine shrieks back to life.

A fresh wave of pain rips through me, my spine bows so hard I nearly black out. A strangled sound escapes my throat, half scream, half gasp. I bite my tongue, taste blood. My limbs twitch violently as magic is drained from my very marrow.

You’re not giving in, not now. I let my body remember the familiar joy, he was not going to see me break, not ever.

I squeeze my eyes shut and focus, force myself to listen beyond the agony. There’s a steady hum from the machine. A faint clicking from the ventilation above. A slow, constant drip from the far corner of the room.

Catalog it. Every sound. Every pattern. Every possible weakness. Because this isn’t about strength anymore, this is about strategy he thinks I’m breaking, that’s his first mistake.

Time slips through the cracks of consciousness like water through clenched fists. I can’t tell if it’s been hours or days anymore. All I know is the endless loop of pain, darkness, and Victor’s voice slithering around my skull.

Each time he comes, I give him a little less information. He wanted to know what's going on in the palace, but it was basically useless, he could not get the information he needed, hell he even tried to bribe me, but I remained shut.

I slump lower. Let my eyes glaze over. I mutter nonsense and let my head roll on my shoulders like my mind’s falling apart, and he believes it.

He talks to me like I’m a doll now, a favorite pet slowly fading. Rants about a new world, a new order, one where he holds the powers of both the Moon and the Sun. He calls me a “glorified battery,” ruffling my filthy hair like he’s already won.

I knew people had the drive for power, wanting to be greedy about it when they have it, but Victor wasn't just taking powers, he wasn't just sucking it out of me and having the intention to keep it rather he wanted me to suffer, every second I feel my body growing weaker

But what he doesn’t see is how my right wrist is moving. Every night, when the lab goes still and his footsteps vanish down the corridor, I test the cuff. I twist, I pull. I grind my skin down to the bone, biting through the burn of wolfsbane, whispering prayers through clenched teeth.

And slowly, millimeter by millimeter, the iron has started to give.

The cuff is old. Rusted at the edges. Victor, in all his brilliance, never bothered to reinforce them. He’s so certain I’m finished. So sure he’s drained everything worth taking.

That’s mistake number two.

I waited patiently, it was almost night, and he will soon be gone. The machine lets out a hiss and goes quiet. Steam spills into the air. My limbs tremble with exhaustion. I’m soaked in sweat, my powers barely flickering inside me like the final ember of a dying flame.

But the moment the last technician leaves, sealing the thick door behind him, I open my eyes. No extra chains, no surveillance cameras. It's bad if he was too tired or rather he doesn’t think I’m a threat anymore.

Good.

I twist my wrist. The pain blinds me, wolfsbane flaring like acid in my veins. But I don’t stop. I can't. Blood drips freely now, slicking my palm, and I use the edge of my nail to wedge into the tiny gap where the iron has chipped.

Push. I shut my eyes, pushing further, harder while hoping for something to happen while tears rolled down my cheek and something gave, a click.

The sound is barely audible, but to me, it’s a goddamn hope to getting out of here. My hand slides forward, a bit but far enough.

A gasp escapes before I can stop it, and I slump, letting my head fall back as if I’ve lost consciousness. Tears rolled down my cheek more, and I fought the urge to continue, my body shook not from pain from hope.

From the fire beginning to burn in my gut again.

Let Victor sleep peacefully tonight. Let him think I’m defeated. Let him come in here tomorrow with that smirk on his face and delusions of godhood in his eyes.

Because tomorrow?

I’ll make him choke on that smile and I will burn this place to the ground no matter what. That bastard has had his share of fun, it was time for me to leave this godforsaken place.