15. Shya

Chapter fifteen

Shya

M y wolf hated the cage and the metal bars even more than I did, and when I Shifted to try to keep warm, she threw herself against the bars again and again until I forced us to Shift back to stop her from seriously injuring us. Ten days in this fucking tent, no food, barely any water. Just enough to keep me alive, plus a bucket in the corner to pee in.

I could feel myself getting weaker. Almost hourly, my muscles cramped. My head constantly pounded. But what was worse was the utter loneliness. It ate at me, hollowed me out from the inside. Werewolves were pack animals for a reason. We needed the comfort, the sense of Pack, of belonging to something bigger than ourselves. Stuck here alone, no Pack, no family, not even a fucking blanket to cuddle, I could feel the despair creeping in. I tried to hold on to myself, to some kind of hope. But each day it got harder to remember who I was outside this cage, harder to believe I'd ever get out.

I couldn't stop thinking about my family. What happened to them after I was taken? Were they looking for me? Were they even alive? Was Dad? I hardly dared to think about the memory of his blood on Tristan. Had I dreamed it, or was it real? I searched my Pack bonds, but there were no answers there. The bonds were there, intact, but it was like there was a blanket wrapped over them. I couldn't feel anything from them, and I had no idea what could cause the bonds to feel that way. Mom, Dad, Henry, and Tucker … I needed to know that they were okay, that they were safe, but Tristan just dismissed the question whenever I asked. The thought of never seeing them again made me want to howl.

I tried not to think about Mason, but my thoughts always ended up on him. He'd been so angry when he left. What if that was the last time I'd ever see him? I missed his touch, his scent, the way his lips felt against mine. Would he be looking for me? I had to get out of here, had to get back to them all.

The sound of the tent flap opening became so damned important. Tristan's visits, short as they were, were the only break in the endless nothing. Some part of me started looking forward to them, and I hated myself for it. I couldn't stand the way my heart jumped at the first sound of footsteps, the way I stared at the entrance, waiting. I was disgusted with myself for wanting anything from that dickhead. But I couldn't stop the desperate need for something, anything, to think about besides my own messed-up thoughts.

My ears picked up the sound of footsteps, and my eyes swirled to the tent flap as it opened and Tristan walked in. I felt a now-familiar sickening twist of excitement and revulsion. Then I saw what he had, and everything else disappeared. In his hands was a tray with a bowl of chicken soup and some bread. The smell hit me hard; I was sure I started drooling. It was simple food, something I would've picked at before, but now it looked like heaven. My body howled for it.

Tristan smiled at me. "Hello, Shya."

I ignored him, my eyes riveted on the food.

His smile got wider. "You've been so good these last few days, I thought I'd give you a treat."

He came up to the cage slowly, eyes on me. Carefully, he picked up the bowl and bread and passed them through the bars.

"Eat," he said, "but go slow. You don't want to puke." His voice was gentle, concerned. It made it worse. This fake kindness, this act of giving a shit, it was cruel in its own way.

The soup was lukewarm, but I didn't care. I tore into the bread, stuffing it into my mouth.

Tristan watched, a smug look on his face. "You see, Shya? That wasn't so hard, was it? You need me. I'm the one looking after you, keeping you alive."

I glared at him but didn't stop eating. I hated that he was right. Right now, he controlled everything. My food, my water, my fucking life. But I swore to myself this wouldn't last. I'd find a way out, a way to beat him. For now, though, I just had to survive.

I kept eating, trying to ignore Tristan's presence. But he just kept talking, his voice smooth as silk.

"I know there's something special between us. I feel it. In here," he said as he touched his heart. "A bond, a connection. The Goddess herself brought us together. I was meant to become an enforcer, to rise to the position of Beta, just so I could be close to you, Shya."

I wanted to laugh in his face. Bond? Connection? The only things between us were the bars of this cage and his fucked-up delusions. But I didn't say a word, just focused on the last spoonfuls of soup.

Tristan kept going. "I know you feel it too, Shya. The pull, the attraction. It's the Goddess's will, her divine plan for us."

Divine plan? Like hell it was. This was his twisted fantasy, nothing more. I had to stop myself from rolling my eyes.

Tristan wasn't put off by my lack of response. He had this calm sense of patience about him, this self-assurance that made my skin crawl.

"It's okay, Shya. I understand. This is all new, overwhelming. But you'll see, in time. We're meant to be together. Nothing can change that. Not now." His smile was serene, like he'd already won.

I couldn't deny that his certainty, his unwavering belief, it was getting to me. What did he know that I didn't? What if he was right? What if I couldn't fight this, couldn't escape him? I pushed the thought away. I couldn't let him get in my head. I had to stay strong, bide my time. Sooner or later, he'd slip up. And I'd be ready.

After I was sure there was no soup left, I took aim and threw the bowl at Tristan. He'd been expecting it. He snatched it out of the air effortlessly and smirked at me.

"You always were a firecracker, Shya. I'm going to enjoy teaching you the correct way to behave for your mate." Then he turned and left.

I slumped back against the bars, my momentary surge of defiance draining out of me. I was alone again, trapped in this fucking cage with nothing but my own thoughts for company. And they were getting darker by the minute.

What if Tristan was right? What if there was no escape from this? My Pack, my family, not even Mason fucking Shaw, had any idea of where I was. The hopelessness of my situation was suffocating, pressing down on me like a physical weight. Being cut off like this, it was like losing a part of myself. I could feel it, the emptiness, the aching loneliness. It was a physical pain, a hollowness in my chest that nothing could fill.

I tried to cling to my anger, my hatred for Tristan. It was the only thing keeping me going, the only thing stopping me from giving in to the despair that threatened to drown me. But even that was getting harder. With every passing hour, every moment spent in this cage, I could feel my resolve weakening.

I curled up on the cold, hard floor, wrapping my arms around myself. With a bit of food finally in my belly, I could feel exhaustion creeping up on me. I closed my eyes and let sleep take me.

It was another three days before Tristan came back, punishing me for throwing the bowl at him. By then, I didn't give a fuck who delivered water and food just as long as it came.

"Are we going to behave ourselves today, Shya?" He smiled at me.

"Fuck you," I whispered, my voice weak.

His smile got wider. "Yes, please, Tristan. Those are the words you need to use, Shya, if you want what I have."

I hungrily eyed the bottle of water, hot bread, and bowl of stew in his hands. The smell was driving me crazy. It twisted in the air, slipped inside my senses, and made my stomach ache with need. I tried to maintain some semblance of control, but my eyes kept darting between Tristan's face and the food in his hands.

"Come on, Shya," Tristan coaxed, his voice sickeningly sweet. "It's just three little words. Then you can eat and drink. Doesn't that sound nice?"

I gritted my teeth, hating him, hating myself more for how tempted I was. The hunger gnawed at me, threatening to overpower my resolve. But I couldn't give in. I couldn't let him win.

"I'd rather starve," I hissed through my parched lips, even as my body screamed at me to give in.

Tristan's smile never wavered. He crouched down, bringing the food tantalizingly close to the cage bars. "Are you sure about that? It smells delicious, doesn't it? All you have to do is show me the respect I deserve."

The aroma of the stew intensified, and I could feel what little saliva I had pooling in my mouth. My hands shook with the effort of not reaching out, of not begging like he wanted me to. I clenched my fists, nails digging into my palms, using the pain to anchor myself.

"Go to hell."

Tristan tutted and shook his head. "Oh, Shya. When will you learn? I'm trying to help you. To take care of you. Why do you insist on making this so difficult? Do you really think you are being strong by saying no? Who wins if you starve, Shya? Not you. Not me. You want to fight me? You want to escape? You start by getting out of the cage. Say the words, Shya. And you can eat. Get your strength back. So when an opportunity does present itself, you'll be in a state to take it. Doesn't that seem a better plan?"

I hated that he knew exactly the right buttons to push. He stood up slowly, taking the food with him. My eyes followed every movement, a whimper building in my throat that I barely managed to suppress.

"I'll come back later," he said, his tone maddeningly patient. "Give you some time to think. Maybe you'll be more reasonable then. I'll leave the stew here, though." He placed the bowl and the water bottle on the ground, just out of reach. "To help you while you think."

I did think, and I said, "Yes, please, Tristan," when he came back two days later and every time after that.