Chapter 24

Chapter

Twenty-Four

IVY

I come to with a jolt, my head pounding. It feels like it's only been a few seconds, but the rumble of engines and fans and the sensation of movement tell me I'm in one of the hovercrafts. When I try to move, I realize my hands and feet are bound with metal cuffs.

Fuck .

I force my eyes all the way open, blinking against the harsh fluorescent lights. I'm in the back of a transport, surrounded by grim-faced Vrissian soldiers. Their white uniforms are splattered with blood. Some of it their own, some of it... not.

My stomach churns as memories come flooding back.

The train .

The drones.

Wraith.

"Where is he?" I croak out, my throat raw. "What did you do to him?"

One of the soldiers turns to look at me, his lips curling into a sneer. "You'll find out soon enough, omega."

The casual dismissal in his tone makes my blood boil. I bare my teeth at him, wishing I could rip his fucking throat out. "I asked you a question, asshole."

His hand twitches toward his weapon, but another soldier grabs his arm. "Don't," she warns. "Command wants her unharmed."

The first soldier scowls but backs down. I file that information away for later. They need me alive and unhurt. That gives me some leverage, at least.

And Valek…

Maybe he got away. He wouldn't stay to fight. I'm sure he vanished into the forest like a shadow the moment he realized there was no way to save me.

But not Wraith.

Wraith would never let them take me if he were still alive.

I know it.

My heart sinks into the pit of my stomach. I feel like I'm going to pass out, vomit, or both. And not just because my head hurts. The soldiers' conversation drifts in and out of my consciousness as I struggle to stay alert. My head throbs, each word they speak pounding against my skull.

"...biggest haul yet..."

"...train was loaded..."

"...Command will be pleased..."

I force myself to focus, straining to catch any mention of Wraith.

But these bastards are being careful. They know I'm listening. And that means he might be alive. There would be no reason for them to be cautious if they'd killed him.

At least, that's what I'm telling myself.

I have to hold out hope.

My heart won't let me consider anything else.

Valek's words from before echo in my head, taunting me. How he said I love Wraith. I didn't think I loved any of them. But after everything that's happened since, and now, fearing for his safety even above mine…

Now, I think I do love him.

I think I might love the whole pack.

Even Valek. That's why his betrayal stung so much .

Figures I'd realize that when I'm probably never going to see any of them again. Life is cruel that way. Always has been, always will be, for as long as I have left.

And I might not have long at all.

If these bastards try to subjugate me again, try to sell me off, try to touch me… I'll bite off my own tongue and choke to death on my own blood.

They think they can hold me?

That's cute.

The hovercraft begins to descend, the change in pressure making my ears pop. I brace myself as we touch down with a bone-jarring thud.

"On your feet, omega," an alpha female soldier orders, hauling me up by my arm.

I stumble as they push me toward the exit, my bound feet making it difficult to walk. The hatch opens with a hiss, revealing a stark white hallway that makes my stomach drop.

It's like the Refinement Center all over again.

They march me down endless corridors, each one identical to the last. The smell of antiseptic burns my nose, bringing back memories I've tried so hard to forget.

They drag me down yet another endless white hallway, my feet barely touching the ground. My head spins, still fuzzy from whatever they drugged me with. I try to focus, to memorize the layout, but it's all a blur of stark walls and harsh fluorescent lights. Like a maze designed to disorient and confuse.

We pass a set of double doors, and I catch a glimpse of what looks like a medical lab. The acrid smell of chemicals burns my nose, making me gag. One of the soldiers snickers.

"What's wrong, omega? Smell something you don't like?"

I spit at him, aiming for his eyes. He jerks back, cursing, and raises his hand to strike me. The female soldier intercepts, grabbing his wrist.

"For fuck's sake, control yourself," she hisses. "You want to explain to Command why the asset is damaged?"

Asset .

That's all I am to them.

A thing to be used and discarded.

We round another corner, and I hear voices drifting from an open doorway. I fall completely silent, stilling even my breathing as I strain to listen, desperate for any information.

"The asset that looks like a mutated fucking zombie is in containment. Took nine tranq darts to bring him down."

My heart leaps despite the cruelty in his voice.

Wraith. It has to be.

He's alive.

"Christ. How's he still breathing after that much sedative?"

"Dunno. But Command wants him alive. Says he's too valuable. So we can't give him more yet without risking overdose."

Relief floods through me, followed quickly by dread. If they want Wraith alive, it can't be for anything good. And that means Valek was right about his origins. My heart aches for him. What must he be feeling right now?

But at least he's alive.

I can only hope he knows I am, too.

The soldiers shove me into a small room filled with various scanners and medical equipment. A stern-faced beta in a lab coat waits, tapping her foot impatiently.

"About time," she snaps. "Get her prepped. We're behind schedule."

They force me onto a cold metal table, strapping me down with thick leather restraints. I thrash and yell, but it's useless .

The beta approaches with a syringe, and I bare my teeth at her. "Try it, bitch. I've been known to bite fingers off."

She rolls her eyes, unimpressed. "Charming. Hold still. A little pinch..."

The needle slides into my arm and I hiss at the sting. Whatever she's injected me with burns as it spreads through my veins. My vision blurs and the room starts to spin.

"What... what did you do to me?" I slur, my tongue feeling thick in my mouth.

"Just a little cocktail to keep you compliant," she says, her voice distant and echoing. "Can't have you causing trouble, now can we?"

I try to fight the drug, but it's no use. My limbs grow heavy, and my thoughts turn sluggish. I'm vaguely aware of them taking blood samples, scanning my body with various machines. Someone pries my mouth open, swabbing the inside of my cheek. Someone else cleans and dresses the burns on my arm, glazing them with a liquid that forms a second skin. I'm vaguely aware of being able to clench and open my hand on command, but that's all.

Time loses all meaning. It could be minutes or hours later when they finally unstrap me from the table. My legs buckle as they haul me to my feet and I slump against one of the soldiers.

"Looks like the bitch is finally house-trained," one of them sneers.

I want to snarl at him, to fight back, but my body won't cooperate. They half-drag, half-carry me down more identical corridors. We pass other cells, most of them empty. But in one, I catch a glimpse of matted hair and gleaming eyes. Some poor bastard driven feral by captivity and endless experiments.

Finally, we reach my destination. A small, bare cell with nothing but a thin white mattress on the floor and a toilet in the corner. They toss me inside like a sack of garbage, and I hit the ground hard, unable to catch myself.

The door closes with a resounding hiss, and I'm alone.

I lie there for what feels like hours, waiting for the drug to wear off. Slowly, agonizingly, feeling returns to my limbs. The fog in my head begins to clear. I push myself up on shaky arms, fighting the urge to vomit.

The cell is maybe eight feet by ten, with smooth white walls and a single overhead light that never turns off or even flickers. The wall facing the hallway is solid glass several inches thick, offering no privacy.

This place is designed to disorient, to break the spirit.

But I've been in places like this before. They didn't break me then, and they won't break me now.

And this time, I have more than I had before. I have a pack looking for me. I know they are. I don't have to wonder. It's not something I have questions about. As much as I hate my heart for betraying me, the Ghosts are my mates.

And one of my mates is within these very walls.

Walls that can't hold us forever.

I drag myself over to the mattress, collapsing onto it with a groan. My whole body aches, my burned arm stings and tingles, and my head pounds. If I don't rest for a bit, I won't be able to think and plan.

Won't be able to escape.

The sound of screams and wails further down the hall should make it impossible to even consider closing my eyes, but my eyelids still grow heavy as exhaustion seeps into my bones. I fight to stay awake, knowing I need to stay alert, but my body betrays me.

Just as I'm about to drift off, a flicker of movement catches my eye.

I blink, forcing myself to focus on the cell across from mine. At first, all I see is shadows, but as my vision clears, I make out a massive figure chained to the wall.

My breath catches in my throat.

The beast before me is unlike anything I've ever seen. Easily eight feet tall, with corded muscles rippling beneath heavily scarred skin. The worst is a Y-shaped scar from his collarbone to the waistband of his tattered gray pants that suggests they performed the equivalent of an autopsy while he was still alive. Some of the other scars resemble claw marks, and it takes me a moment to realize they were likely self-inflicted. They match the shape and size of the curved steel talons on the iron gauntlet on his right hand. The spiked plates continue all the way up his arm to his shoulder, embedded in the scarred muscle.

Iron rods pierce through his upper back, jutting out like grotesque spears. Each movement must send ripples of agony through his massive frame, and I can't help but wonder if that's why he remains unnaturally still. His face—if he even has one beneath—is hidden behind an iron mask. It's a featureless slab of metal, save for two holes for eyes I can't see.

My stomach churns as I imagine the constant pain he must be in. How is he even alive?

As if sensing my scrutiny, the mask's eye holes suddenly flare to life. An eerie, pale blue light flickers behind them, only partially obscured by the choppy white hair falling over his mask and brushing against his broad shoulders.

He's watching me.

I freeze, unable to look away. There's an intensity to that gaze that pins me in place, even through the impersonal barrier of his mask. Is there anything human left behind those glowing eyes? Or has whatever they did to him stripped away everything but rage and pain?

The silence stretches between us, heavy and oppressive. I want to say something, anything, but my throat closes up.

"Hi," I finally manage, offering a tired smile. It's not much, and it probably means nothing to him. But it's all I have.

He shifts slightly, and the movement sets off a cascade of reactions. The iron rods in his back scrape against the wall with a bone-chilling screech. The chains wrapped around his muscled neck and torso clank and rattle ominously. Pistons in his mechanical arm hiss and click as he flexes the clawed fingers of his iron gauntlet. Each talon is easily the length of my forearm, wickedly curved and razor-sharp.

But he doesn't lunge at the glass or thrash against his chains.

He just... watches. Waiting.

For what, I don't know.

My eyes drift back to those horrific spears protruding from his back. I try to imagine the kind of mind that could conceive of such torture, let alone carry it out. Even the rumors of the experiments that go on in this region don't come close to the reality before me.

Valek's words flood back to my memory in a rush.

This must be the Knight. He certainly looks the part.

I should be terrified. Everything about this creature screams danger. But as I stare into those glowing eyes, I sense something familiar. The rage, the pain, the loneliness… I've seen those same emotions in Wraith's eyes. In my own, reflected back at me in the sterile mirrors and metal surfaces of the Refinement Center.

A low, rumbling growl builds in the Knight's chest. It starts as a vibration I can feel through the floor, growing until it fills the air between us. There's no mistaking the threat in that sound. But beneath the aggression, I catch something else.

Pain.

Confusion.

Maybe even a hint of fear.

He's as trapped as I am. Maybe more so. At least I can move freely in my cell. He's chained to the wall like an animal, every movement agony.

As tired as I am, I take a hesitant step closer to the glass, ignoring every instinct screaming at me to back away. His growl intensifies, a hollow sound from the pits of hell, but I force myself to hold my ground.

I press my hand against the glass, palm out. A universal gesture of peace. "My name is Ivy," I continue, speaking slowly and clearly. "What's yours?"

For a long moment, there's no reaction. Then, with agonizing slowness, he raises his human hand. Inch by inch, it moves toward the glass separating us. My breath catches in my throat as his massive palm presses against the barrier, mirroring my own.

Then all hell breaks loose.

Sirens shriek to life, their wail piercing through my skull. Red emergency lights flash, bathing everything in a hellish glow. But worse than the noise, worse than the lights, is what happens next.

Nozzles hidden in the ceiling of the Knight's cell hiss open. A sickly greenish-yellow gas pours out, filling the air around him in seconds. The Knight's body goes rigid, his muscles locking up as the gas hits his skin. He stumbles back from the glass with an agonized roar, armor clanking with each thunderous stomp, his mechanical arm lashing out and tearing gouges in the walls. The spears in his back grind against his bones as he writhes.

My stomach heaves. I press my hand against my mouth, fighting the urge to vomit as the stench of the gas seeps through the ventilation system, acrid and chemical.

"Stop it!" I scream, pounding my fists against the glass. "You're killing him!"

But no one comes. No one listens.

The Knight crashes to his knees. The floor shakes beneath me, and I stumble back, catching myself on the edge of my mattress. The chains around his neck and torso pull taut with a metallic shriek, jerking him back like a puppet on cruel strings. His head droops, chin resting against his chest. The eerie blue glow behind his mask flickers and fades.

But I can still see the rise and fall of his massive chest. Still hear his labored breathing. I can't look away. Can't close my eyes. Every instinct screams at me to turn my back, to curl up in the corner and pretend this isn't happening.

But I force myself to watch.

To bear witness to this horror.

Because someone has to. Because no one should suffer alone.

The gas keeps pouring in, relentless. The Knight's breathing grows more ragged, each inhale a wet, rattling sound that makes my skin crawl. How long can they keep this up before it kills him?

"Please," I whisper, pressing my forehead against the glass. "Please, stop."

As if in answer to my plea, the nozzles in the ceiling hiss closed. The sirens cut off abruptly, leaving a ringing silence in their wake. The emergency lights flicker out, plunging us back into the harsh fluorescent glare.

For a long moment, nothing moves. The Knight remains on his knees, held upright only by the chains. I hold my breath, straining to hear any sign of life from across the hall.

"Come on," I whisper. "Breathe. Please breathe."

As if he heard me, the Knight's massive chest expands in a shuddering gasp. The chains rattle as he coughs.

He's alive.

Thank fuck, he's alive.

"I'm going to get you out of here," I say, my voice low. "I don't know how yet, but I will. I promise."

It's not an empty promise.

The Ghosts are coming for me.

And when they do, there will be hell to pay.