Lunaria (A Soulmark Series Finale), page 11
"Hello," I murmur, feeling ill all over again as the pair smirk at me.
"Did you enjoy your morning with my betrothed?" Noah asks.
"Certainly not," Carrie says before I can even begin to think of a response. Behave, I remind myself sternly, wading through mixed feelings of apprehension and simmering anger. "She was particularly foulmouthed by the end of our encounter. The things she said about our pack..."
Noah's wry amusement does not falter. "Is that so?" His eyes do not waiver from my face.
"I—"
"I was just about to explain to our little fairy friend here what such insolence sows," Carrie forges on. She struts away from Noah the last few feet to the boxing ring. Her hand trails the lowest rope as she locks eyes with me. "The pit is for the wolves to compete. The boxing ring is for man and woman to fight. We hadn't planned on testing your strengths in the ring, Luna, not like your friends, as they proved wholly inadequate at fighting." Carrie lifts one shoulder in a dainty shrug, lashes fluttering briefly as her blue eyes pin me to my spot. "But such a slight against our pack simply cannot be tolerated. You must face the consequences of your actions and take your punishment in the boxing ring. Tonight. Think of it as your own special test of worth, hmm?"
"I can't!" I squeak in panic. "I do not know how! I abhor violence—" my shaking head halts mid-swing. "Please," I beg, shuffling forward. Though these wolves easily stoke the flames of my ire, I cannot bear the thought of physically hurting another. I lay my hands against my heart. "Please, I cannot fight."
Carrie's smirk returns as I look to Noah and repeat my plea.
Carrie rolls her eyes. "He can't save—"
Noah holds up a hand and approaches me with cool confidence. I've only a moment to garner Carrie's reaction; her cheeks flush ruby and eyes glare dagger-like at our persons. I stem a whimper in the back of my throat.
"You should get some rest," Noah advises, neither giving permission or denying it. He tucks my hair back behind my ear gingerly and with care. Disgust rolls through me as he runs his fingertips down my jawline and across my pouted lip. "Carrie, we need to talk." His blue eyes flick briefly back to Carrie, who thrusts her shoulders back and gives a firm nod in return. Noah smiles, then captures the attention of someone at the front end of the fighting house. "Take her to the stalls to shower, then put her back in the cellar with the others," he commands.
Noah brandishes a smile that makes me want to hurl, when boorish hands are suddenly upon me. They curl around my upper arms and drag me away. My feet peddle beneath me in a frenzy to keep up with the brute taking me away. This time my strangled whine wins out. As we gain on the exit, I spy Deval weakly sitting up. His hand is anchored to his neck, and his once healthy bronze skin is now without its luster and owns a sickly greyish tint.
He catches my eye and holds it as I am hauled out.
The door shuts behind us with a soft shutter, and all I can think of are Deval's words to me. Trust me—Noah is far worse than Carrie.
++
The stalls are barely passable as showers, but at least the water is lukewarm. My soiled clothes are traded for a set of too-large pants, thin socks that reach to my knees, clean undergarments, and the return of Adrian's sweater, which thankfully retains some of my body heat as I slip back into it.
I sneak a peek through the sliver of space between the canvas curtain and stall at my new escort as I slip into my boots and coat. He is dour, at best, and a menace, at the very least.
Catching sight of his crossed arms and stooped brow line makes the dingy shower stall inviting, even as a chilly draft flutters the canvas. Still, I make sure my movements waste no time. My new transporter doesn't seem to be the lenient type—not like Deval. A sour taste enters my mouth as I recall his pitiful regard. As if I was the one to be lamented.
Worry returns like a thick blanket to cloak me. Maybe Deval is right in his pity. What experience do I have of fighting other than untimely, gut reactions that rely upon my cultivator gifts? I'll be a punching bag for whomever they place against me. If I’m even made to fight. This uncertainty drives my worry most of all.
"Keep it moving."
I slip on my coat and stand from the wooden bench.
"Move." His deep baritone may be one of the more intimidating facets about this man. For though he is frugal with his speech, each word is delivered with an unquestionable hostility. I chew on the inside of my cheek to keep my face placid. It's as if he's waiting for me to take a step out of line just so he can put me in my place.
I move, quickly
The man's gait is twice that of mine, and the mere thought of falling behind him twists my stomach into knots. Although the journey to reach the barn is short, the trek inside it feels closer to an age.
The barn is quiet. It houses no occupants at the moment, at least none from the Wselfwulf pack or Stormrow sorcerers. Without being toted around it upside down, I take the opportunity to study the barn's interior properly. The bundles of straw are no longer arranged for seating but pushed up against the walls. On the rafters above, hang ropes and chains. There's even a lofted venue near the back that is filled with all manner of exercise equipment. At the rear of the barn, flanking what I assume to be the entrance of the cellar, are two other doors.
One is flush with the wall, a back entryway perhaps, but the other is far more suspect. It is adjacent to what I assume to be the cellar door and looks to go to another underground space. I'm not given a chance to ponder its usage, as the transporter's meaty hand jars against the middle of my back.
I trip and fall, my forearms banging painfully against the floor and vibrating through the rest of my body.
"Get up."
I hasten to do as I'm told, mindless of the scowl I wear as I do so. The man sees my look and sneers.
"Got a problem?" He rumbles. I wipe the displeasure from my face and duck my head.
"No," I mumble back, knowing he can understand my muffled words with his heightened lycan hearing. He grunts then steers me down to the cellar. I grip the railing with white knuckles as I tread down the steps, not wanting a repeat of my last descent.
"Hurry up."
I increase my pace but do so with a quiver that spans the length of my body. In no time at all, I’m back in my cell, the door slamming shut behind me. I recoil at the noise. I’m too afraid to move or seek out my friends in the dimly lit cavern until I hear the cellar door slam closed.
"Luna?"
Keenan's voice is like a balm to every ache and pain I feel. I move as swiftly as possible to the bars that separate our cells. He meets me, his face drawn in grave concern as he looks me over. I do the same to him, my eyes lingering over patches of dark blue that look fresh.
"What happened? What did they do to you?" Keenan asks.
I explain in detail my time apart from him and Jax, eyes only briefly scanning the dimly lit cellar for Jax, before barreling on. Keenan waits patiently for me to finish, only interrupting once or twice with questions.
“Kennan, are those bruises new?”
He grunts, a wry smirk on his lips. "They wanted to gauge my strength last night. I was doing fairly well, actually." He lets out a brief, scornful laugh. "But they couldn't have that, so they decided to even the playing field."
“I do not understand,” I answer breathlessly, my eyes darting over him as if I’ll find the answer I’m looking for in the tight lines and shadows across his face. “What do you mean by, ‘even the playing field?’ Was the ground you found yourself on uneven?”
A chuckle bursts from Keenan. It is without scorn or malice and fills our prison with blessed levity. I curl my fingers around the bars separating us, a fleeting smile gracing my lips at his moment of happiness. When his laughter comes to an end, he hooks his hand through the bars and cups my face tenderly. The strain around Keenan’s eyes ebbs away.
“Let’s just say, I’m not the same wolf the Wselfwulfs remember. I took them by surprise. All of them.”
I lean into the warmth of his palm gratefully. "I am glad you took them by surprise then,” I say. “You seem… better somehow, despite your new bruises. How is that possible?”
Keenan grunts and removes his hand. "They patched me up afterward with some potions and food. They want me to spar again this evening."
If my intraflora weren't inhibited by the cruel magic of my collar, it would have withered at my next words.
"Me too," I say, surprised when the words come out tranquil and smooth. The complete opposite of how I feel.
"What?" Jax calls from his cell. "What did you just say?"
I perk up, staring off into the darkened corner of the cellar. I can’t make out Jax, but his voice is unmistakable.
"They're going to make me fight too," I say louder. "I tried to be good and behave this morning like Deval asked, but Carrie said such awful things about the Adolphus pack that I couldn't stay quiet. I couldn’t."
A moment of silence and then Jax clears his voice. "I’m afraid I’ve only just woken, mind filling me in on what’s happened?”
And so we do. Me first, and then Keenan.
"Well, allow me the pleasure of relieving you of at least one of your worries. You're not going to lose your wings, Luna. That miserable bitch, who calls herself alpha, isn't going to win that wager," Jax announces. His words act as a pillar that I gratefully lean on. "I won't betray you. I was sent to help the Adolphus pack, and I'll be damned if this pathetic lot breaks me."
“Thank you, Jax,” I say.
Jax grunts in response then hauls himself into the paltry light of our prison to the bars of his cell. I balk at the sight of him. He’s dressed in fresh clothes and his skin looks healthy and flushed without bruises or cuts… minus one.
“What the hell happened to you?” Keenan asks.
Jax clears his throat, looking away briefly as his throat bobs before locking on some space near Keenan’s feet.
“Jax?” With my soft prompt he turns his eye my way. His only eye. “What did they do to you?”
He offers a lackluster grin. “They wished to test my métier as well. No intimidation tactics”—Jax stares pointedly at me—“and no fighting pits, just some light interrogation which proved unfruitful for them. Carrie might not have made that wager with you if she knew how well I can keep my lips shut.”
“I’m so sorry, Jax,” I say almost breathlessly.
My heart aches at the sight of him and further at the idea of the Wselfwulf and the Stormrow sorcerers’ outrageous behavior. And then the bad thoughts I’ve been keeping at bay take over.
"Why haven't our friends come for us?" I ask, anger slipping into my tone alongside my sadness. "We've been gone for days. Days! What if Atticus and Winter didn't make it home? What if something happened to them and nobody knows what happened to any of us? I'm no match for these lycans. Without my powers and yours, we’re all doomed. What if—"
"Hey, hey, hey. Calm down, Luna," Keenan croons. He scoots closer to our barred barrier, a contorted expression on his face the entire way. "You can't go into that mindset. You have to have faith." Keenan reaches out and takes my hand. "I'm positive Atticus and Winter made it back. The Wselfwulfs wouldn't miss an opportunity to rub it in our faces if they'd captured us all. That means they got the antidote to the witches and Zoelle is awake, which means their focus can turn to us. You have to give them some time to plan, though. Because they don't need to just find us. They have to figure out a way to get us out of here. We could be here a while...."
I squeeze Keenan's hand with all my might and reach for his other hand needing to anchor myself.
"I don't know how long I can last," I confess, shame coloring my words and skin. "They want me to absorb all of the crystal's energy so they can siphon all of the energy from me. If I don't do as they say, they'll punish all of you."
"Don't worry about us, gorgeous," Jax cuts in just as Keenan opens his mouth. Keenan passes a solitary assent Jax's way, then returns his attention back to me.
"He's right. Don't pay any mind to the threats they make against us. We can hold up to their interrogation and punishments... but we need you to be strong too. From what you told us, it sounds like you’ve done an incredible job. Not only that but your friends stuck in the Greenery are holding up too.” A pensive look draws across Keenan’s face. “It's clear they mean to keep us separated. We have to trust each other to stay strong in the face of their abuse."
“And keep each other abreast of everything we learn outside these cells. The layout of the grounds. The number of wolves and sorcerers. You’ve got a leg up on us when it comes to the latter, sweetheart. Keep doing what you’re doing, and everything will work out, just wait and see,” Jax adds.
The room is quiet except for my subdued sniveling and hiccupping. I wrangle both under control in a few minutes.
"Luna, can you tell me more about the first transporter you had? Deval?"
I sit up straighter, though the simple undertaking is slightly more tasking as I refuse to relinquish Keenan's hands. "He was kind to me. Sort of." I come to a halting stop as my face bunches in my confusion. "It was difficult to understand his emotions. He seemed almost remorseful. I got the impression he does not like being part of the Wselfwulf pack very much... and that he is a prisoner, just as much as you or me, or even Adrian," I say, my voice trailing off as my face colors.
Keenan is oblivious to my abrupt bashful state. With his brows and mouth slanting downward, he stays silent for a time to mull over my words.
"When we originally split from the Wselfwulfs, there were families on the fence about leaving, who ultimately chose to stay.” Keenan gives pause, a heavy sigh heaving his shoulders forward before he shakes himself of whatever dreary memory clouds his mind. Then, he straightens his spine, as resolve hardens his features. “After all this time, I think those who were on the fence are finally ready to leave the pack.”
“Really?” Hope floods.
“Really?” Jax parrots.
Keenan squeezes my hands. “Yesterday, before my fight, I was put in a room with a few other contenders. They weren't exactly talkative, but there was something about them that spoke of their dissension. Especially when a guard was brought to fetch someone for the pit."
"You think you can capitalize on their discord?" Jax's voice is calm, but he cannot hide its tenor of anticipation.
"I'll sure as hell try. I recognized one of the men in there. Maybe we can get ourselves out of here with help from the inside."
"That's good," Jax says, "but we need more than one angle to work off of to get out of here. You might have luck with your old pack mates, but I won't have any with my old clan. I left on far worse terms, and they want nothing more than to prolong my suffering."
"What are you suggesting?" Keenan asks.
Jax leans forward. His face catches the poor light more fully and shows off the calculating gleam in his remaining hazel eye. My breath catches in my throat at the unobstructed view of the thick bandages covering his right eye. "We need another insider to help us. One they won't predict."
"Do you mean, Deval?" A flare of hope ignites in my chest. "Perhaps I can persuade—"
"I don't think that will work, sweetheart. There’s no doubt they’ll be watching him and how he interacts with you, especially if they have him act as your transporter again."
My shoulders sag. "Oh. Is there not someone I can persuade?" The two men share a look before Keenan answers.
"Your rokama,"—I jerk and pull my hands from the solace of Keenan's—"Adrian."
"He is not my rokama," I insist.
Jax licks his lips, a coaxing grin playing across them as he catches my flushing face. "Come on, sweetheart. You forget we were all witness to his display on the road. Not only there, but down here as well. He's of a mind to think that you belong with him, and I see no reason not to use his assumption to our advantage."
My mouth runs dry as I slowly turn my head from side to side. "He'll never help us," I insist. "They-they took his wings. They broke his spirit. He won’t fight—"
"Ah, but he fought for you already, hasn't he? When they first took you, he was punished for trying to stop Carrie from hurting you." He holds up one finger, then ticks up another. "He gallantly retrieved you from the Greenery, and let's not dismiss the sketches you stumbled upon." His three fingers wiggle at me before subsiding. "Tell me, do you really believe he wouldn't stand up for you or your cause if you persuaded him?"
My forehead scrunches, and it must be the answer Jax seeks, for he presses his face to the iron to continue his petition in a drawn-out, husky voice. The sound draws a tingle down my spine.
"You're an enchanting woman, Luna. You need only smile and play coy to lure him in. Spare him a few kisses—whatever you're willing to give—, and he'll be eating out of the palm of your hand."
My quiet reluctance lingers on. "You want me to seduce him?" A fire ignites in my veins at the scandalous thought.
Rather than address my question, Jax forges on, his passion rising. "Everyone underestimates you, gorgeous. The sorcerers of the Stromrow Clan might not be willing to help us or hear out our dilemma, but they do like to talk. And the current consensus is that they'll break you and bend you to their will, sooner rather than later. Since the rokama, as you so eloquently put, is already 'broken' to them, surely no one will suspect him to turn."
"This is a dangerous gamble," I say, my words scant above a breath. "If I am to play coy, as you call it, it may lead to certain expectations from Adrian after we escape—if we manage to escape." An expectation of a lifetime together.
"None of us would expect you to stay with the beast," Jax insists. "I'm sure the Adolphus pack would grant him some clemency for his crimes against Winter for his help with our predicament."
