I’ve barely gathered my footing when he shoves me forward from behind.
“Walk.”
After walking several more miles, we arrive in Bloodhound territory. I recognize it instantly, but it’s different from I last saw it.
It appears they’re rebuilding their agricultural infrastructure. Massive wood planks, tools and half-finished buildings are scattered around. Nearby, a patch of tree trunks have been cut to stumps to process the wood.
A few heads turn as I’m paraded through the village.
Butterflies flutter in my stomach.
Do they recognize me? Do they know I killed their alpha?
They didn’t kill us,my wolf says.
The Bloodhound pack members clearly don’t want me here. If they’re not glaring at me, they’re growling.
I remind myself that I was in wolf form when I was here. There’s no reason they would recognize... unless they memorized my scent—but only a crazy person would do that.
Wait a second.
I glance at Tyler.Hm...Then shake my head.
No, no.Crazy stupid is not the same kind of crazy I’m referring to.
Maybe I’m being paranoid. There were many of us that day and many casualties other than the one I’m responsible for.
So maybe they don’t know. If not, then what do they plan to do with me?
The deeper we get into the village, the more emboldened the pack members get.
“Dog.”
“Waste of life.”
“Murderer.”
I only turn my head when someone throws something. Just then, I’m pushed and told to keep walking before I can pinpoint who it was.
We’re clearly heading toward a large cabin in the center of the village, but I ask anyway. “Where are you taking me?”
The men ignore me.
My heart quickens. I’m not necessarily scared to die. Most days, I sometimes find my life to be meaningless anyway—but there are worse things than death. And I fear what’s in that building is going to be much worse.
“What’re you going to do to me?” I try my best to breathe.
“Stop talking,” one says.
My questions are answered when we enter the building. They lead me down a flight of stairs, into the basement. Light from sconces illuminate bloodstains on the floor and walls. I’m led through a straight hallway lined with jail cells, complete with steel bars.
Imprisonment.
Although underground, the prison appears to be no more than just a basement in an old house. It smells faintly of bleachas if they try to keep it clean. It’s not the worst dungeon I’ve been in. Not even close. But it triggers me all the same.
My body temperature rises as nausea sets in. My body trembles, and I collapse.
The men don’t care. They drag me into the worst punishment I could ever endure.
