FIA
The sentinels' hands dug into my arms hard enough to leave marks. I could tell by the way they gripped me, like they wanted to hurt me but were holding back just enough to follow some order they didn't like. One of them had his fingers pressed into the soft part of my bicep, right where it would bruise darkest.
"Move," he growled.
I moved. There wasn't much point in resisting. They dragged me through hallways I didn't recognize, and I let my feet shuffle along the stone floor because it was easier than trying to fight them. The silver cuffs around my wrists burned. They weren't just cold—they actively hurt, like they were pulling something out of me. My wolf skin crawled under them.
"Stupid omega," one of them muttered. "Nearly kills the Alpha and still gets to breathe."
"Should throw her in with the rogues," the other one said. "Let them have her for a while."
