Chapter 3:
Ana
Hours drained away slowly. I remained in the same painful spot, knees drawn tight to my chest, counting the monotonous clicks of the chain. My stomach gnawed itself hollow, a constant, dull ache of hunger.
There was no food, no water, and no voices. Had they forgotten I was locked down here? Or had they simply given up the pretense of caring for my basic needs?
The room's air was heavy, thick with the stench of raw rust, my own dried sweat, and the sour, pervasive bite of fear that had never truly left me. My throat burned every time I swallowed, bone dry and raw. The air was frigid, pressing down heavy against my skin, but I was too deeply numb to even register a shiver anymore.
I finally forced myself to stand. The iron chain scraped violently across the stone floor as I moved, dragging behind me like a heavy, dead weight I was physically incapable of shedding. My legs ached and protested sharply from sitting too long in the cramped position. I shuffled slowly toward the tiny, high window—the only small piece of the outside world I was still permitted to see.
Outside, the late afternoon sun poured its bright, sunny light over everything. I watched a group of pack children running hard through the yard, chasing each other in dizzy, joyful circles.
Their laughter reached me, echoing bright and utterly wild. The sound struck me with the devastating force of a knife wrapped in soft silk—it was beautiful, yet intensely cruel because it was something I could never touch.
I pressed my forehead hard against the cold, rough stone beneath the window and whispered to myself, "I want that."
For a fleeting, painful heartbeat, I vividly imagined myself out there. I saw myself barefoot in the cool grass, laughing until my lungs burned. No chains binding my legs. No fear crushing my chest. Just simple air and sun and a life that was free of constant pain.
A sudden flash of movement immediately pulled me back to the brutal reality. A little girl, no older than six, broke away from the playing crowd. She had bright red curls and wide, clear eyes that were heartbreakingly familiar; they reminded me of how I used to look, before the hate and rejection had stripped every soft thing away from my face.
She ran straight toward my window. Her tiny hands pushed a shiny, crimson-red apple through the narrow bars. "For you," she said simply, smiling widely, behaving as though I were a friend and not the monster they warned her about.
My fingers trembled slightly as I reached out to take the unexpected gift. "Thank you," I whispered back quickly.
But before I could manage to say anything else, her mother's high-pitched scream violently tore the air. "Mara!" The woman sprinted across the yard, her face stark white with instant terror. She grabbed the girl roughly by the arm and yanked her back so hard that Mara stumbled and nearly fell.
"Stay away from the beast!" the woman shrieked, her voice shaking with panic. "It will eat you!"
The words hit me with the devastating finality of another slap across the face. Around her, other parents instantly rushed to snatch up their children. Doors slammed shut. Curtains snapped closed. The joyful sound of children's laughter died all at once, swallowed instantly by a paralyzing, shared fear.
I stood frozen in place, still clutching the apple in my hand. For a long, silent moment, I simply stared at it—the only piece of pure, vivid color left in the dim, gray room. Then I lowered myself to the cold floor and began rolling the apple gently between my palms. Its skin was perfectly smooth, glowing faintly in the last of the fading light.
When I finally took a large bite, the sweet juice immediately spilled down my chin. It was sweet. So incredibly sweet that the flavor made my chest ache with unexpected sorrow. I hated how good it tasted. I hated how it forcefully reminded me that I was still human enough to crave something simple and kind.
I limped back toward the narrow wooden plank that served as my bed and sank onto it. The apple core fell softly beside my feet. Tears slipped free again, quiet and steady this time, tracing the same old, familiar paths down my cheeks.
That's when the new sound entered the room—the voice.
"Let me out."
The sound originated from inside my own head, sharp, cold, and as shockingly clear as a distant bell. I froze instantly. My heart stuttered a painful beat in my chest. I knew that distinct, feral voice. I had been hearing it every single night since the night I had turned eighteen years old.
"Rip that moon chain off," the voice growled, deep and impatient. "Just let me breathe. I will happily paint these repulsive walls with their blood."
"No," I whispered aloud, shaking my head violently. "You will only succeed in making me the monster they already think I am."
The voice let out a soft, low, and deeply mocking laugh. "Take it off, Ana. Just one small twist is all it takes. I will kill the ones who hurt us. Starting with Daddy."
My trembling hands immediately flew up to the heavy chain at my throat. The metal burned searingly beneath my touch, the crude runes carved into it glowing with a faint, angry red light. Pain instantly licked across my skin. "Shut up," I hissed through clenched teeth, desperately clawing at the thick, unforgiving collar. "Just shut up now!"
"I smell freedom," the beast purred inside my mind, the sound seductive and lethal. "I smell their fear. Let me feast on it."
I slammed my fists repeatedly against my temples, attempting with sheer will to drown out her demanding, insistent voice. "Get out of my head!" I screamed in desperation.
But the mocking laughter that followed was terrifyingly wild and profoundly hungry. "You will beg for me soon enough."
My breathing became quick, shallow, and fast. I curled forward tightly, rocking back and forth until my teeth cut hard into my lip. Hot, metallic blood filled my mouth once more.
Then, with a heavy, grinding sound, the door to the cell creaked open.
Three maids stepped tentatively inside. Their faces were instantly twisted in expressions of unconcealed disgust. Each held a tightly wadded handkerchief pressed firmly over her nose and mouth.
"Phew," the oldest of the three women muttered audibly. "It smells strongly of wet dog and piss in here."
The youngest maid wrinkled her nose dramatically, glaring at me as if I had personally crawled out of a sewer just moments before. "Time for your bath, beast. You stink worse than the actual drains in the yard."
I stood up slowly, deliberately, the chain dragging heavily behind me across the stone. "Yes, ma'am," I said quietly. My voice sounded oddly flat and distant, almost unrecognizable as my own.
They circled widely around me, meticulously keeping their distance, occasionally prodding me forward with the long wooden handles of the brooms they carried, acting as if I might suddenly lunge and bite them.
"Move now," one of them commanded sharply. "Alpha Derek strictly hates filth."
I shuffled forward, obediently. Each step scraped metal painfully against the stone.
The beast inside me stirred again, pacing restlessly behind my ribs, her growl a low, steady, and increasingly powerful rumble.
With every single step I took toward the bath, the sound grew louder, hungrier, and terrifyingly closer to the surface.