Page 80 of The Pack

“I’m going to get you out of here,” I said, my voice shaking as I turned to Magnus.

“Zara,” Magnus started, but Amelie pulled at my hand again, her small frame trembling against mine.

“They’re coming back,” she whispered.

The sound of footsteps echoed faintly down the tunnel, and my heart leapt into my throat.

“Go,” Magnus growled, his voice low, but commanding. “Now.”

Amelie tugged harder, and this time, I let her pull me away.

I knew, with a cold certainty, that the clock was ticking.

The next day arrived far too quickly. The old woman didn’t speak to me that morning, but her presence was felt in the way the others moved with a purpose, their guttural sounds rising with what I could only identify as excited anticipation.

Amelie stayed close, her small hand slipping into mine more than once, but she didn’t say much.

By midday, the preparations began. My hair was braided back by one of the older women, her fingers clumsy and tugging as she worked in silence.

When it was time, the old woman appeared, her cold glare sweeping over me.

“It’s time,” she said simply, her voice rasping.

I didn’t respond, my jaw tightening as I nodded.

They led me through the winding tunnels of the cave, the air growing cooler and damper as we descended. The torchlight flickered, casting long shadows that danced like specters on the rough stone walls.

At the entrance to a smaller chamber, the old woman stopped, gesturing toward one of the men standing nearby. He was smaller than the others, his frame wiry but strong, his skin weathered and scarred. His eyes were empty, his mouth twisted into a near-permanent scowl, and I had to swallow past the bile at the back of my throat.

“This one will be yours,” the old woman said, her voice almost kind. “He will be gentle.”

The man grunted in response, stepping forward with a slow, determined gait. His eyes flicked over me, and I didn’t like what I saw within them.

My heart pounded as we were led into the chamber, the old woman murmuring something about the ceremony beginning soon. She moved a piece of wood into place behind us, blocking the entry and leaving us alone in the small torch-lit room.

The man stared at me, his breaths heavy and uneven as he took a step closer. My pulse thundered in my ears as I shifted slightly, my eyes darting around the room for anything I could use.

A glint of metal caught my eye. A knife.

It was strapped to the man’s waist, the blade small, but sharp, the hilt worn smooth from use.

I took a slow, trembling breath, my mind racing as he closed the distance between us.

He reached for me, his callused hand grabbing my arm with surprising force. I didn’t fight him—not yet. I let him think I was compliant, let him believe I was resigned to my fate.

When his other hand reached for my waist, I struck.

I twisted quickly, breaking free from his grip and lunging for the knife. My fingers closed around the hilt, yanking it free as he snarled, his guttural growl echoing in the small chamber.

He came at me fast, his movements wild and uncoordinated, but fueled by brute strength. I barely had time to dodge his first swing, the momentum carrying him forward as I stumbled back.

The knife felt heavy in my hand, the weight unfamiliar, but reassuring.

He lunged again, his hands reaching for my throat, and I slashed wildly, the blade slicing across his forearm. He howled in pain, but it didn’t slow him down.

He tackled me, his body slamming into mine and knocking me to the ground. The air left my lungs in a loud whoosh as his weight pinned me down, his hands scrabbling for the knife.

I twisted beneath him, my legs kicking as I fought to free myself. His face was inches from mine, his breath hot and rancid as he snarled, his hands closing around my wrists.

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