The rest of the morning passes without incident.
My stomach growls. The clock on the wall ticks past noon, and each second is another twist of my belly. It's been over a day since I've eaten, but at least I have free access to water now.
But I can't stay in this room forever, can I?
My fingers tap against my lower lip as I stare at the door. It's a standard wood-grain door, probably hollow, with a simple knob. Nothing extravagant or strange, and yet my heart stutters at the thought of what lies beyond it.
Life isn't the same anymore. Alpha's dead, and I've lost all protection. What do Lycans do with humans? Alpha never let me see them before, saying it was dangerous. It's clear that's one thing he didn't lie about. Honestly, the fact I'm even alive when so many are dead…
"This is ridiculous." My voice is soft in the silence, but speaking at all seems to build my courage to push off the bed and ignore how my legs shake as I take one step, then another.
The brass doorknob is cool under my palm. I curl my fingers around it, but my grip trembles.
My stomach growls again, loud enough to echo off the walls. The sound startles me out of my frozen state, and I open the door. Just a tiny inch of space, not really enough to peek through.
I press my ear to the gap but hear only silence. No footsteps. No voices. No breathing.
The door opens wider under my palm. I peek through the crack, scanning the hallway beyond. Carpeted floor. Framed landscapes along the wall. Bright light overhead.
A massive figure looms in the hallway. Dark eyes lock onto mine, set in a face carved from granite. The Lycan's lip curls, revealing the edge of a fang, and I swear I can hear a growl rumbling my way.
I slam the door shut and scurry back to my bed, breathing hard.
Dangerous. That was dangerous.
He was not happy to see me. I'm definitely a prisoner, not that I had much doubt over the situation. I may not understand why, but at least I know what I am.
Goosebumps race up my arms and I rub them hard, wishing I was braver. Stronger. A lot sneakier, too. It would be nice if I could just disappear. In fact, if that damn wolf—Fenris—hadn't come around in the forest, I'd be in the city by now.
Stupid, oversized, disloyal dog.
Three sharp knocks crack against the door and I jump as the red-haired Lycan walks inside, not waiting for me to answer.
His eyes flicker to the bed in a moment so brief, I'm not sure I actually see it happen.
"Miss Sinclair," he says, sounding indifferent to my fate, "You will come with me now."
Not please follow me. No information on where I'm going, or why. Just a flat order, with no emotion on his face.
My throat closes up, making it hard to breathe. After witnessing what happened to my former pack, the last thing I want is to follow any Lycan anywhere.
"Miss Sinclair." Steel threads through his tone. "Now."
Everything's different.
The event hall has been scrubbed clean, all the decorations gone. Days of preparation have disappeared overnight and no hint of the bloodbath remains. Vaguely, I recall a pile of stuff from my window. It didn't seem very important while a pile of dead bodies took center stage, but it makes sense now. Everything was tossed.
It's as somber as a funeral in here. Pack members shuffle past with downcast eyes, their shoulders slumped. No greetings exchanged, no morning pleasantries—just the soft scuffle of footsteps against the floor.
A pack without an Alpha is a dead pack, and that's exactly how they're acting. I wonder what our fate is now. I've heard stories about the Lycan King, to some extent, but not enough to give me any information. Do packs disintegrate after the Alpha is murdered?
And how much do I really care? But it's hard not to care, after seeing… everything. It isn't like I'm loyal to the same people who turned their backs on me. I want nothing to do with them!
But… a massacre is extreme.
Though, I guess it makes sense why all wolf packs would be subordinate under the Lycan King. They're probably all scared of having their throats cut out, just like Alpha. As far as I've ever understood, the Blue Mountain Pack isn't weak, and yet they stood no chance against a mere handful of Lycans.
Somber thoughts are doing nothing for the uneasiness crawling all over my skin, but I can't push them away.
My escort's red hair gleams under the chandelier lights as he strides forward. His presence is enough to clear his path; it doesn't matter what anyone is doing, they scurry back ten feet to avoid contact. They don't seem to notice I'm following behind, their fearful glances focused on the Lycan. He doesn't have the terrifying presence of the Lycan King, and yet they can't even lift their heads as he passes by.
A woman drops her cleaning supplies, the clatter echoing through the silence. She scrambles to pick them off the floor, her hands shaking. The Lycan doesn't break stride, though everyone else turns to look. In fact, he's not even glancing back to make sure I'm following.
Then again, why would he? It's not like I can go anywhere else, I guess.
My stomach growls as I walk behind, watching the space between us grow. It isn't an intentional defiance, but a side effect of his pacing. He doesn't seem to realize I can't keep up yet.
Maybe I should jog to catch up—
Fingers clamp around my wrist, yanking me backward.
I spin around and freeze. Nora's perfect features twist into something monstrous, her teeth bared. Her manicured nails dig crescents into my skin as her nostrils flare. Her green eyes are so much more vibrant than mine, hard and cold as emeralds, and they're currently flashing with gold.
"You," she hisses, the venom in her voice palpable as I cringe against her grip. "Why are you still here?"