Page 49 of The Raven's Alpha
The group of rugged, muscular men, their faces stern and unyielding, makes my heart skip a beat as I ask, “What do you mean by assistance?” My father's grip on my shoulder tightens in response, his eyes flashing with a warning.
“If your friend can locate your lost mate, we'll need all the extra muscle we can muster to help bring him back safely," my father says,his voice firm and resolute. "I've spoken to several other packs in the area, and they're all willing to lend a hand. In fact, most of them are already making their way here as we speak."
At my father’s explanation, the back of my eyes begin to burn, emotion clogging my throat as I struggle to voice my thanks. It’s not just the six men standing before me – it’s an army of alphas, ready to join the hunt for my mate.
The weight of emotion threatens to choke me as I stare at the men before me. Their faces are a blur of concern and determination, each one etched with the same fierce intent. As I look at them, I realise that I'm not alone in this quest. We're an unspoken force, united in our desire to find my mate and bring them home.
The sudden ringtone makes me jump, and I scramble to grab the phone from the table, my hands shaking slightly as I check the screen. Ezra's name flashes on there, and a mix of emotions swirl inside me: relief, anxiety, and a dash of hope. I take a deep breath and answer, I can feel the tension in my body easing, replaced by a sense of determination.
My voice quivers as I manage to stammer out a single word, “Ezra?” The sound of my own voice is like a confession, revealing the vulnerability I've been trying to keep hidden. As I wait for his response, my heart thunders in my chest like a drumbeat, echoing the rhythm of my racing thoughts.
The line crackles to life, and Ezra's voice pours out like a floodgate opening. His words are laced with a mix of relief and determination, the tension in his tone easing as he speaks. "I've found him, or at least, I've found the location of his necklace." He pauses, letting his words settle over me. "Your mate seems to be at an abandoned warehouse a couple miles from Bloodborne-Hills."
As his words sink in, my heart plunges, the revelation crashing down on me like a tidal wave. A cold dread creeps up my spine as I think about Darcy being held captive, and my mind races withworst-case scenarios. I try to shake off the feeling, but it's like trying to hold back a storm surge – it only gains strength as it crashes against the shore of my consciousness.
Chapter Twenty
Darcy Mortlake
The darkness closes in around me like a suffocating shroud as I try to get my bearings. My stomach growls with hunger, echoing through the silence like a beast awakened. I flex my fingers, feeling the familiar tingle of my shifter abilities lurking just beneath the surface.
As I exhale softly, a spark of determination ignites within me, kindling a fire that refuses to be extinguished. My mind whirs into high gear, already spinning with plans for escape, as I steel myself for the long haul. As long as I'm alive, there's always hope – and I'll fight tooth and nail to hold onto it.
I've lost track of time, but I'm relieved that the maddening visions have ceased, and the dark shapes that danced in the shadows no longer taunt me. My mind feels clearer, unclouded by the belladonna's foggy haze. But I'm left wondering if it's because my captors have finally stopped drugging me, or if my mind has simply learned to adapt to the horrors that surround me.
The mere fact that I'm drawing breath fills me with a sense of triumph. It's a small victory, perhaps, but it's mine – and I'll savour it, letting its warmth spread through me like a balm
My wounds are healing, albeit slowly, but with an unusual rapidity that gives me hope. As I run my fingers over the scabs of my wrists, I feel a faint tingling sensation, as if the raven's essence is stirring within me. It's a fleeting feeling, but it's enough to give me the courage to keep going.
The thought of losing my shifter abilities is a crushing blow that makes my heart sink. I would have to face the possibility of living without the one thing that defines me – without the rush of transformation, the thrill of flying on the wind, and the sense of freedom it brings. The very idea is unbearable, and the more I think about it, the more I feel like I'm losing myself.
A shiver runs down my spine as I push the thought away, refusing to let it take hold. My mind reels with the possibility of losing everything – my new love, my new family, my very identity. But I can't bring myself to believe that this could be the end.
My eyes drop to the floor, and with them, my sense of purpose. I've always prided myself on my resilience, but being trapped in this small space has broken me down bit by bit. I'm starting to forget what it means to be me – the things that made me unique, the things that drove me forward.
I grasp at the idea of Eddy's return with every fibre of my being, refusing to let go even when my mind whispers doubts and fears. The crash that knocked us out still echoes in my mind – I can almost smell the acrid scent of smoke and rubber burning. But I won't let myself consider the possibility that Eddy might not have made it. Not when I can still feel his warmth next to me, even if it's just in my imagination. I flex my fingers against harsh rope that binds me, trying to shake off the feeling of helplessness.
I'm jolted awake by an unseen presence nudging my arm. As I blink open my eyes, I'm met with a vision of a petite woman crouched in front of me, her frail frame illuminated only by the faint moonlight filtering through the grimy window. Her long, raven-black hair is tangled and matted, and her eyes - a deep shade of indigo - are sunken and rimmed with dark circles. She's dressed in tattered clothes that hang off her bony frame like a ragdoll's. The air around us is heavy with the stench of mildew and decay.
As I try to sit up, she rushes to cover my mouth with her hand and holds it firmly over my lips. Her pointer finger trembles as she presses it against my mouth, and her eyes dart back and forth between mine with a desperate intensity. The fragility of her frame belies the urgency in her gaze, as if she's trying to convey a message without making a sound.
I nod my head in understanding, and without hesitation, she reaches into her pocket and pulls out a slice of brown bread. Her hand shakes slightly as she brings it to my face, her eyes locked on mine with an air of nervous anticipation.
Despite the treacherous circumstances, I'm drawn to trust this woman, my better judgment screaming at me to be wary. Perhaps it's because she appears equally trapped, a prisoner like me in this bleak, seemingly endless labyrinth with no clear escape route. Or maybe it's the subtle whisper of her omega scent on her skin, a reminder that even in the darkest depths of this place, there might be a glimmer of hope. Whatever the reason, I find myself inexorably drawn to her, and I'm forced to believe that she might be my only lifeline in this desolate environment.