Chapter Seventy: Shadows of the Past
Charlie crouched lower behind the thick brush, her heartbeat a frantic rhythm in her chest as she watched the scene before her unfold.
Luther’s roar split through the night, vibrating in her bones with raw power. The sheer force of it sent shockwaves through the surrounding wolves, who instantly cowered, their ears flattening against their heads and tails tucking between their legs. Whimpers filled the air as every packmate present lowered themselves in submission, terrified by the sheer rage radiating off of their Alpha.
Even Charlie’s wolf flinched at the intensity of it, whimpering before retreating to the back of her mind. Charlie had never seen him this furious before. Charlie knew she should step out. She should show herself, reassure her mate that she was safe, that she hadn’t meant to run off like this.
But she couldn’t move.
She had known she should never have left the packhouse alone. She had known that running after him in the dead of night was reckless, dangerous even. But at the time, all her wolf could focus on was Luther. The pull toward him had been undeniable, overpowering, and despite her best efforts to fight it, she hadn’t been able to.
Her body remained frozen as she watched Luther’s heaving chest, the way his muscles tensed, the pure, unrelenting rage that radiated off him in thick waves.
Without another word, he spun on his heel and took off running toward the packhouse.
Charlie’s breath came in sharp, uneven gasps. She had never seen Luther like this. Never seen so much anger—so much raw, uncontrollable desperation—in his every movement.
Her presence would only make it worse. So she stayed hidden.
From her concealed place, she observed the rest of the warriors left behind. They were exchanging hushed words, stealing uneasy glances at the emaciated rogues who had been dragged onto their lands. The scent of blood, sweat, and exhaustion clung to them, a painful reminder of how far they had fallen.
Charlie’s eyes flickered to the path they were being led down. Her stomach twisted violently.
The southern outpost.
Her breath hitched. She knew exactly what lay in that direction.
The holding cells.
Her own personal hell.
A cold shiver ran down her spine, her body instinctively reacting before her mind even fully processed the memory trying to claw its way to the surface.
She swallowed hard, but it was too late.
The past came crashing down, drowning her in the memories she had tried so hard to forget.
\---
*Twelve Years Ago*
*She was six years old.*
*Small.*
*Weak.*
*Alone.*
*The stone walls of the southern outpost were damp with condensation, the air thick with mildew and the scent of rot. Charlie sat curled in a tight ball, knees drawn up to her chest, her small fingers gripping the tattered hem of the oversized shirt she wore.*
*Her whole body shook. Not just from the cold, but from the fear.*
*She didn’t know why Alpha Greg had thrown her in here. Didn’t know what she had done wrong.*
*One moment, she had been outside near the gardens, watching the other children play from a distance, wishing she could be one of them. Then the next—*
*Rough hands had grabbed her by the back of the neck, dragging her through the packhouse halls like a discarded piece of trash. She had screamed, begged for them to stop, for someone—anyone—to help her.*
*No one did.*
*They had thrown her into the dark, damp cell, slamming the iron bars shut behind her with a deafening clang.*
*Then they had left her there.*
*Alone.*
*She had called out for them at first, for the Alpha, for anyone who might be able to explain why she was being punished.*
*No answer.*
*Just silence.*
*Charlie had pressed her face against the bars, small hands gripping the cold metal so tightly that her fingertips turned white. She had screamed herself hoarse, until her throat felt raw and the air burned in her lungs.*
*But no one came.*
*She hadn’t been given food. Hadn’t been given water.*
*Only the endless dark, the suffocating quiet, and the lingering scent of death in the air.*
*It wasn’t until hours later—maybe even days, time was hard to tell—when someone finally appeared.*
*Not to let her out.*
*Not to give her food.*
*But to throw a bucket of ice-cold water over her trembling form and tell her she deserved this. That she deserve* to be treated like nothing more than a useless, pathetic Omega.*
*That she was lucky Alpha Greg had let her live at all.*
\---
Charlie blinked back the memory, a sharp gasp tearing from her throat.
She wasn’t in that cell anymore.
She wasn’t that small, helpless child anymore.
Greg was dead.
She had mates now—two powerful Alphas who would never let anyone hurt her again.
And yet…
The feeling of helplessness remained, sinking its claws into her chest and refusing to let go.
She bit her lip hard enough to draw blood, pushing herself to focus. Now wasn’t the time to let the past consume her. She had to move. Had to get back to the packhouse before Liam or Luther realized she was gone.
Before she could take her first step, a branch snapped behind her.
Charlie barely had time to turn before two shadows lunged from the darkness, tackling her to the ground with brutal force.
Pain exploded through her side as she hit the earth, a strangled gasp escaping her lips.
No. No. NO.
She struggled, twisting beneath the weight pressing her down, but the grip on her arms only tightened.
"Let me go!" she snarled, trying to shift, trying to fight.
A sharp sting pierced her neck.
A needle.
Charlie gasped as burning fire spread through her veins, her vision instantly blurring.
No.
Not again.
Her body grew heavier by the second, her limbs refusing to respond. The world spun violently, the edges of her vision darkening as the drug tore through her system.
A scent filled her nose—faint, but familiar.
Panic surged through her, fighting against the fog closing in around her mind.
She knew this scent.
She knew this person.
Her lips parted, a whispered name barely escaping before everything faded to black.
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