A low groan escaped from Violet’s throat as consciousness slowly crept back in. Her head pounded like war drums, and her whole body ached all over as if she had been run over by a truck. Except if that was the case she wouldn’t be alive. Right now, she was still breathing.
The first thing she saw when her eyes blinked open was a familiar face. Griffin Hale was hovering above her with warm brown eyes and a big, sad smile.
"Hello, beautiful," he said gently.
For a fleeting second, Violet smiled back, comforted by the familiar warmth in his gaze, until last night came crashing into her mind.
She bolted upright, gasping, but her muscles buckled beneath her, and she sank to the floor, palms slapping down to break the fall.
"What the...?" Violet muttered, her heart thundering. Then she looked down, and froze.
Thick, rusted shackles bound her ankles, the cold bite of metal digging into her skin.
"Was just about to get to that..." Griffin said wryly. The tease was there, but his smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Violet scanned the room, only now realizing they weren’t alone. They were in some kind of prison.
The walls were made of rotting concrete, thick with cracks and dark stains she didn’t want to name. The air reeked of mildew, dried blood, sweat, and the stench of human waste. God, she wanted to throw up.
The only source of light came from a grimy, narrow window high on the wall that barely let in a sliver of daylight. The young women with them were silent and wide-eyed. Some were huddled together, while the others sat apart, all of them gaunt with fear etched into their faces.
Violet felt a chill crawl down her spine. Her stomach twisted violently and she had to swallow down the bile rising in her throat.
"What is this place?" she asked in a whisper, dread heavy in her voice.
Griffin exhaled, looking around. "It’s probably a holding cell," he said. "Rogues don’t belong to packs. That’s what makes them different from us. They have no allegiance, no order and no rules."
He paused before continuing. "And because they’re outcasts, most never get mates."
Violet’s eyes moved to the girls again as a sick understanding hit her like a slap.
"Shit. They stole these girls from their homes," she finished for him with a hollow voice.
Griffin nodded once.
"They were probably taken from towns, and packs they attacked. Rogues are known to leave destruction behind them."
Violet could hardly breathe now.
Griffin must have noticed because he leaned in closer, bringing his cuffed hands up to gently brush the swelling at the side of her face with his knuckles. His touch was featherlight, but even that made her wince.
"Hey," he murmured, shushing her softly. "I’m sorry. That bastard didn’t hold back. But I’ll kill him. I swear, the second we get out of here, he’s dead."
Violet tried to focus on his words, drawing strength from them, but her eyes dropped to the glowing cuffs on his wrists.
"Is that the reason you can’t shift?" she asked.
Griffin gave her a nod. "They call them suppressors. Courtesy of Storm Enterprises."
Violet grimaced.
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