The Heartless Alpha’s Beloved Luna (Avery and Gideon) novel Chapter 467

Avery’s POV

Ten years ago, when I had been held against my will in Asher’s rogue camp, there had at least been some semblance of order. Tents arranged in rows, guards posted at regular intervals, a hierarchy that kept the chaos somewhat contained.

This camp was nothinglike that.

The tents were scattered haphazardly across a small clearing, most of them sagging and patched up in places. The ground was churned to mud, littered with bones and trash. The smell hit me as soon as we arrived. Filth and body odor made my nose wrinkle.

The rogues dragged me through the camp, past fires that sputtered in the rain and groups of men who watched me pass with hungry eyes. I refused to look at them and kept my head held high, my eyes all the while scanning for an escape route.

We stopped in front of one of the larger tents. The rogue with the scar pushed the flap aside and shoved me inside.

I stumbled and fell hard on my knees. The tent was dim, lit only by a single lantern hanging from the center pole. There was a cot in the corner, a few scattered belongings, and not much else.

The rogue grabbed me by the arm and hauled me over to the center pole, then pulled out a length of rope and began tying me to it. He worked quickly, looping the rope around my wrists and binding them to the post behind my back, and then he tied my ankles together, cinching the rope tight enough that it bit into my skin.

When he was done, he stepped back and looked at me.

“Sit tight, Princess,” he said. “We’ll be back once we figure out what to do with you.”

He left without another word, letting the tent flap fall shut behind him.

I sat there in the silence, my heart pounding, my mind racing.

I had to get out of here. That much was obvious. But the ropes were tight, and my hands were already going numb from the lack of circulation. I tried twisting my wrists and testing the knots, but they didn’t budge.

I looked around the tent, searching for anything I could use. The cot was too far away. The lantern was out of reach. There was a bag near the entrance, but I couldn’t see what was inside it from this angle, and it wasn’t like I could reach it anyway.

It was then that I spotted a small knife sitting on a folded-up blanket near the cot. It was maybe five inches long, with a worn leather handle.

Bingo.

If I could just get to it, I could cut the ropes. I could get out of here before the rogues came back.

I shifted my weight, trying to scoot closer to the cot. The rope around my ankles pulled taut, stopping me after only a few inches. I bit back a curse and tried again, this time angling my body differently.

It didn’t work. I was too far away.

I looked down at my feet. My sneakers were muddy and soaked through, but they were still on. If I could just stretch my leg out far enough, maybe I could hook the knife with my foot and pull it closer.

I took a breath and extended my right leg as far as it would go, feeling my hip protest at the stretch. My toes brushed the edge of the cot, but the knife was still out of reach.

I stretched further, straining against the rope until my muscles burned and the bonds dug painfully into my skin. My foot connected with the blanket, and I dragged it toward me.

The knife slid onto the floor.

For a second, I thought it was going to fall within reach. But instead, it skittered across the ground and came to a stop a few feet to my left, further away than it had been before.

I shut my eyes and exhaled through my nose, forcing myself to stay calm.

Okay. Try again.

The others laughed.

I sawed faster, my heart in my throat. The rope was fraying now, individual fibers snapping one by one. Just a little more…

“The question is, how long do we keep her alive?” one of them asked.

“Long enough to make it count,” the rogue with the scar said. “I want her to know exactly why she’s dying.”

The rope around my wrists finally gave way.

Gasping, I pulled my hands free and immediately went to work on the rope around my ankles, untying the knots with trembling fingers. They came loose faster than the wrist bindings had, and within seconds, I was free.

I heard footsteps outside the tent, coming closer, and I moved quickly.

There was a gap at the back of the tent where the canvas had come loose from the stakes. I dropped to my stomach and crawled toward it, shoving the fabric aside and squeezing through the opening into the mud. The rain outside pelted the back of my head the moment I stuck it through, and the mud caked the side of my face, partially obscuring the vision.

I shimmied further, sliding through the mud, and scrambled to my feet.

“Where the hell did she go?” I heard someone shout. “She was just here!”

“There! I see her!”

The forest was dark and treacherous, the ground slick with mud. I ran, slipped, fell, climbed to my feet and ran again. Behind me, I could hear shouting. A howl echoed through the night, and when I glanced over my shoulder, I saw a scar sitting just below a pair of hungry eyes shining in the darkness.