The Lesser of 2 Evils

KRISTINA, THERE’S NO PLACE LIKE HOME

I know I’m doing poorly – the lack of food and water is wearing on me and the open wound on my ankle has only gotten worst. At some point I’ve lost track of what would be so bad about being poisoned or having wolfsbane in my food… because dying slowly this way is definitely not something I would recommend. I’ve also lost track of how many days I’ve been down here – there are no windows anywhere in the room so I have no concept of time. When I do sleep, it is on the floor since the mattress still hasn’t fully dried out from the first morning. Thankfully, they never woke me like that again but I’ve also never been asleep when they’ve come in – as far as I know. First bit of sound and I’m wide awake, or at least… I was. The last day or so it is becoming more difficult to rouse myself into an alert state of mind.

“Would someone named Alpha Lincoln be looking for you?” The same warrior who visits me often asks as he brings me food I won’t eat. They feed me regardless but on the days I answer his questions, my portions are always bigger.

Not that it matters, it all ends up in the same place.

I try to not react but I know I fail miserably. Even if my body language didn’t betray me, although I know it does with my shuddering breathing and accelerated heartrate – I’m sure the look of pure terror on my face is a dead giveaway. I opt for silence, not trusting my voice and instead stare at the floor, unable to hold the warrior’s gaze.

“By not answering me, you’re telling me everything I need to know,” he says simply, confusing me. What is that supposed to mean? He knows nothing about me or my story – unless… oh Goddess, unless Lincoln is looking for me by contacting other packs? Despite it being against all of our rules, is it possible he called here somehow or worst – came here?

Oh Goddess, what if he’s here?!

“My Alpha refuses to get into a war over you, so he says you have to go back,” the warrior tells me somewhat reluctantly. While I understand completely, this is definitely not the news I wanted to hear. I nod slightly to show I hear what he’s saying and understand.

“I’ll be back in the morning,” he says as he unlocks my cell door and puts down the plate of food. I make no movements toward him or the food and stay sitting perfectly still as I always do, so I don’t antagonize or provoke him. He exits my cell, locking it behind him and leaves without a second glance.

The first thing I do after he leaves is move to dump the food but then decide against it. If it is filled with wolfsbane to further hold Bella down, that’ll be perfect for what’s about to come next and if it is poisoned… oh well. Eating slowly so I don’t get sick and vomit it all back up, I consume everything the warrior left for me – my first calories since arriving here however many days ago.

My ankle cuff allows me to reach the bars of my cell and by lifting the oversized shirt I’ve worn since getting here I can expose almost all of my back. Once bared, I turn myself around and slam my body against the bars. The smell of my burning flesh instantly fills the air, as does the sound of my sizzling as my skin comes into contact with the silver. Without Bella to help me heal, the gouge on my ankle has become a festering wound so I know these injuries are going to be catastrophic to me.

What choice do I have?

Be returned to my pack where I’ll become Lincoln’s wife and breeder – but not until I’ve been suitably punished for running in the first place. Punishments don’t happen often in our pack but when they do, they’re dealt with severely and harshly. They’re usually whippings with silver-laced whips so I also have that to look forward to in addition to having my future taken away from me.

Or I can go rogue and take my chances there.

I made it maybe ten kilometers in the free zone before encountering rogues – if I hadn’t trespassed, they would have captured me and done whatever they wanted to me, dying being the least of it. No, I doubt I’ll last long as a rogue but I’m still willing to take my chances.

I know what I have to do.

I hate it.

I don’t want to do it.

I’m scared of it.

No, I’m terrified of doing it.

However, I’m more afraid of not doing it.

I slam myself into the bars again, burning even more flesh. I resist the urge to scream, not wanting to draw anyone’s attention to me any earlier than necessary. If they find me before morning, they’ll put a stop to what I’m doing and I can’t have that – I need to complete what I’ve started. If I injure myself badly enough, maybe they’ll put me in a medical ward long enough for me to escape. However, maybe if I do enough damage to myself, there’ll be no recovering.

I’m so frightened.

I don’t want to die.

I’m even more afraid to live.