Chapter 5

CASEY'S POV

It's been three nights since that incident back at his favorite sitting room, I thought he would accept me after that night, but I'm surprised he still send me back to this dungeon.

I'm confined to this desolate cell, a temporary imprisonment that feels like an eternity. Each day blends into the next, and I find myself sinking in a sea of misery and despair, wondering if this is my destiny.

The dim candle light filtering through the small, barred window is my only connection to the outside world. It provides a glimpse of the moon's beautiful brightness and the rustle of leaves.

The routine is repetitive, and the hours seem to stretch eternally as I sit on the cold rodents infested stone floor, lost in my thoughts and memories.

The days blend together, and I lose track of time, my only markers being the bones from the meals shoved through the little gap beneath the cell door.

Tonight is no different. The regular sound of footsteps echoes down the corridor, indicating the coming of my inadequate meal.

A jail guard dressed in the customary Ironclaw outfit approaches my cell, his look austere and disinterested.

He slammed on the metal door with a loud clang, breaking the silence of the cell. "Food," he grunted, his tone devoid of warmth or concern.

With a heavy groan, I push myself from the floor, the chains around my wrists clinking as I moved.

As the guard slides the tray of food through the tight slot, I hurry forward to grab it, my hunger outweighing any sense of pride or rebellion. The tray holds a tiny serving of insipid porridge and a stale slice of bread.

"Enjoy," the guard mutters mockingly as he walks away, leaving me alone with my thoughts once more.

I take a seat on the edge of the cot, peering down at the unappealing supper before me. The porridge resembles mud, and the bread is hard enough to break a tooth. There's no time to consider as I munch on the insipid food.

The routine in this bleak cage is as regular as it is cruel. Once a day, we prisoners are handed what can only be described as sludge—inedible, foul-smelling concoctions that somehow pass for food in this pitiful environment.

I remember vividly the first night I was thrown in this cell. Exhausted, hungry, and scared, I hoped for a good meal to calm my stomach. Instead, I was presented with a sewage so vile that just its odor twisted my stomach.

The smell of that first meal lingers in my mind like a bad dream. It was a disgusting combination of overdone vegetables, stale bread, and an unidentified protein source that I dare not speculate on.

The odor was enough to make even the iron-stomached among us gag.

But as the days went into weeks, and then months, I learned to swallow my pride alongside the disgusting food.

Hunger has a way of humbling even the proudest of souls, and I've become all too familiar with the gnawing aching in my belly that begs to be appeased at any cost.

As I sit on the hard cot in my cell, picking at the pitiful slop on my plate, my thoughts turn to the events of that fateful night—the night my wolf appeared.

That was the first and last time she appeared; I think she's still nursing her grief of rejection, or perhaps I've been too preoccupied by my own sorrows to let her take complete control.

As I sat there, I considered allowing my inner wolf to take over. It was an unsafe move, given that I had never voluntarily shifted before.

"But how?" I mumbled to myself, barely audible in the silence of the jail.

The idea of intentionally changing into my wolf form seemed like an enigma, something that I couldn't quite comprehend.

As if on cue, the classic bone-breaking ache spread throughout my body, signifying the beginning of metamorphosis. I stumbled backwards, automatically reaching out to support myself.

The plate of food I had been carrying tumbled to the ground, smashing into a mass of ceramic fragments and unappealing muck.

The pain was intense, and the unrelenting effect left me gasping for air. Every fiber of my existence is contracting and reshaping. It was as if my body rebelled against the limits of its human shape, seeking to escape and embrace its primordial nature..

Through gritted teeth, I fought against the urge to scream.

And then, as quickly as it had started, the anguish dissipated, leaving behind a voracious craving that wanted to be satisfied.

My gaze fell on the few mice scurrying about the cell, oblivious to the drama occurring around them. My wolf instincts took over immediately, driving me forward with predatory ease.

I pounced on the unsuspecting rodents, my teeth sinking into their flesh with a savage hunger. The taste was raw, yet strangely satisfying.

But my feast was short-lived, interrupted by the approaching footsteps of the guards. The sound of their heavy boots echoed down the corridor, drawing nearer with each passing second.

I retreated to the shadows, my senses still heightened Even as I already morphed back quickly to my human form wiping off the blood stains on my mouth.

The cell door swung open, revealing the stern faces of the guards as they entered…

"Take her!" the leader instructed, his voice carrying the weight of authority.

My heart raced when the guards grabbed me, their grips strong. This was it—the moment I had both dreaded and anticipated.

I was taken forward, the gathered wolves' gaze filled with curiosity and disdain. I could sense their eagerness for the spectacle that was about to unfold.

The air was tense as I stood before Alpha Bran, Thorne, and the council of elders. This was it, the moment I had dreaded but somehow anticipated.

The verdict was about to be delivered, and I braced myself for the inevitable.

Alpha Bran scrutinized me with an icy gaze and an unreadable countenance. This was the man who could take my life with a single command.

A part of me braced for the worst, while another seemed strangely resigned to whatever fate awaited me.

The procedures began with the customary formalities and his condemnations were hurled at me like verbal daggers, each word dripping with contempt.

"I want to kill you," he began, his voice laced with raw emotion. "I desperately want to kill you but I can't."

I arched an eyebrow, "Oh, that's a shame. "I was anticipating a dramatic exit.”

Thorne, ever the devoted lackey, sprang to my side and landed a hard blow on my mouth. I tasted blood, but the pain was nothing compared to the pleasure of riling him up.

"You're still mad because I tossed you out of your chamber like a piece of stick?" I mocked, a smirk on my lips despite the stinging feeling.

Alpha Bran's lips curled into an arrogant smile, and his eyes narrowed as he talked.

"I'll go right to the point because you're impatient. I reject you as a mate! And you are exiled from this territory. If you're seen around, you'll be killed.”

There it was, the verdict I had expected, but it still impacted me like a physical blow. In some ways, being banished is worse than death.

However, there was a peculiar sense of relief in knowing that I was finally free from the shackles of his harsh control.

As I was led out to the boundaries of Ironclaw’s territory, a range of emotions flooded through me. Relief, fury, and a tinge of satisfaction in finally standing up to the dictator who had tormented me for so long..

And so, with one last look back at the pack lands, a place not suitable to be called home, I muttered to myself, "His greatest regret will be not killing me when he had the opportunity.”