Saphira’s voice trembles as she pleads, her desperation spilling into the air. “Please believe me, I didn’t do it!”
Her gaze flickers to Ruby, standing behind Lupus, her smirk cold and unfeeling. Satisfaction radiates from her, and it twists something deep in Saphira’s gut. She’s enjoying this.
Lupus’s response is venomous, his hatred palpable. “You killed my son! Our Alpha may have ordered us not to kill you but mark my words-you will wish you had
been.”
The words hit like a physical blow, and Saphira knows exactly what he’s thinking. She knows the kind of punishment this pack delivers-the kind meant for a Werewolf, not a human.
And she knows she won’t survive it.
The pack warriors seize Saphira by her arms, their grips unrelenting as they drag her toward the dungeons. She cries out, but it earns no reaction. They are trained for this, conditioned into something cold and indifferent. They do not care.
The descent down the stone stairs is rough, each step leading her deeper into the dim, suffocating confines of the cells.
When they reach the first one, they waste no time. The heavy door creaks open, and before she can brace herself, they secure her wrists to the silver chains hanging from the ceiling.
The metal burns instantly, a cruel reminder of what she is-or what she isn’t.
She stands with her back to the entrance, forced into a position of vulnerability.
And as the door ms shut behind her, the reality of what’sing settles in.
Saphira’s voice trembles as she pleads, desperationcing every word. “Please don’t do this. I didn’t shift-I have no wolf.”
Her plea falls on deaf ears.
“Good,” Lupus sneers, his tone dripping with malice. “This will hurt more then.”
The sound of footsteps echoes behind her, lighter than Lupus’s, and her heart sinks.
“This is for my son,” Cassandra whispers, her voice cold and unforgiving. “I hope you remember this until the day you die.”
Before Saphira can react, Cassandra tears her top away, exposing her back to the room.
Lupus’s voice booms,manding the space. “You will receive eighteenshes-one for every year you’ve ruined our lives, and to signify Connor not receiving his wolf at eighteen.”
The sound of the silver whip slicing through the air sends a shiver down Saphira’s spine. She braces herself, every muscle tensing in anticipation of the pain.
“ONE!” Lupus shouts, and the firstsh strikes her skin.
The agony is immediate, sharp and excruciating, tearing a cry from her lips.
Niks’s voice cuts through the suffocating haze of fear.
“Saphira, Saphira?”
The sound anchors her, pulling her back from the drowning weight of panic. She jolts upright, sucking in ragged breaths as tears pour freely down her face. Her lungs burn as she gasps for air, chest rising and falling in erratic shudders.
“Shh,” he murmurs, his voice steady and soothing, like a lifeline in the chaos. “It was a dream. You’re okay-it was just a dream. Deep breaths, Saphira.”
His hand moves gently through her hair, the sensation grounding her, tethering her to something real.
It’s only then, as the edges of the nightmare fray and dissolve, that she realizes where she is.
Wrapped in his arms.
His presence is unwavering, solid, a force stronger than her fear as he holds her, as if protecting her from something unseen.
Saphira doesn’t respond. Doesn’t speak. She lets the emotions spill freely, lets them take whatever form they need, her tears soaking into the fabric of his shirt. The vulnerability feels raw-too much-yet she can’t stop.
Slowly, the sharp edge of panic dulls, the suffocating terror fading into something quieter, something fragile. She focuses on each inhale, each exhale, forcing herself to believe the words she repeats like a mantra.
It was a nightmare.
It isn’t real.
It isn’t real.
I am safe.
And with his arms still wrapped around her, for the first time since waking-she almost believes it.
Niks watches her closely, concern evident in his gaze. It’s rare to see him like this-so openly troubled, so unguarded.
“Are you okay?”
Saphira exhales shakily, leaning back. Is she okay? She isn’t sure. The nightmare still clings to her, lingering like a shadow she can’t quite shake. But Niks’s expression unsettles her more than the dream itself. He looks worried.
That alone makes something uneasy stir in her chest.
“Sorry, yeah,” she murmurs. “It was just a bad dream. Sorry I woke you.”
Her voice is steadier now, but the embarrassment creeps in, hot and unwee, now that the panic has faded. She shifts slightly, ncing around the room, suddenly hyperaware of everything-her dishevelled state, the way her fingers still tremble slightly, how his hands still hold hers, firm but careful.
Yet, Niks doesn’t let go.
Instead, his grip stays steady, his expression unreadable.
“That was more than just a bad dream, wasn’t it?” His voice is calm, measured, but beneath it lingers something heavier.
Saphira swallows, her throat tight. The truth presses against her, demanding to be acknowledged, no longer something she can brush away.
“It was the night I got my scars.”
The weight of those words settles between them, thick and unspoken. She expects him to ask more, to pry-but instead, silence stretches, tense and waiting.
Then, hesitantly, she asks, “How much did you hear?”
Niks’s jaw tightens. “I heard enough.”
His voice carries a quiet intensity, a certainty that leaves little room for doubt.
And then, softer-but firm-he adds, “I’m sorry they did this to you. No one should go through that-whether you had a wolf or not.”
The anger in his tone is unmistakable. Controlled, restrained, but present.
Saphira shrugs, forcing her voice into something neutral, something distant. “It’s the way things are in the Silvermoon pack.”
She expects the conversation to end there-to bury the weight of the past beneath the simplicity of those words.
That doesn’t make it right. But it’s the truth.
She shifts slightly. “What time is it?”
Niks settles back into the sofa, patting the space beside him. “Just gone two in the morning. Comey down-I’ll stay with you.”
Saphira hesitates.
But thepany would be nice.
She moves beside him, resting her head as he instinctively starts stroking her hair again. His touch is calming, his presence steady, and thebination of warmth and quiet eases her frayed nerves.
She focuses on each breath, letting them slow, steady.
Maybe, this time, she’ll sleep without nightmares.
Chapter Comments
Jo Ketterman Leastman
Im wondering if she’s his mate or somehow rted.