~~JOANA~~

~~THE SHADOW PACK~~

The dungeon reeked.

Its walls glistened with slick moisture that never dried, stinking of stale blood. Torchlight barely reached this deep, leaving my cell pitch-black, but my eyes had long adjusted to the dark. Rats skittered through muddy puddles. Every breath I took tasted of rot and my own filthy skin.

My wolf cowered in the back of my mind. She whimpered, growing weaker by the hour as the silver chains bled her dry until she was just a fading echo.

I hated it. I hated him.

“Conor Mortain,” I hissed into the dark. My voice was raw from days of screaming curses at dead air....