The Snake in the Cell
Seraphine lounged against the damp wall of her cell, her wrists bound by enchanted shackles that pulsed faintly against her skin. After the pack’s return, she was hurled back to the Crimson Fang prison and thrown into her old cell. Despite her confinement, her beauty was unyielding—a mocking reminder of her ability to command attention even in chains. Her loose hair spilled over her shoulders, her sharp eyes glinting as they scanned the small space, ever calculating.
Outside, the guards spoke in hushed tones. Seraphine didn’t need her wolf’s magic to unsettle people; her very presence had a way of crawling under the skin.
“She gives me the creeps,” one muttered.
“She’s just a wolf like the rest of us,” the other replied, though his voice wavered.
Inside the cell, Seraphine’s lips curved into a sly smile. “Fear is such a useful thing,” she murmured to herself, her voice soft but tinged with venom. Her mind raced, mapping every hallway she’d memorized, every sound she’d catalogued during her time as Crimson Fang’s faux Luna. Her gaze fell on the shackles, the faint burns on her wrists evidence of their magical suppression. “They think they’ve won,” she whispered. “But they’ve only given me time to plan.”
Her opportunity came faster than expected.
When news of a rogue force attacking Crimson Fang’s borders reached the stronghold, chaos followed. Draven and Isla were called to the frontlines, leaving the stronghold’s defenses thinned. The guards stationed outside Seraphine’s cell were distracted, their tension palpable.
Seraphine slumped to the floor, her body jerking violently in convincing convulsions. Her breathing grew shallow, her gasps echoing off the stone walls.
“She’s faking it,” one guard growled, his grip tightening on his weapon.
The other hesitated, glancing at her with uncertainty. “And if she’s not? Do you want to explain to the Alpha why we let her die?”
The first guard swore under his breath. “Call the healer.”
Micah arrived swiftly, her healer’s kit slung over her shoulder, her expression sharp as she assessed the scene. She knelt beside Seraphine, her hands moving deftly to check for signs of a real attack.
“Move,” Micah said to the guards, her focus entirely on Seraphine.
As Micah leaned in to examine her, Seraphine’s eyes snapped open. In one fluid motion, she pressed a sharpened shard of metal—painstakingly filed from a loose piece of her cell’s frame—against Micah’s throat.
“Hello, dear healer,” Seraphine purred, her voice honeyed and dangerous. “The key, if you please.”
Micah froze, her eyes wide with fear. “Don’t do this.”
“Oh, don’t fret,” Seraphine cooed. “I have no intention of killing you—unless you make me, of course.”
The guards surged forward, but Seraphine’s sharp gaze pinned them in place. “Ah, ah. One wrong move, and your precious healer gets a very unfortunate scar.”
With trembling hands, Micah fumbled for the key at her belt. Seraphine plucked it from her grasp with a smug smile. “Good girl,” she said mockingly, releasing her hold and stepping back.
With practiced ease, Seraphine unlocked her shackles, the heavy metal falling to the ground with a dull clang. The guards rushed forward, but Seraphine was already in motion. She struck one guard with the hilt of the key, sending him sprawling, and dodged the other, slipping into the shadows beyond the cell.
She moved through the stronghold like a phantom, her steps silent as she navigated the hidden tunnels she’d discovered during her time as Luna. Every creak in the floor, every flicker of torchlight was a tool in her escape.
As she reached the edge of the stronghold, she glanced back once, her expression cold and triumphant. “You’ve left me no choice, dear sister,” she whispered before vanishing into the night.
