CHAPTER 9
~Wren's Point of View~
The first thing Wren noticed was the ache.
It wasn't just in her head, though that was pulsing like someone had wedged a hammer between her temples and left it there. No, the ache was everywhere. Her ribs hurt, her neck ached, and something sharp pressed into her spine from the mattress.
Groggy, she groaned softly and turned her head, squinting at the ceiling. The lights were too dim to be morning. Her fingers curled around soft sheets, but there was a sterile and unfamiliar coldness to the room that raised every hair on her arms.
Where was she?
She blinked again, feeling her throat dry and raw like she'd been screaming. Her heartbeat began to speed up.
Hotel? Hospital? A prison?
She sat up too fast which turned out to be a big mistake.
The edges of her vision seemed to fold in as the room tilted. Her hand flew to her head, gripping it in pain. She panted shallowly, struggling to remember how she even got here in the first place.
Panic threatened to overtake her. The last thing she remembered was…
… A voice broke her train of thought.
"I wouldn't move too quickly if I were you," came a soft tone from the corner of the room.
Wren screamed. She jerked away from the voice and slammed back into the headboard, nearly breaking her skull in the process. Her wide, panicked eyes flew to the source.
A woman stood near the shadows. Her outfit was pure white, but smeared in dried, rust-colored blood, like she'd been dragged through hell and didn't bother changing her outfit. Her dark hair was tied back and her eyes were calm in a disturbingly eerie manner.
"Scream again and they'll come running. And trust me, it's in your best interest that they don't."
Wren pressed herself farther back against the wall. Her breaths began to come in shallow gasps.
"Wh-who are you?!" she stammered. "Why am I here?!"
The woman took a step forward. Wren flinched back.
"You're in an apartment in Lupin House," she said matter-of-factly.
Lupin House… Why did that sound so familiar?
That name stabbed at Wren's memory. Lupin House—was that not the aristocrat complex tucked away from the rest of the city, but still holding a dominating presence all over the country?
The one said to be owned by powerful billionaires. So, why would she be in it? What the heck was going on?
She fisted her hair, groaning when the details began to flood in; The deal, the men.
Her eyes widened in horror as the memory surged like a wave: the cold room, the expensive cologne, the icy gazes of the four men in silk shirts who smelled like danger. She remembered the way one of them had grabbed her chin, declared something insane about a "mate," and then…
… the snapping of her neck, the pain, and then, the darkness.
She was killed. Murdered by those devious bastards. She hadn't done anything to them. Yes, yes, yes! She could remember now!
Her mouth fell open, and she screamed.
"No, no, no!" she cried, scrambling to the edge of the bed. "They—They killed me! They killed me! Oh God—oh my God… they said I was their mate and they killed me!"
She stumbled off the bed and ran to the door, fumbling at the handle. It was locked.
Fuck.
How on earth was she still breathing after getting killed? What was this place? Heaven or hell? Wren wondered.
"HELP!" she screamed, banging on the door. "Somebody help me, please! They're going to kill me again! We have to run… we have to get out before they find us!"
"Wren," the woman said gently.
Right. She wasn't alone. Perhaps, they could work together and help each other, Wren thought.
She turned, sobbing and desperate. "Did they hurt you too? Are you trapped here too?! Please—we have to go. Please, I won't tell anyone, I swear, I just… I just wanted to help my dad, that's all… "
The woman didn't move.
"I can't let you leave." She sighed heavily.
That stopped Wren cold.
"What?"
The woman stepped into the low light. Her skin looked too smooth and flawless. Her face was calm as if her blood-stained clothes were an afterthought.
"You can't run," she said simply. "They'll always find you. The Pack Heirs never let go of what's theirs. And if you try, the punishment will be… severe."
Wren stared at her dumbfoundedly. Pack Heirs?
Her voice broke as she asked, "You're calling those psychopaths the Pack Heirs? Is that what you just said? What the hell is "Pack Heirs" even supposed to mean? This is not a wolf jungle, you creep!"
"Yes, maybe it is and they are indeed, pack heirs."
"I don't know what nonsense you're spewing, but I'm not interested in playing dress-up cult. I want out of here. I don't care what weird name they gave themselves."
"You should care."
"I shouldn't even be alive!"
The woman tilted her head. "You aren't."
Wren gulped. The room fell into silence, heavy like wet wool. D-did she just say she wasn't alive? Wren thought horrifically.
"I…" she croaked. "What?"
"They didn't try to kill you, Wren," the woman said. "They did. Your neck snapped like kindling under a boot. I was there. I felt it."
Tears stung Wren's eyes again, but not just from fear now. It was from disorientation, confusion, and nausea. Her breath crescendo.
She was… dead? She just couldn't wrap her head around that. Deep into denial, was Wren.
"You're lying."
"I'm not."
"Then how am I standing here?" she demanded, fists clenched. "How am I breathing?!"
The woman walked slowly toward her, almost pitifully. "Because I saved you. Just before your spirit crossed over, I tethered it back."
"What does that even mean?! What are you talking about? You sound insane."
"I'm what's keeping you alive. I've been waiting a long time for a body strong enough to hold me. Your death left the door open."
Wren shook her head, stepping back. "No. No. This is a dream. A really, really bad dream."
"You think your head hurts now?" the woman said, with a hint of dryness. "Wait till you try to understand what you've become."
"I'm not anything! I'm not whatever you're hinting at—I'm not a ghost or a zombie or some freak experiment!" Wren snapped, already drenching in sweat.
She ran back to the bed, ripping the sheets off, searching for something or anything that made sense. Her hand brushed a mirror lying face down on the bedside table. She grabbed it and turned it around.
And froze.