Chapter 7 The Taking

• The cabin was eerily quiet, save for the faint creaking of the wooden beams under the weight of the wind outside. The air inside felt heavy, like it was pressing down on me from all sides, stifling and cold despite the flickering fire that burned low in the hearth. A small window near the bed allowed a shaft of weak sunlight to filter in, casting long, pale shadows across the rough floorboards. I’d spent hours staring out of that window, watching the world outside shift and change while my own remained frozen, still, bound.
• I could feel the rough rope biting into the soft skin of my wrists and ankles, pinning me to the bed. The restraints had become a familiar, almost permanent part of me now. They were always there, always a reminder that I was trapped in more ways than one. It wasn’t just the ropes keeping me here—it was him. Paxton. Alpha of the Darkfang Pack. My captor, my so-called mate, and the monster who had twisted my life into something unrecognizable.
• Outside, the trees swayed in the wind, their branches scraping against each other like bones rattling together, their gnarled limbs stretching toward the sky. A few weeks ago, I might’ve looked out at the forest and felt some kind of peace, some connection to the wildness that ran through my veins. But now, as I gazed out into the cold, gray wilderness, all I felt was a dull ache, an emptiness that had swallowed me whole.