Chapter 8 Into The Depths

When I wake up again, Tristan is standing over me. I gasp, reaching for blankets to cover my naked body, only to find that a sheet has already been draped over me. I don’t hope to think King Caleb has done something like this. Perhaps Tristan has. Although, with the way he’s staring at me with a bored, annoyed expression, that seems equally unlikely. “Get dressed. You have five minutes,” he says. “I need a shower.” “Five minutes.” He turns toward the door. “I don’t have any clothes.” “In the wardrobe,” he says and steps out into the hallway. Not wasting time, I hop out of the bed and run to the bathroom. There, I take the quickest, coldest shower of my life. I grab the first dress I see in the wardrobe – a plain white sundress with small pink flower print – and pull it on. In the drawers are a collection of bras and panties. They are all my size. I don’t know how that’s possible. How long have I been asleep? No matter, dressed, I kick on my shoes and walk to the door. It’s locked. I knock. The lock clicks and the door swings open. Tristan stands in the hallway, his arms crossed, looking generally irritable. Seeing me, he unhooks his arms. “Follow.” I don’t ask questions and move into his shadow again. He moves quickly. It’s a struggle to keep up with him with how sore my body is. I have bruises on my wrists and thighs. My pussy aches from the stretch of Caleb’s thrusts. I can’t think about that right now, or about how he killed that guard right in front of me. It’s all too much, I might curl up and cry. The Lycan King is as ruthless as they say. It makes me wonder if I can even hope to survive this. And he truly believes I had his child? How could he be so mistaken? Why wouldn’t he listen when I told him he was wrong? A King is never wrong, that’s probably what he thinks. Such a disgusting mindset. So egotistical. So selfish. I hate him so much, I tremble from it. Samuel is the one I want to have with me in my bed. Samuel would treat me with softness and respect. Not Caleb. The murderous, vicious brute. I have to find a way out of here somehow. If I keep my eyes open… They’ll likely kill me before I ever reach the surface. Even so… Maybe it’s worth the risk. Tristan leads me back into the stairwell and then down. I recognize the doorway where we first entered, but he continues past that, following the curving stairwell down, down, down into the dark. There’s no electricity down here, just torchlight. Tristan plucks one of the torches from the wall just before we reach the very bottom of the stairwell. The floor is stone and damp. The light is so dim, it takes my eyes some time to adjust. When they finally do, I gasp. This is a jail straight out of a medieval nightmare, with rod iron barred cells and chains dangling from the ceilings. Some of the cells hold bodies. Most are lying down, turned away from the doors and the lights. A pained moan wails through the space, echoing off the walls. Tristan steps forward, walking along the pathway between the cells. Wrapping my arms protectively around myself, I follow him. At the very end of the walkway, a cell door is open. Inside, at the center of the room is a chair with metal restraints. Along one wall is a table with various instruments laying on top. Most of them are needles, with a few different vials. A man in a lab coat stands beside them. On the other side of the cell, standing nearer the door, is Caleb. Half of his face is hidden in shadow, the other half is stern and emotionless. He doesn’t look at me as I enter. Tristan motions toward the chair. “Sit,” he tells me. I hesitate, half thinking I should make a wild run for it. I have no idea what’s about to happen to me here, but I think I’d rather have a sword through my back than be tortured with needles and vials. “It’s in your best interest to sit,” Tristan says, more forcefully. Not seeing much choice, I close my eyes, take a deep steadying breath, and move to sit in the chair. At Tristan’s direction, I place my arms on the armrests and wait as he closes the metal restraints around my already bruised skin. “During a census, our researchers uncovered a birth certificate for a child born two years and three months ago. A DNA swab had been included in the file. This sample showed the child belongs to King Caleb,” Tristan says. He closes the restraints around my ankles next, totally confining me to the wooden chair. “The timeline matches to the night you spent with King Caleb,” Tristan says. “It’s a coincidence,” I say. I look at Caleb, but from this angle, his face is too covered with shadow for me to make out his features. Still, I plead, “I told you and I will tell you again. I never had a baby.” “King Caleb wants to have his heir with his fated mate,” Tristan continues, ignoring my words. “As such, he’s never allowed any of the women in his harem to become pregnant. For this to have happened comes as a shock.” “It’s not me,” I say. “I didn’t have a baby.” “We’ve conducted a large-scale investigation that has crossed the entire kingdom,” Tristan continues. “You are the only possible match, Ms. Lovett.” “That can’t be possible.” “Our King’s patience runs thin with you,” Tristan says. “Tell us where the child is, and we can make this easy for you. Else… You won’t like how things go.” Hopeless, I shake my head. “I never gave birth. I’m telling the truth… Please. Believe me.” “You have one last chance, Ms. Lovett,” Tristan says. He steps directly in front of me, forcing me to look up into his face. “If you continue to deny what we already know is true, we will be forced to resort to more extreme measures. Do yourself a favor and tell us what we want to know.” “I can’t tell you what I don’t know,” I say. “Do you want me to lie? I never had a baby and that’s the truth.” Tristan looks at me flatly for a moment more. Then, placing his hands on his hips, he sighs. Turning, he looks back at Caleb. I can’t see much of Caleb’s face, but I can feel his eyes on me in the dark. I shiver, remembering last night, and the way he held me down. When he pressed into me… When I clawed his back… Caleb turns his head slightly and I feel the pressure lift. He’s not looking at me any longer, but at Tristan. Slowly, Caleb nods. Tristan immediately looks to the man in the trench coat. “Prepare it.” The man lifts a syringe with a very long needle and sticks it into one of the vials. “What are you going to do with that?” I ask. Tristan frowns at me. “We will get the truth from you, Ms. Lovett. One way or another.”