Page 43 of The Delta’s Rogue (Crescent Lake #4)

The days blur into a chain of monotony, an abstract painting of repeating shapes and colors.

Brenna wakes me in the morning—or what I assume is the morning—dragging my freezing body from the bed. She bathes me and prepares my hair and makeup, then she takes me into the room with the other girls, the witches, and Amara.

There, they use me as an example—an example of what will happen if anyone refuses to cooperate. If they refuse to submit.

At the end of every day, I’m chained to the bed again. I’m given no clothing, no blankets to cover myself when I sleep, and no food. Just sips of water.

Amara no longer forces Brenna to use my blood against me to do her bidding. Instead, she waits for the embarrassment and the hunger to overwhelm me.

She waits for me to break.

I do not know how many days it’s been since Brenna removed my tattoos. I don’t know if they bring us to the large room once a day or twice a day. There are no windows or clocks anywhere in the building, nothing to hint at the passage of time.

I lie on the bed, arms and legs spread and chained to the frame. My muscles spasm from fatigue and hunger, and my limbs shiver from the extreme cold in the bedroom, but I’m numb to everything.

I thought I could survive the loss of Sebastian’s words. I thought I could survive anything these awful people threw at me.

I was wrong .

Every day, the crack in my armor grows. Every day, the weight I bear is heavier. My resolve weakens.

But the thought of giving in, of playing along with Amara’s monstrosities? It boils my blood. It’s wrong on so many levels. It goes against every ingrained instinct I have.

What happens if I do give in? How long will I be “safe” here in their headquarters or training facility, or whatever this is? If I give in, if I play their game, they’ll auction me off. I’ll end up in the home of some rich, sadistic bastard.

Y nunca me encontraré nuevemente con Sebastián . I’ll never reunite with Sebastian.

The door opens, and Brenna enters my room.

I no longer attempt to cover my body. There’s no point. I can’t move my limbs, and she’s seen all of me many times. I do, however, furrow my brow.

Why is she here? It’s not time for the next training session with Amara. I haven’t been in my room long enough for that. Unless I fell asleep and didn’t realize it.

Then it hits me. The scent of food, something warm and aromatic.

A groaning sob echoes in my chest, mirrored by the growl emitted by my empty, tormented stomach. I strain away from her, attempting to roll onto my side and curl into myself.

Brenna snaps her fingers, and the chains release from my cuffs. My groan morphs into a sigh of relief as I hug my stomach, curling into a ball. I stroke my ribs out of habit, tracing over the words no longer there, and my lip quivers.

“Get up,” Brenna orders. Her voice is sharper than usual, tinged with annoyance and urgency.

I turn my face into my pillow. “Whatever Amara sent you to force me to do, I’m not doing it. No lo voy a hacer ,” I tell her, slipping into Spanish.

Usually, I keep this part of me hidden as much as I can, to prevent questions. Now, I cling to it to remind myself of who I am, especially since I no longer have my choker or my tattoos.

“Amara didn’t send me.”

Brenna’s words settle around me. I lift my head and meet her intense stare. It makes my breath catch with its ferocity. She holds a heavy, ivory silk robe and extends it towards me .

I flick my eyes towards the ceiling and the corners of the room. I don’t know exactly where they’re located, but Brenna informed me of the cameras the first night she bathed me.

“ No me permiten usar ropa ,” I remind her. “I’m not allowed to wear clothing,” I repeat in English.

“They’re seeing what I want them to see,” she says.

“Which is?”

“Me eating my dinner while I force you to watch.”

I grapple with my options, with whether to trust her.

“There isn’t much time, Anaís. Eating doesn’t take that long, so the longer I keep the illusion in place, the more unrealistic it seems.”

My fingers twitch, and my heart races. Honeybees swarm in my stomach, and a knot ties itself in my throat.

“ ?Cómo sé que puedo confiar en ti? ” I ask through my teeth, my hands curling into fists. “How do I know I can trust you?”

“Look down.”

I do as I’m told—for once—and there on my ribs are Sebastian’s words, still inked into my skin.

I cover my mouth with my free hand as my fingers splay across my abdomen. They trace over the scrawling, swirling handwriting, and I hear his voice as clearly as if he was right next to me, holding me and murmuring the words to me.

I don’t question if they’re real. She wouldn’t risk everything to bring me food and show me the tattoos if they were only another illusion.

She didn’t take them from me.

Tears of relief and gratitude pour from my eyes. Sob after sob rattles my chest.

In the grand scheme of things, the existence of the tattoo matters not, but this small gift Brenna’s bestowed upon me when everything seems bleak means more than I can put into words.

It’s the hope I needed, the last shimmering ray of light to reach the darkness before it consumes me.

It gives me something to cling to, to keep me from breaking into millions of unmendable pieces.

“ Gracias ,” I say between my sobs, my words choked and my voice weak and trembling. “Oh Goddess, thank you so much. ”

She gives me a half-smile. “Let’s get you dressed.”

Brenna drapes the robe over her arm and reaches for me.

I don’t hesitate this time. I slip my hand into hers and let her tug me to the edge of the bed until I’m sitting with my legs over the side.

She wraps the robe around my shoulders. I slip my arms into the sleeves and gather it around my waist to stand.

Unlike the robe she dressed me in the first night, this robe is floor length and has a button on the hip to hold it closed.

The fabric, while cool to the touch, is sturdy and opaque, providing me with cover and a bit of warmth against the freezing air flowing through the vents.

My fingers—quivering from the cold, my fatigue, and the overwhelming surge of emotions pulsing through me—fumble with the button.

I walk towards the cart she brought in with her, but my knees give out before I can take one step.

Brenna grabs me as I fall, catching me under my arms. My teeth knock together, chattering from the tremors wreaking havoc on me.

I try to keep myself upright, to keep my feet under me, but my body is too heavy. My strength is gone.

“You need to eat,” Brenna whispers, gripping me tighter. “You’re going to kill yourself if you don’t.”

“If I die, they can’t auction me off.”

“If you die, he can’t keep his promise.”

Her words are a slap in the face, and a reminder that she knows more about me than she lets on.

They’re the harsh truth: I will die if I continue this way.

A body can only survive for so long without food.

That’s true even for shifters. If I die, there’s nothing for Sebastian to find.

If I’m sold, there is still a chance—a slim one, but a chance.

I blink at her. “You’re right,” I admit.

She lifts me back onto the mattress. “Stay here.” She points at the pillows. “I’ll bring you your food.”

I listen to her again and scoot myself towards the head of the bed, propping myself up. “ ?Qué es? ” I ask. “What is it?”

She grabs a mug from the lower shelf of the rolling cart and lifts the cover off the tray on the top.

“Soup.” She pours it from the bowl into the mug.

“It’s just chicken broth and rice. I didn’t want to give you something too rich or too heavy.

” She crosses back to me and hands me the mug.

“Don’t wolf it down, or you’ll make yourself sick. ”

My lips twitch in a silent laugh at her attempt at a pun as I lift the mug to my face. I inhale the scent of the soup. With my senses muted by the wolfsbane and the silver, it isn’t as powerful as it would be, but it’s comforting, and the steam warms my face.

I sip at it, going slowly like Brenna said, enjoying the savory broth.

It heats me from the inside, soothing my aching muscles and my pained soul.

It awakens memories of my dad bringing me soup as a child, when the loneliness I endured was too overwhelming for my tiny heart—a gesture that holds more meaning to me now than it did then, when I was too young to understand and appreciate the intentions behind it.

Then, it was just a father bringing his daughter a homemade meal.

Now, I see it for what it was—understanding and solidarity.

Maybe, one day, I can thank him for it. Maybe, one day, I can return the favor.

Brenna grabs the blanket from the foot of the bed and tucks it around me, granting me another luxury, as I eat the food I’m not allowed to have.

I frown at her. “ ?Por qué me estás ayudando? ”

Her hands freeze for a split second, and then she continues smoothing the blanket out over my legs.

“Why did you lie about my virginity, take that blow from Nuncio, and pretend to remove my tattoos? Why are you helping me?”

“You’re not the only one who is trapped.”

I scoff and hug the mug to my chest. “ Tú eres la preferida de Amara . It’s obvious to anyone that Amara favors you.”

“And yet I’m still only allowed access to the interior doors. I can’t leave the building except to attend auctions, and even then I’m stuck at Amara’s side. I can’t go outside. I don’t know where we are. My cage may look different from yours, but I’m still a prisoner too.”

She takes the now empty mug from me and sets it on the table next to the bed, then perches on the edge of the mattress and grips my hands in her fists, holding my gaze with pure sincerity and earnestness.

“I can help you contact your friends. I’ll help you get home if you promise you’ll come back and rescue me too. ”

The shaking in my body returns, stemming from the nervous, hesitantly hopeful anticipation bubbling inside me like a pot on the verge of boiling. I keep my face neutral, though, to hide any shade of hope I may have. “What makes you think I have friends who can help?”

“Most of the girls he has them capture are girls who won’t be missed, girls who are packless.”

He . I’ve heard them mention a “he” before.

Amara mentioned him when Nuncio struck Brenna, claiming “he” wouldn’t be happy about it, that Nuncio would pay for it.

Whatever punishment Nuncio received, I doubt it was enough.

“Who is he?” I move the conversation away from my past and my connections.

Brenna swallows. “His name is Lowell.” Her voice is a fluttering whisper of rustling leaves in the wind. “He’s the head of the entire operation.”

“Is he a werewolf?”

“I don’t know. I’ve never seen him.” Her grip on my hands tightens, and a dark flicker of fear flashes across her face. “But he’s seen me, and he wants me. I’m his prize.”

“That’s why Amara protects you and won’t let you leave.”

She nods.

Rage vibrates through me, a vicious tornado building and swirling behind the chains they’ve bound me in while I’m here.

It’s a fury that, once released, will know no bounds and answer to no master but me.

My vengeance on all who’ve harmed me, and any other female, will be swift.

My claws will tear through their skin, mangling their bodies until they’re unrecognizable.

My teeth will rip out their throats and their innards, and I’ll leave their barely alive remains for the scavengers to feed on.

I push down my growing bloodlust, and glance at our joined hands, debating my next words, my next move.

“I’m packless too,” I mutter, testing the waters with my lie.

Brenna laughs. It’s the first time I’ve heard her make the sound. While brief, it’s a rare glittering gem in this den of darkness we’re trapped in. “You and I both know that’s not true, Anaís . Or should I say Sar—”

I growl at her in warning, my head whirling towards the corners of the room.

“My illusion,” she reminds me. “They can’t hear us.”

My thundering heart slows. I breathe through the panic as I return my gaze to hers. “When you rifled through my thoughts… ”

“Whatever you relived in your mind when I touched you is only a fraction of what I saw in your memories.”

An icy chill sprints over my skin, but it has little to do with the temperature of the room and everything to do with the powerful witch I’m considering forming an alliance with. “What else did you see?”

“I saw enough. I know there are people out there who care about you, people who won’t give up until they find you.”

“So when you asked me about him the other day–”

“I was playing my part, following Amara’s protocols for ensuring the girls here won’t be missed.” She waits, observing my inner turmoil.

I hug my knees to my chest as I think.

Trusting her is a risk. She’s powerful—more powerful than I think she realizes. Magic such as hers is rare, which makes trusting her dangerous.

What if she turns against me? What if helping her places a larger target on my back?

But she’s my only potential ally. It’s her or no one.

I stretch my legs out in front of me again, resigning myself to this potentially disastrous decision. “You said you can help me contact them. How?”

Her eyes sparkle, and she sits up straighter. “I have an idea, but it will require some cooperation and sacrifices on your part.”

“What do you mean?”

“Play Amara’s game. Let her mold you and train you. Pretend she’s broken you.”

“But then they’ll auction me off.”

She nods. “Yes.”

My heart skips a beat. “You want me to let them?”

She leans forward conspiratorially. “For my plan to work, we need you to let them.”