Chapter 52
52 Chapter 52 Where The Scars
Were Made
Faye’s POV
The inferno consumed everything in its path, devouring the Scarlet Howlers settlement house by house. Each structure collapsed into glowing embers while desperate screams pierced the night air. Mothers clutched their children, fleeing through the chaos as orange flames painted their terror–stricken faces. Through the billowing smoke that burned my throat raw, I watched Hardy observe the destruction with chilling detachment. His expression held no remorse, no flicker of human compassion. Only the ruthless satisfaction of a predator admiring his kill.
His fingers wrapped around my wrist before I could retreat, dragging me toward the waiting horses with unforgiving strength.
“Time to move p>
“Where exactly?” The question barely escaped my lips
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as he hauled me forward. I understood our destination
was my former pack territory, yet the logistics troubled me. How could we possibly travel there undetected when this blaze would draw every patrol
for miles?
“I have a route they won’t expect,” he replied, hoisting me onto the saddle as though I were weightless.
“What kind of route p>
He mounted behind me, his chest pressing against my back as he seized the reins. “Straight into Duskwood
Pack p>
The horse thundered beneath us as he drove it mercilessly fast, abandoning the established paths. My blood turned to ice when I recognized our heading. The cliff face loomed ahead, the same treacherous precipice concealing the cave entrance where my father had imprisoned those innocent children.
I craned my neck to study his face. “Why are we stopping here? What’s your plan p>
“This,” he said, sliding from the saddle, “gives us the perfect entry point. No one expects the arsonists to
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double back through their own target p>
Without warning, he swept me into his arms and sprinted directly into the cavern’s mouth. The absolute darkness engulfed us completely, yet his pace never faltered.
Just as he’d calculated, no sentries stood guard. No voices echoed through the tunnels. The silence felt unnaturally complete.
“You’ve memorized every passage?” I whispered.
“Every single one p>
He paused at a narrow stone staircase and began ascending, each footfall deliberate and confident. At the summit, he pressed his palm against an
unremarkable section of wall. A hidden panel slid aside with practiced ease.
My breath caught in my throat. Recognition slammed into me like a physical blow. This room had haunted my childhood in ways both beautiful and painful.
The pack library.
“Impressed?” he asked with dark amusement.
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“How did you discover this entrance?” My voice trembled despite my efforts to stay composed.
“Multiple access points lead to that cavern,” he explained. “One connects directly to their supply depot p>
“That’s where you ignited the initial fire?” The pieces clicked together with sickening clarity.
Rather than confirming my suspicion, he flashed that predatory smile. “Are you prepared for what comes
next p>
I went rigid, my eyes scanning the familiar book–lined walls. His intentions required no explanation. Hardy intended to reduce this sanctuary to ash as well.
Unbidden memories flooded back with devastating force. I’d spent countless hours as a small child running my fingers along these leather spines, seeking refuge in dark corners during violent storms, imagining this magical place belonged to me alone. Those precious moments felt meaningless now. The failed awakening ceremony had shattered every illusion. The way Sally had gazed at me with calculated
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interest rather than genuine affection proved she’d never seen me as family, only as a tool for manipulation.
The crushing realization struck me then. I’d never truly known any of them. Not my father, who’d tortured children in hidden chambers. Not my mother, who’d turned blind eyes to my suffering. And certainly not Sally, whose supposed kindness masked ruthless ambition. The loving family I’d desperately believed in had been nothing more than my own desperate fantasy.
I met his expectant stare. “How long do we have p>
“Sufficient time,” he assured me.
I nodded grimly. My intimate knowledge of this place would serve us now. Every corridor, every shortcut, every concealed passage the Omegas used because the main entrances were forbidden to us. I’d scrubbed every surface of these walls, hauling buckets that nearly broke my spine, squeezing through cramped spaces to complete my duties before the next brutal inspection. That same familiarity would accelerate our
mission.
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I guided Hardy to our first target, the main supply warehouse. If they’d relocated anything valuable after the initial attack, it would be secured here. Towering shelves groaned under sacks of grain and wooden crates packed with preserved meat. Hardy wasted no time. He produced another of those ominous black spheres he’d deployed against the Scarlet Howlers, positioning it precisely in the room’s center.
“This device burns slowly but relentlessly,” he instructed. “Set it down and walk away. The flames will handle everything else p>
I’d witnessed its devastating power firsthand. Those unnatural black fires would consume everything until only scorched earth remained.
Next, I led him to the firewood repository. The atmosphere hung heavy with dried bark and concentrated resin.
Ideal combustible material. He nestled another sphere deep within the timber stacks.
Our final destination was the medicinal herb storage. Bundles of dried plants dangled from ceiling hooks
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while countless jars crowded the shelving units. Some contained rare specimens that required months of careful gathering. I knew exactly how violently they’d react once the flames reached them.
Traversing these spaces awakened memories I’d fought desperately to suppress.
Zeke, the Beta’s arrogant son, had once trapped me in the firewood storage, pressing me against the rough logs until my back throbbed for weeks afterward. His sister Winona had dragged me into this very herb room repeatedly, deliberately knocking precious jars from my trembling hands, then forcing me to clean the wreckage while she cackled with malicious delight.
During one particularly brutal winter, they’d used me for target practice in the training grounds, hurling rocks and ice–packed snowballs with vicious accuracy. Zeke’s throw had struck my ribs so hard I’d collapsed, gasping for air. Winona had sneered, informing me to accept such treatment because “that’s the only
purpose Omegas serve.” Then they’d shoved me into this storage room to tend my wounds in shameful isolation.
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I’d been their personal victim, their entertainment when boredom struck. And not one person had intervened. Not my mother. Not Sally. No one at all. ɪꜰ ʏᴏᴜ ᴡᴀɴᴛ ᴛᴏ ʀᴇᴀᴅ ᴍᴏʀᴇ ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀs, ᴘʟᴇᴀsᴇ ᴠɪsɪᴛ
Hardy glanced at me as he positioned the final destructive device. “Ready for departure p>
I nodded firmly. This time, I wouldn’t be absorbing the punishment.
We returned to the library as the first tendrils of black smoke began seeping through the hallways. The heat remained subtle for now, but that would change rapidly.
Entering this room triggered another buried memory that still made my flesh crawl. Zeke and Winona had cornered me in the rear corridor one night, falsely accusing me of stealing kitchen supplies.
Before I could protest my innocence, Zeke had pressed a lit candle against my sleeve. The fabric ignited instantly, flames racing up my arm. I’d thrown myself to the floor, smothering the fire with my bare palms while sobbing until my vision blurred.
Sally had discovered me afterward. She’d offered a jar
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of healing salve, half–empty and reeking of decay. I’d believed she cared then, convinced she was the only family member capable of love. Standing here now, that naive hope seemed absurd. She hadn’t been helping me. She’d been maintaining her investment.
“Time to leave,” Hardy’s command shattered my reverie. He was already moving toward the cave entrance when a sharp voice cut through the growing
flames‘ crackle.
“Intruders in the compound p>
We both froze. A woman stood at the corridor’s far
end, her expression shifting from confusion to alarm. She couldn’t identify us beneath our concealing hoods, but I recognized that voice immediately. Luna Eileen, my own mother.
Sara Lili
Sara Lili is a daring romance writer who turns icy landscapes into scenes of fiery passion. She loves crafting hot love stories while embracing the chill of Iceland’s breathtaking cold.