Chapter 73: Chapter 73
Joan was already waiting near the door, her figure tall and rigid in the half-light. Elara hesitated by her bed, wringing her hands so tightly her knuckles gleamed white. The faint glow of moonlight crept through the cracks in the nailed-shut windows, painting long silver stripes across the floor.
"Now," I mouthed. My heart was pounding so loud I was sure it would wake the entire dormitory.
Joan eased the door open. Its hinges whined, and we all froze. But the sound faded into silence, and no one stirred. She gave a sharp nod. We slipped into the corridor, closing the door carefully behind us.
The east wing hallway stretched empty, shadows clinging to the walls. The dim lanterns mounted along the plaster cast more gloom than light. I could almost imagine the Psycho Alpha’s silhouette leaning in the corner, waiting. My skin prickled, but when I looked, it was only darkness.
We padded forward, our bare feet soundless against the cold floorboards. Every creak in the wood made Elara flinch. She whispered prayers under her breath, the words too soft to catch but steady as a heartbeat.
"Quiet," Joan hissed.
"I’m trying," Elara breathed, clutching at her nightdress.
We moved like ghosts down the corridor, past the main staircase with its wide banisters and portraits of former alphas glaring down at us. Their painted eyes seemed to follow us, silent witnesses to our betrayal. I couldn’t shake the feeling they would whisper our sins to the current Alpha. We reached the narrow servants’ stairwell. Its wooden steps spiraled downward into blackness, the air already cooler here. I touched the wall for balance, and my fingers came away damp.
Joan went first, her movements deliberate, testing each step before shifting her weight. I followed, my breath caught in my chest, Elara clutching my sleeve so hard I could feel the tremor of her hands.
The deeper we went, the stronger the smells became damp stone, mold, and the sharp tang of wine casks. The air felt thick, pressing against my skin.
When we reached the bottom, the stairwell opened into the cellar corridor. It stretched out into darkness, lined with iron-banded doors. Some led to storage rooms stacked with crates and barrels. Others were sealed shut, their locks rusted. The ceiling dripped with condensation that spattered onto the floor in tiny echoes.
"This way," Joan whispered, pointing to the left.
We followed, our shadows long and thin under the guttering lanterns fixed high above.
The wine cellar loomed at the far end. Its heavy wooden door was carved with a wolf crest half-hidden beneath dust. Joan tugged it open with a grunt, the hinges groaning, and we slipped inside.
The air was colder here, carrying the musk of oak and aged wine. Rows of tall racks stretched across the room, heavy with bottles that gleamed faintly in the dim light. Cobwebs hung from the beams, catching the lantern glow like strands of silver.
"This is where I heard about the tunnels," Joan murmured. Her voice barely rose above the hum of silence. "Behind the racks. Somewhere."
Elara hugged herself tightly, her eyes darting to every shadow. "This feels wrong."
"Everything feels wrong," I said. My throat was dry. "But we don’t have a choice."
We began to search
Joan pulled at the racks, running her hands along the wood, testing for hollows. I crouched low, scanning the floor for seams or scuff marks that might reveal hidden doors. Elara lingered near the entrance, chewing her lip raw, her gaze darting nervously toward the corridor.
My fingers brushed against the stone wall, rough and cold. I pressed along it, searching for cracks. For a while, there was nothing—just stone, wood, dust. My frustration mounted with every heartbeat.
Then Joan hissed. "Here."
I scrambled to her side. She was kneeling behind one of the larger racks, her fingers tracing a faint outline in the wall. A rectangular seam, just wide enough for a narrow door. The stone here was different duller, smoother, as if it had been handled more often.
Elara crept closer, her eyes wide. "Is it... real?"
Joan pressed her palm flat against the seam. She pushed. The stone didn’t budge.
"Help me," she whispered.
Together, we braced ourselves and shoved. The rack groaned as it shifted slightly, dust raining down. I coughed, waving it away, my heart hammering in my chest. The outline in the stone seemed to deepen under our efforts, as if mocking us.
"Harder," Joan urged.
We pushed again. This time, there was a faint sound—a click, muffled but distinct.
The seam cracked open by a hair, a rush of air seeping through. It was colder than the cellar, tinged with the scent of earth and something older, something stale.
Elara gasped, clapping a hand over her mouth. "It’s real," she whispered.
A thrill ran through me, tangled with dread. We had found it. The tunnels weren’t just a story.
I leaned close, peering into the thin gap. Darkness stared back, deep and endless. My stomach twisted, but I couldn’t look away.
"This could be it," I whispered. "Our way out."
Joan’s eyes gleamed in the dim light, hard and determined. "Then we’ll come back. With supplies. And we’ll use it."
Elara shook her head furiously, her whole body trembling. "No. No, this is madness. If he finds out-"
"He won’t," I cut in sharply. "Not if we’re careful. Not if we move fast."
She hugged herself tighter, rocking slightly. "You don’t know him, Ellie. He sees everything. He hears everything. It’s like he’s—" She broke off, shuddering.
I couldn’t deny it. Even here, in the dark cellar, I half expected his voice to slither into my head. Run, little rabbit. I’ll always know where you are.
But I forced myself to speak past the fear. "He’s not here now. This is our chance."
Joan’s hand settled firmly on my shoulder. "We need to go back before anyone notices we’re missing. Tomorrow night, we return. We’ll open it fully, and we’ll see where it leads."
I nodded, though my body screamed to pry it open now, to run into the darkness and never look back. But she was right. We weren’t ready. Not yet.
We eased the rack back into place, brushing dust from our hands. The seam vanished into the wall again, invisible to anyone who wasn’t searching.
The three of us stood there, breathing hard, staring at the spot where our hope lay hidden.
Elara whispered, "If this kills us-"
"It won’t," I said, though my voice shook. "It can’t. Because if we don’t try, we’re already dead."
The silence pressed heavy around us, as if the walls themselves disagreed.
At last, Joan tugged us toward the door. "Come on. Before someone finds us here."
We slipped back into the corridor, the cellar’s cold air clinging to our skin. As we crept up the narrow stairs, every creak made my blood run cold, every shadow a threat.
By the time we reached the omega quarters again, my legs were shaking. We slipped into our bunks as quietly as we’d left, the dorm still filled with the soft rhythm of sleeping breaths.
I lay there, my heart racing, the smell of earth and old stone still in my nose.
The tunnels were real.
And if we were brave or desperate enough, they might be our salvation.
But as I finally closed my eyes, the Psycho Alpha’s mocking inner voice curled in the back of my mind.
"Inner voice: Run all you like, little omega. You’ll never be free of me.
The cellar air was damp, heavy with the smell of mold, wine, and something metallic that clung to the back of my throat like blood. The flickering candle Joan carried did little to push back the shadows. Each step down the stone steps echoed too loudly, like a warning bell that someone might hear us.
We shouldn’t be here. Every instinct screamed it. But desperation had silenced instinct a long time ago.
Joan walked ahead, shoulders tense, her hand trembling as she held the candle higher to illuminate the path. Elara clung to my sleeve, her breaths shallow and ragged as if every inhale might betray us. I forced myself to stay calm for them, though my chest was tight. My heartbeat was so loud I swore it could be heard in the silence.
"This way," Joan whispered, pointing toward a narrow corridor lined with wooden barrels and broken crates. "If the tunnels exist, they’ll be somewhere deeper."
Her voice cracked, and I knew she was as terrified as I was.
We shuffled forward. The floor was uneven, the stones damp with condensation. Rats scurried across the path, their claws scratching against the stone before disappearing into the cracks. Elara flinched and muffled a scream, pressing herself against me.
"Shhh," I hissed softly, gripping her hand. "Do you want him to hear us?"
Even here, surrounded by barrels of dust and walls thick with stone, I felt him. Like a presence pressing against the back of my skull, whispering, mocking, reminding me that nothing in this pack house was hidden from him.
"Inner voice: You really think you can slip away from me, little omega?
The voice slid into my mind like a blade, soft and cutting at the same time. I froze mid-step, my knees buckling slightly.
"El... Ellie?" Elara tugged my sleeve, confused at why I’d stopped.
I forced a smile, shaking my head as though nothing was wrong. "Keep going. Don’t stop." My voice sounded steadier than I felt.
But inside, my stomach churned. I wasn’t imagining that voice. I knew it. His inner voice always came when I least expected, soft and mocking, filling me with dread.
Joan pushed a broken barrel aside, revealing another passage. "Here." Her voice was low, but determined. She crouched and motioned for us to follow. "If there’s a hidden tunnel, it might be through these back walls.
We slipped deeper, the candlelight throwing shadows across the cracked stone walls. The further we went, the colder it grew. The air was damp, clinging to my skin. I hugged my arms around myself, teeth gritted.
"Inner voice: Pathetic little mice, scratching around in the dark, the voice purred inside my head. Do you really think walls will save you? Do you think I don’t see you?
I bit down on my lip until I tasted copper. He couldn’t be here. He wasn’t here. He was somewhere else in the pack house, probably asleep in his chamber, far away from us.
But his voice didn’t leave. It lingered, amused, as though watching from the shadows.
We stopped at a section of wall where the stone looked different older, more weathered. Joan pressed her hands against it, pushing, testing. "It feels hollow," she whispered, eyes alight with desperate hope.
Elara dropped to her knees and began clawing at the cracks between the stones with her nails. "Help me," she pleaded, her voice breaking. "This has to be it. This has to lead outside."
I knelt too, pressing my palms against the rough stone. My skin scraped, my fingers trembling, but I pushed anyway, forcing all my strength into the wall. Joan leaned her candle against a crate and joined us, the three of us silently struggling, breathing hard. Then we heard a some and we all froze. It wasn’t from us. It came from above. The wooden beams of the cellar ceiling groaned as if someone were standing just overhead.
Elara’s hand flew to her mouth, her eyes wide and glistening with tears. Joan’s face drained of color. I could barely breathe.
"Inner voice: Closer, the voice murmured inside me, low and almost playful. I’m closer than you think.
My vision swam. I pressed my forehead to the cold stone, willing myself not to scream.
No. No. It was in my head. Just my head. It had to be.
Joan grabbed my arm. "Ellie, we can’t stay down here," she whispered, her words trembling. "He’ll find us. If he.
"Shut up," I hissed sharply, too afraid even of her voice carrying.
We waited, huddled against the wall like trapped prey.
Another creak above us. Slow. Deliberate.
It was as though someone was pacing right above the cellar, step by step. Not hurried. Not random. Intentional.
Elara broke. Tears streamed down her cheeks as she sobbed quietly, muffling the sound against her sleeve. "He knows," she whispered, voice shaking. "He knows what we’re doing."
I wanted to tell her no. I wanted to tell her it was all in her head. But I couldn’t. Because deep down, I knew too.
"Inner voice: Of course I know, little mouse, the Alpha’s voice coiled like smoke through my mind. Every breath you take. Every step you risk. You think your secrets are yours? They’re mine. You’re mine.
I dug my nails into my palms so hard I nearly broke skin.
Joan snatched up the candle, her face twisted with terror. "We need to go back. Now."
"But-Elara sobbed.
"Now!" Joan’s whisper was harsh, final.
We stumbled back the way we came, our candlelight jerking wildly as Joan rushed ahead. The cellar seemed darker now, the walls pressing in, the shadows thicker. Every rat scurry sounded like footsteps. Every drip of water echoed like a breath.
And still, in my head, his laughter lingers.
We scrambled up the stone steps, bursting back into the narrow corridor near the kitchens. Joan nearly dropped the candle as her hands shook. Elara clutched my arm like a lifeline.
I dared one glance back toward the cellar door. It stood slightly ajar. I hadn’t left it like that. My blood ran cold.
"Inner voice: Sweet little Ellie, his voice hummed inside me, almost tender.
"Inner voice: Run if you like. Plan if you like. But you’ll never leave. You belong to me. Always watching. Always waiting.
The door creaked softly, as though touched by an unseen hand.
I turned and bolted after Joan and Elara, my lungs burning, my heart screaming with the truth I could no longer deny.
He knew we wanted to escape? But how?