Betrayed by My Ex, Marked by His Alpha Emperor Brother

Chapter 105

Elara’s POV

The first thing I felt was the cold.

Not the crisp bite of winter air or the cool brush of mountain wind. This cold was damp. Rotten. It seeped up through cracked concrete and burrowed into my bones like something alive, something feeding.

The second thing I felt was the absence.

I reached inward—an instinct as natural as breathing—searching for that warm, golden presence curled at the base of my consciousness. The place where Moonlight always waited.

Nothing.

Not silence. Silence implied something that could be broken. This was void. A black, gaping hole where my wolf had lived since the day I first shifted. Like reaching for a limb that had been severed.

Moonlight?

No answer. No flicker. No warmth.

The laced holy water. I remembered now—the burn of it sliding down my throat, the way it had detonated inside me like liquid fire, searing through every nerve that connected me to my wolf. I remembered screaming. I remembered Moonlight’s howl—distant, agonized, fading—

Gone.

I was alone in my own body.

My eyes opened to darkness. Not complete—a thin bar of sickly yellow light leaked from beneath a steel door, enough to make out shapes. Concrete walls, close and stained. A ceiling too low. A floor slick with something I didn’t want to identify.

And the smell.

Sweat. Urine. Old blood. Fear—sharp and acrid, the kind that saturates a space when it’s been soaked in terror for too long. It coated my tongue. Filled my lungs.

I pushed myself upright. My arms shook. Without my wolf’s healing, every bruise and cut throbbed with ordinary, human pain. My wrists were raw where ropes had been. My head pounded. A wave of nausea rolled through me, and I pressed my palm flat against the cold floor, breathing through it.

Don’t throw up. Don’t.

As my vision adjusted, I began to count.

Bodies. Huddled against every wall, crammed into corners, piled against each other like discarded things. At least twelve. Some sitting. Some lying flat. All of them radiating the same broken, hollow energy.

The dirty concrete cell was no more than twelve by eight feet. Concrete on every side. The door was solid steel—no window, no slot, just a heavy slab of metal bolted into a reinforced frame. The walls were close enough that I could almost touch both sides if I stretched my arms.

A woman sat to my left, knees drawn to her chest, rocking back and forth in a slow, mechanical rhythm. Her hair was grey. White, almost. But her face—her face was young. She couldn’t have been older than me. The grey had come from something else. Something that had reached inside her and burned the color out.

Her lips moved constantly. Whispering. I leaned closer and caught fragments.

"...blessed moon, protect your children... blessed moon, protect..."

A prayer. Over and over. A loop with no end.

Near the door, two men sat shoulder to shoulder. One had a bandage wrapped around his head—the cloth stiff and brown with old blood, crusted at the edges. His hands trembled in his lap. The other kept glancing at the steel door, then away, then back, like he couldn’t decide which was worse—watching for it to open or pretending it didn’t exist.

I swallowed hard. My throat was raw.

Think. Assess. There has to be a weakness. A crack in the wall. A loose bolt. Something.

I ran my fingers along the concrete behind me. Solid. Seamless. No give. The floor was the same—poured thick, no drain, no gap. The steel door might as well have been part of the mountain itself.

Nothing.

I was a wolf without her wolf, locked in a concrete box with no way out.

If Moonlight were here—

I crushed the thought. Moonlight wasn’t here. The poison had done its work.

Hours crawled. Or maybe minutes. Time lost all meaning in the absence of daylight, in the slow drip of water from somewhere overhead and the constant, maddening whisper of the grey-haired woman’s prayers.

Then the door opened.

The sound was enormous. Metal grinding against metal, a shriek that bounced off every wall. Everyone in the cell flinched. The grey-haired woman went silent, her mouth freezing mid-word.

Two soldiers stepped through. The first was tall—broad across the shoulders, with a jaw like a shovel blade. The second was shorter, compact, eyes darting across our faces with practiced efficiency. The tall one held a rolled piece of parchment. He unrolled it with the lazy indifference of a man reading a supply list.

"Weber."

The name dropped into the cell like a stone into still water.

The man with the bloodied bandage jerked. His whole body went rigid. The trembling in his hands spread to his shoulders, his jaw.

"No." It came out thin. Reedy. "No, I don’t—I don’t know anything. I already told them. I don’t know anything—"

The shorter soldier moved fast. One step forward, and the flat of his hand cracked across Weber’s face. The sound was sharp. Wet. Blood sprayed from Weber’s lip and spattered across the concrete.

"On your feet. You’re going upstairs," the shorter one said. Bored.

"Please—" Weber was crying now. Tears cutting pale lines through the grime on his cheeks. "Please, I’m nobody. I’m just a merchant. I don’t know anything about—"

His companion grabbed his arm, desperately trying to pull him back. "Hide. Get behind me!" He then turned to the tall soldier, frantic. "Where are you taking him? When is he coming back?"

The tall soldier sneered. The sound was cold and practiced, a cruel amusement dancing in his eyes.

"He’s not coming back," the tall one declared brutally.

Weber screamed as they dragged him out. His fingers clawed at the doorframe, leaving bloody streaks on the steel. Then the door slammed shut, and the scream continued—muffled now, traveling down a corridor, growing fainter—

Then it stopped.

Just stopped.

The silence that followed was worse than any sound.

Weber’s friend pressed himself against the wall. His mouth opened and closed, but nothing came out. The grey-haired woman resumed her rocking. Her whisper picked up where it had left off, faster now. More frantic.

"...blessed moon, protect your children... blessed moon..."

I wrapped my arms around myself. My hands were ice. My chest felt hollowed out.

That could be me. That will be me.

Without Moonlight, I had no enhanced strength. No speed. No healing. I was exactly what they had made me—a woman. Flesh and bone and nothing else. The kind of fragile that breaks under a single blow. I hugged my knees to my chest, the cold seeping deeper into my bones. The profound helplessness of being a mere mortal weighed on me.

More hours. The door opened again. Different names. Different screams. A man who went silent. A woman who begged. Another man who tried to fight and was beaten until he couldn’t stand, then dragged out by his ankles, his head bouncing off the threshold.

Nobody came back.

By the time the light beneath the door had shifted to something darker—night, maybe, or just deeper into whatever underground hell this was—only eight of us remained. The cell felt simultaneously emptier and more suffocating. Every missing body was a countdown. Every name called was a lottery we were all losing.

The grey-haired woman had stopped praying. She stared at the wall now. Blank. Empty.

Weber’s friend had curled into a fetal position. He hadn’t spoken since they took Weber.

I sat in my corner and tried to keep my breathing even. The profound isolation and panic twisted in my chest as I watched my fellow prisoners completely break down. There was no escape. We were trapped.

The door opened.

This time, three soldiers entered. Not two. And the man leading them was different. Taller than the others. A sergeant with striped epaulets on his shoulders. His movements were controlled. Precise. The kind of calm that came not from indifference but from absolute certainty in his own authority.

He stepped into the cell, his cold gaze sweeping across us, and finally landed on me.

"Elara."