Sold as the Alpha King's Breeder

Chapter 1449 - 48 : A Rescue by Night

*Saoirse*

I writhed against the cold metal restraints, the chill of the underground lab seeping into my bones. My skin felt raw where the cuffs rubbed. The stench of antiseptic mingled with the coppery scent of my blood.

Calder loomed over me, his eyes gleaming with a mix of madness and triumph as he filled another vial with the blood that flowed from my veins.

"Remarkable," he muttered to himself, his voice echoing off the sterile walls. "Your blood is infused with such potent magic. The dragon’s gift..."

I could do nothing but glare at him with all the fierceness I possessed. My muscles ached from struggling. Fatigue nearly had me surrendering, but I refused to give this man the satisfaction.

"Imagine, girl," Calder said, turning his crazed gaze upon me, "an army at my command, not just any soldiers, but warriors with the might of dragons coursing through their veins. Your blood will be the key to unlock this new era of power."

If I had the energy to move, I would have reared back in shock and disgust. This man, with his twisted dreams, saw me as nothing more than a means to an end. I was a vessel to be drained for his vile ambitions. And they were vile.

"Over my dead body," I spat, the words leaving a bitter taste in my mouth.

"Such defiance," Calder chuckled, securing the vial with my blood into a case filled with others just like it. "But fear not, my dear, you are far too valuable to kill. No, you will live to see my vision come to fruition. And you will bow to the might of what you have helped create."

His laughter followed me into darkness as I closed my eyes, praying for strength, for escape, for Rhys.

Grit scratched against my skin, the only sensation that grounded me as days and nights merged into one long, unending torment.

Calder’s cruelty knew no bounds, his fascination with dragon magic driving him to extremes I could never have imagined. Strapped to a cold examination table, I was left to endure the experimentation and the endless extraction of my blood.

The sharp sting of needles had become as recognizable to me as my heartbeat.

"Please," I whispered through parched lips, my voice cracking from disuse, "no more."

"Silence," came the curt response from one of Calder’s minions. I would find no solace there.

Alone and isolated, I found myself slipping into despair. The enchanted cages that held me were not just physical barriers. They stifled my magic, suffocating the very essence of what made me who I was.

Even in this direst of places, a faint glimmer sparked within me—a warm presence that brushed against the edges of my awareness.

"Rhys," I breathed silently, daring to reach out with tendrils of thought, yearning for the connection we shared. Each psychic call was a risk, the possibility of it being intercepted ever-present, but the need to feel something other than desolation pushed me to try.

And though our bond was frail—I wasn’t even sure if the words were getting through and never received any in return—I felt the comforting echo of his spirit answering mine, a silent promise that I was not forgotten.

As another day waned, I sensed something different. Rhys was close, closer than he had ever been since my capture. My heart quickened, hope flaring up. The guards appeared, their heavy steps and jangling keys heralding yet another change, another relocation.

"Move," they barked, hauling me to my feet. Weakness protested in my limbs, but I forced them to comply and carry me toward whatever new hell awaited.

We shuffled through dimly lit corridors, the other captives and I, each step bringing us closer to the helipad’s whirring blades. In the midst of our procession, I caught sight of it—the dragon staff. It lay propped against the weapons locker just begging to be used.

I felt an internal tug, foreign but also familiar as words that seemed right spilled from my lips.

"Guardian of the arcane," I murmured under my breath, a silent blessing for the weapon that was so much more. It was a plea to the ancient magics and spirits of dragons long passed.

“May you awaken now.” The words continued to flow automatically. “Let the flames within you burn bright as I pour the last remnants of my magic into you. Rise, enchanted companion, in this final stand. Come to me.”

The prayer settled into my bones as the night’s chill kissed my skin. We were nearing the point of no return as guards marched us toward the tarmac. Shackles bit into my wrists, and exhaustion tugged at my limbs, but I could feel Rhys’s presence ever nearing.

A guttural chant began to form in my mind, ancient words of summoning. I poured every last drop of magic coursing through my veins into the call, desperation giving wings to the spell.

"Come," I urged silently, willing the staff to heed my command. “Come to me.”

And it did.

The air vibrated with unseen energy as the dragon staff tore from its resting place. It cut through the space between us, an arrow seeking its target. The guards were oblivious until it slammed into my waiting hands, the shackles shattering upon contact. Power surged through me, fierce and unyielding.

"Freedom!" I cried aloud this time, the word a war cry.

With the staff’s might flowing through me, I turned to face my captors. They drew their weapons, eyes wide with shock and fear. A swing of the staff sent them sprawling, their guns skittering across the concrete. Another wave of magic from the staff’s tip shattered the locks on the prisoners’ chains.

"Fight!" I called to the others, my heart thundering with hope. "Now’s our chance!"

They rallied to my side. Their eyes sparked with renewed vigor even as their bodies failed them. Together, we struck back at the guards who had tormented us, our uprising swift and chaotic.

The blare of alarms sliced through the air, drowning out the sound of the guards approaching. My heart hammered against my ribs as I led the stumbling procession of liberated prisoners out of the underground labyrinth that had been our prison.

"Keep moving!" I urged, casting a glance over my shoulder at the weary faces behind me. The once-proud dragons, now emaciated and limping, followed with a determination that spoke of their undying spirit.

We burst into the forest. Branches clawed at us, snagging our threadbare garments, but we pressed on. Our escape was ragged, slow, and desperate. Stopping was not an option.

"Where is he?" I muttered under my breath, clutching the dragon staff tightly. Its surface was warm and pulsing against my palms. Rhys Crimson, heir to his tribe’s throne, and my soul’s mate, should have been close. I could feel him, the call of his soul pulsing in time with mine.

I stopped and paused. I let the feel of him take over. I pulsed a call out to him and got one in return.

"Rhys’s signal came from the north," I announced.

“There.” One of the prisoners gasped out between labored breaths. "He’s there, Saoirse."

I nodded, not slowing my pace as I navigated through the dense underbrush. We couldn’t afford to, not now. Armed patrols were in pursuit, crashing through the foliage behind us.

"Stay together!" I called back, hearing the sounds of pursuit growing louder. The occasional crack of a twig or a muffled curse told me they were gaining ground.

"Can’t go much farther," a dragon whispered, his voice strained with exhaustion.

"You can, and you will!" I answered fiercely. "For your kin, for freedom!"

A chorus of assent rose behind me, fueling my resolve. Each of us carried scars, physical and mental, from our torment. Yet here we were, defying Blight’s twisted vision of power—unbroken, unyielding.

"Almost there," I encouraged, though my muscles screamed in protest. Thoughts of Rhys spurred me on—the promise of his touch, the safety of his arms, the home we could make beyond this nightmare.

"Look!" someone shouted ahead. Through the trees, dimly lit by the descending sun, I glimpsed figures moving with stealth and purpose. It was the unmistakable grace of wolf shifters converging upon the compound.

"Rhys!" I shouted, my voice piercing the cacophony of alarms and chaos. My call was a beacon, a desperate plea.

With burning legs and heaving lungs, I pushed through the dense underbrush. Every step was a battle.

"Keep moving!" I gasped, my voice barely carrying over the pounding of my heart. The others followed. Their ragged breaths were a testament to our shared ordeal.

Without warning, the world erupted in a spectacle of color and sound. Golden light split the dimness as a figure burst from the trees. It was Axureon.

"Circle back!" he roared. A legion of dragon warriors poured from the shadows, their movements a dance of deadly precision.

The armed patrols, once predators, now faltered, confusion etching their faces as they found themselves surrounded. Our pursuers had become the prey. A fierce cry of triumph rose from the throats of the liberated dragons. For a moment, the bleakness lifted.

"Over here!" Rhys’s voice cut through the cacophony, pulling me toward him. His eyes met mine, wide with disbelief at Axureon’s sudden appearance but filled with relief at the sight of me.

I stumbled into Rhys, my weary legs almost giving way. His arms wrapped around me. I pressed my face into his chest, the warmth of his skin seeping into mine.

"Thank god you’re safe," he murmured. His voice was a rough whisper that resonated deep within my bones.

"Rhys," I breathed out, my voice barely audible. My hands clung to him, fingers digging into the muscle of his back as if I could hold onto this moment and never let it fade.

"Hey, look at me," he said gently, tilting my chin up with his fingers so our eyes could meet. In the depths of his gaze, I saw my relief mirrored back at me—two souls entwined by shared terror and unspoken promises.

But as our breaths mingled, sirens tore through the night, shattering our brief respite. Their wail was an urgent reminder that our fight had only escalated and not ended. We broke apart just enough to see determination flare within each other’s eyes.

He grasped my arm, guiding me behind a fallen tree trunk, its mossy bark rough against my skin.

"Did you know he was coming?" Rhys asked, his voice low, urgent.

I shook my head, my breaths coming in shallow bursts. "No, but I’ve never been happier to see anyone."

"Stay down," he instructed, peering over the log to assess the situation. His protective stance, the tension in his muscles—everything about him spoke of a man ready to defend what was his.

"Rhys," I started, my voice trembling with the strain of recent events, "we can’t let them catch us again."

"We won’t," he replied, determination setting his jaw firm. "We’ll fight until our last breath for our freedom."

"Then let’s make sure it doesn’t come to that," I said, gripping the staff tighter, feeling its magic pulse within my veins.

"Time to move," Rhys said, a commander once more. "We’ve got a long night ahead."

"Let them come," I replied, the dragon staff in my hand humming with latent power. "We’ll be ready."

As we sprinted into the dark underbrush, the shadows of the forest closed around us. With Rhys at my side, every step felt stronger, more sure. We would not go down without a fight.