Where Am I

Girl/Tessa POV

Consciousness returned in jagged fragments. A suffocating, agonizing ache engulfed my frame, radiating from deep within my shattered bones. I tried to shift my weight, but my legs felt anchored to the mattress by heavy, unyielding casts that felt like solid concrete blocks. I forced my eyelids upward, but they were swollen thick, reducing my vision to a narrow, blurry slit. The harsh sting of antiseptic burned my nose, a stark contrast to the damp rot I was used to. The rhythmic, sterile beeping of advanced hospital machines filled my ears. The tempo accelerated, matching the frantic pounding of my heart against my bruised ribs.

The very last fractured memory my mind could conjure flashed behind my eyelids: a massive, imposing man ripping a solid iron dungeon door completely off its reinforced hinges, stone dust crumbling over his broad shoulders.

Where am I?

The quiet shattered. The heavy double doors burst open. A doctor in a crisp white coat rushed inside, followed closely by a towering, muscular man wearing a simple tank top and dark shorts.

Absolute terror instantly seized my fragile mind. Conditioned by years of relentless trauma, my lungs seized. I hyperventilated, my chest heaving as I desperately clawed at my own throat and collarbone in a blind panic. I needed to escape. I needed to hide from these unfamiliar men.

Recognizing my extreme psychological distress, the doctor stepped forward quickly, pulling a syringe from his pocket. He injected a clear, fast-acting liquid directly into my IV line. The powerful sedative flooded my veins, heavy and cold. My erratic heartbeat slowed against my will. My frantic breathing quieted. The edges of the bright room darkened, pulling me down into a heavy, dark, drug-induced sleep.

But the unconscious state offered no true sanctuary.

"I didn't do it," I whimpered.

Braddock loomed over me in the shadows, interrogating the room about his missing lunch.

"I promise I didn't do it," I repeated, my voice shaking with pure dread.

His heavy hand cracked across my face, snapping my neck to the side. "I'll teach you a lesson, you little thief."

He grabbed the thin fabric of my shirt, tearing it from my body, and threw me hard onto his rough mattress. I scrambled backward, begging him to stop.

"No, please stop!"

He struck me again, his eyes wild with sadistic glee. "Shut up you whore!"

His thick fingers clamped around my throat. He choked the life from me. I fought, clawing at his hands, kicking my legs, desperate for a single breath of air.

I woke up screaming at the top of my lungs. My arms thrashed wildly in the sterile hospital room, attempting to fight off phantom hands.

My blurry vision cleared just enough to register the massive man in the tank top. He sat faithfully right by my bedside. His intense, piercing green eyes locked securely onto my terrified face.

"It's OK, little mate, I'm here," he rumbled, his voice a low, husky attempt at comfort.

He stepped closer to soothe me. I screamed again. My mind fractured under the pressure. I tried to kick away from him, but the heavy casts anchored my broken legs to the bed. I was utterly trapped.

He immediately froze in his tracks, recognizing my sheer terror. He attempted to formally introduce himself. "I'm Vance, my princess."

Princess? The unfamiliar, grandiose title only served to fuel my rising panic. What did he mean?

He took another slow, cautious step toward me. I desperately tried to scoot my battered upper body backward across the mattress, dragging my dead weight away from him. I found myself unable to catch my breath. The panic overwhelmed my fragile nervous system. The monitors flatlined into a continuous screech, and the room faded to black once more.

When I eventually woke up again, the room sat in heavy silence.

I blinked through my swollen, blurry eyelids. Vance slept in a folding chair positioned in the far corner of the room. His tank top was gone, leaving his impressive physical form bare in the dim light. I took a moment to carefully study him. The steady rise and fall of his chest revealed the marks of past battles. A deep scar slashed across his stomach, another marked his left pectoral muscle, and a few more wrapped around his muscular sides. Intricate tattoos adorned his tanned skin—a detailed valley inked across his chest, and a stark skull with crossed swords on his massive right bicep.

I tried to force my erratic breathing to steady. I kept perfectly still so I wouldn't wake him.

Fragmented, terrifying memories flashed through my mind. Braddock mercilessly torturing me in the damp dungeon. The agonizing snap of the whip tearing my skin. Then, this massive man stepping through the rubble, tearing the heavy chains from my bleeding wrists.

In my traumatized logic, I deeply doubted this man could possibly be my mate. I firmly believed I would have recognized his scent if he were. This had to be an elaborate trick. I glanced at the hanging bag connected to my arm. The letters blurred together, but I managed to make out the word 'sodium'. I had helped in the pack hospital a few times months ago, so I knew the basic purpose of these machines. The equipment didn't scare me. The massive man sleeping in the chair terrified me. If this was just a new form of punishment, I would do whatever I must to avoid it.

My stiff muscles ached from lying rigid. I attempted a minor stretch to relieve the tension in my back.

The movement inadvertently aggravated my severe injuries. A blinding flash of agony ripped through my shattered legs. I let out an ear-piercing scream of pure pain.

Vance bolted upright from his chair. Adrenaline surged through his massive frame as he rushed to my bedside. "What's wrong?" he demanded.

I screamed again, shrinking away from his towering shadow.

In his frantic haste, his foot caught the leg of the hospital bed. He tripped. His massive, muscular frame fell directly onto my fragile, battered body.

Blinding pain exploded through my broken ribs. The sheer agony stole my breath.

The hospital doors swung open. Dr. Leland rushed into the room holding another prepared syringe to calm me. My fight-or-flight instincts peaked. I could not let them drug me again. I violently ripped the IV line out of my arm. Dark blood poured freely down my skin, staining the white sheets. An intense wave of dizziness consumed my consciousness, dragging me back into the abyss.

The dark dungeon materialized around me. The heavy scent of blood and damp stone choked the air. Braddock pinned me against the cold floor. His heavy body crushed my broken ribs. He tore my remaining clothes away, exposing my battered skin to the freezing air. I sobbed as he forced my legs apart. He didn't bother with preparation. He shoved his hard cock deep into my dry, torn pussy. Searing pain ripped through my core.

"Please stop, it hurts," I begged, my voice breaking over the sounds of his wet, forceful thrusts slapping against my bruised pelvis.

He laughed, a cruel, mocking sound echoing off the stone walls. "You love it." He thrust harder, grinding my spine into the rock. "Stay still, and it won't hurt, bitch."

I woke up screaming once again, tears streaming down my face.

The monitor beside me blared. Vance jumped up from his chair, but this time, he did not rush me. He did not crowd my space. He stood near the wall, keeping a safe distance.

"It's OK, princess, you're safe. Nobody will hurt you," he promised in a soft, steady tone.

I sat frozen against the pillows, my body shaking uncontrollably.

Dr. Leland entered the room. My muscles tensed, waiting for the needle. But instead of reaching for a syringe, the doctor calmly pulled up a chair and sat down beside my bed.

"Hi, Princess Tessa. My name is Dr. Leland. You were rescued a couple of days ago from the Cold Stream clan," the doctor gently explained.

Hearing this, I attempted to form a verbal response. I needed to ask him what was happening. But my damaged throat refused to cooperate. No sound came out.

A fresh, terrifying wave of panic sparked in my chest. I couldn't speak. I was muted. The sterile white walls felt like they were closing in on me.

"It's OK, sweetheart," Vance whispered gently.

I hadn't even registered him moving to my side. Suddenly, I felt the warm, large weight of his hand gently rubbing my own. His thumb traced soothing circles over my knuckles.

I looked up, my gaze locking directly into his piercing green eyes. I found myself paralyzed, unable to look away.

A strange, undeniable, and deeply profound comfort washed over my battered nervous system. The crushing terror in my chest began to recede, replaced by a soothing heat that radiated from his touch. A quiet, ancient voice echoed in the back of my mind.

*Mate.*

Being this physically close to him, wrapped in the soothing cadence of his low, husky voice, my overwhelming terror finally began to melt away.

"It's OK, sweetheart," he repeated softly.

His steady, protective presence was profoundly comforting. For the first time in my life, the deep, instinctual sense of safety overpowered my fear. My entire broken, tense body finally relaxed into the mattress. My heavy eyelids drooped, and feeling truly safe, I drifted off into a peaceful sleep.