Boiling Agony

Freya's P.O.V:

Vesper pushed herself off the linoleum floor. Her hand brushed against her busted lip, smearing a streak of crimson across her cheek. The resounding crack of my slap still echoed off the stainless steel appliances. She didn’t cry. She didn’t cower. Instead, her eyes darkened. A manic, vengeful fury twisted her features into something demonic. Before my exhausted brain could process her shift in posture, she lunged toward the industrial stove.

Her manicured fingers wrapped around the handle of the heavy metal kettle. Steam hissed from the spout. Freshly boiling water for the morning tea.

"Look here, bitch," she spat.

She swung the heavy kettle in a wide, vicious arc. The lid flipped open. A thick wave of scorching, bubbling liquid flew through the air.

It hit my chest, my neck, my hands.

The boiling water drenched my skin. The heat sank past the epidermis in a fraction of a second. An unbearable, spreading burn ignited every single nerve ending in my exposed flesh.

"Vesper no!" Dante’s voice ripped through the kitchen.

I saw his eyes go wide in genuine shock. He took half a step forward. But his realization came far too late. The damage was done. The liquid melted my resolve and my flesh.

My injured legs gave out. I collapsed onto the kitchen floor. A screeching, blood-curdling cry tore from my throat. It didn't even sound human. It sounded like an animal dying in a trap. My nerve endings screamed in fiery agony. The heat burrowed deep, cooking the top layers of my skin. Blisters formed almost instantaneously, rising like grotesque bubbles along my collarbone and down my forearms where I had thrown them up to shield my face.

Through the chaotic blur of my desperate screams, my vision wavered. The numbing, radiating pain threatened to shut my brain down. But through the tears blinding my eyes, I caught sight of Vesper. A twisted, victorious smile stretched across her face. She stood tall, holding the empty kettle, relishing the sound of my torture.

But that wasn't the worst part.

I dragged my gaze toward the doorway. Dante, Silas, and Gideon stood there. The Alpha triplets. The men who were supposed to be the strongest wolves in the pack. They wore identical expressions of horrified shock.

Yet, they remained paralyzed.

They stood like statues. They watched my skin turn blistering red. They watched me writhe on the floor in a puddle of boiling water and my own blood. They didn't take a single step to save me. They just stared.

"How dare you?" A booming voice shattered the frozen tableau.

Callum. The pack's Beta. My one true friend. The only person in this sprawling hellhole who had cared for me over the past six agonizing years. He rushed to my side, dropping to his knees on the wet floor.

His strong hands hovered over my trembling form. He shook. He didn't know where to touch me without aggravating the severe burns. He slid his arms under my back and beneath my knees, carefully gathering my radiating body against his chest.

"Freya," he choked out, his voice thick with raw emotion.

"Please kill me," I begged. The words tasted like ash and copper. I buried my wet, blistered face into his firm chest. "I can't bear it. Please, Callum. Make it stop. I want to die. Let me go to my dad."

I pleaded with every ounce of my soul. The physical agony eclipsed everything. I just wanted the darkness to take me. I wanted the afterlife.

"Right, you definitely want to be with the Traitor," Vesper sneered from above us. Her nasal voice grated against my eardrums. She felt no remorse. She stood unapologetic after boiling me alive. "Fucking bitch. You are just the same. You deserve to rot in hell."

"Shut up, Vesper!" Dante shouted. A flicker of Alpha command bled into his tone, heavy and suffocating. The sheer force of his voice vibrated in my chest. But despite his command, he remained rooted to his spot. He didn't move toward her. He didn't move toward me.

Callum forcefully took control of the blood-curdling chaos. He tightened his grip on me, his jaw clenching so hard a muscle feathered in his cheek.

"Take her to the dungeons," Callum ordered. His voice turned ice-cold. He glared at the two pack guards standing behind the triplets, gesturing sharply toward Vesper.

"But—" one guard hesitated.

"I said take her to the dungeons!" Callum roared, letting his Beta aura explode. "Now!"

The guards flinched and stepped toward Vesper. She shrieked, backing away. She dropped the metal kettle with a loud clatter.

"How dare you? Dante, say something!" Vesper pleaded desperately. She reached her hand out toward Dante. "How can he do this to me? Save me!"

The kitchen fell stunningly silent. Dante stood mute. He refused to challenge his Beta's sudden, raging authority. He let the guards grab Vesper's arms and drag her kicking and screaming out of the room. Her protests faded down the hallway.

Callum looked up from my broken body. He locked eyes with Dante.

"Thanks, Alpha, for remembering your alpha duties," Callum taunted bitterly. Disgust dripped from his every syllable. He detested Dante's cowardice.

Callum scooped me up, standing tall. Every slight movement sent a fresh wave of sheer agony ripping across my burned flesh. I squeezed my eyes shut. I tried to muffle my continued sobs against his shirt. The overwhelming pain finally dragged my consciousness down. A merciful, heavy darkness pulled me under.

"I'm coming to you, Dad," I whispered, the words slurring together as the pitch-black ocean swallowed me whole.

The darkness felt endless. It pressed against me, suffocating and heavy. A boundless void stripped of pain, stripped of heat, stripped of cold. I drifted through the endless abyss, a hollow shell suspended in nothingness.

Then, a flicker of light pierced the gloom.

I drifted toward it. The light expanded, bright and warm. The heavy darkness gave way to a luminous, incredibly vivid dream.

I stood in the corner of my old room. The walls were painted a soft, cheerful yellow. Two small lamps cast a golden, comforting glow over the plush carpet and the scattered toys. A peaceful aroma filled the air. Vanilla and old books. The scent of a home I had lost six years ago.

I looked down and saw my own tiny hands. I was a child again. Free from the burns. Free from the scars. Free from the agonizing weight of the Crescent Moon Pack.

A loud roar echoed through the hallway.

I giggled, a bright, carefree sound that felt alien to my own ears. I spun around on my heel and bolted across the room.

"I'm gonna get you!" a deep, rumbling voice called out.

My dad burst through the open door. He wore a ridiculous tiger outfit. The striped onesie stretched tight over his broad shoulders, the plush tail dragging behind him on the carpet. He raised his hands, curling his fingers into claws, and made another roaring noise.

I shrieked with laughter, my tiny legs pumping fast as I scrambled behind a large armchair. A werewolf acting like a tiger just to play with his daughter. He was the center of my universe. He chased me around the furniture, purposely slowing his massive strides to let me escape.

Aunt Helena stood by the window. She crossed her arms over her chest, laughing softly as she watched us play. Her eyes crinkled at the corners. She radiated a warm, loving safety.

I dashed toward her, hiding behind her long legs. I peered out at my dad.

"Even your Aunt Helena can't save you today, Freya," my dad laughed, a menacing, playful rumble.

Aunt Helena covered her mouth, chuckling.

"But I can," Uncle Hector declared, striding into the room.

I left my hiding spot and sprinted toward him. I jumped, and he caught me effortlessly in his strong arms. He kissed my cheek adoringly, spinning me in a slow circle. I felt invincible. Wrapped in their love, shielded from the cruel world, I experienced a moment of perfect, untouched happiness.

Everything felt real. The warmth of Uncle Hector's chest. The smell of my dad's cologne. The gentle hum of Aunt Helena's laughter. I smiled, tears of pure joy pricking the corners of my eyes. My beautiful family.

"Won't I get a hug?" Aunt Helena pouted playfully.

I leaned over, reaching for her.

Bang.

The heavy wooden door slammed shut.

The sound resembled a gunshot. The golden light vanished in an instant. The warmth evaporated. My family disappeared. The vivid room was ripped away, plunging me back into the endless, suffocating dark.

Panic seized my throat. Terror spiked through my tiny chest.

"No!" I screamed. I turned toward the space where the door had been. I found the smooth, solid wood in the pitch black.

I slammed my small fists against the heavy barrier. The wood felt ice-cold.

"Dad! Aunt Helena! Uncle Hector!" I sobbed, my frantic cries bouncing off the unseen walls.

I banged my fists harder. I kicked the bottom of the door. I clawed at the wood. I needed to reach them on the other side. They were right there. They were inside. I needed to get them back. My fractured mind refused to process the six years of grief. It refused to acknowledge the graves in the pack cemetery.

"Open the door!" I shouted at the top of my lungs. I hammered my fists against the wood until my knuckles ached. "Help me get them! Open the door!"

"Open the door!" I shrieked.

My physical body bolted awake. My eyelids snapped open, adjusting instantly to a blindingly bright, sterile white ceiling. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead, sending sharp daggers of pain straight through my retinas.

The heavy, undeniable scent of Callum’s pine-and-mint cologne hit my senses. Strong hands pinned my thrashing shoulders down against a firm mattress. I kicked my legs, twisting my torso, fighting the iron grip holding me in place. The pristine white walls of the pack hospital spun around me.

"Let me go!" I babbled wildly. Delirium clouded my brain. The trauma of the boiling water and the sudden end of my dream blended into a messy, chaotic panic. "They were just in my old room! I saw them. I was right there!"

"Freya, calm down," Callum pleaded. He leaned over the bed, his broad chest pressing against my arms to keep me from hurting myself.

"It was real! Let me up!" I struggled frantically. My chest heaved as I fought him. "I need to go to that room. The door shut. They are trapped inside. I'll find them!"

I shoved at his chest, desperate to break free and run back to the packhouse. I needed to find that yellow room. I needed to find my dad in his stupid tiger suit.

"Freya!" Callum shouted.

The sudden harshness in his voice cut straight through my frantic delirium. I flinched instinctively, shrinking back into the crisp hospital pillows. I stopped fighting. My breathing hitched in my throat.

Callum let go of my shoulders. He reached up and gently cupped my bandaged face. The rough calluses on his thumbs brushed against the edges of the thick white gauze wrapped around my jawline. He forced me to look directly into his pained, red-rimmed eyes.

"They are dead, Freya," he said, his voice dropping to a raw, ragged whisper.

I shook my head, denying the words.

"It’s been six years," he continued, refusing to let me look away. He needed to ground me in reality, no matter how much it hurt. "Your dad and your aunt are dead. And your uncle is paralyzed. Do you fucking understand? It was just a dream."

The cold, brutal reality hit me like a speeding freight train. It crashed through the remaining barriers in my mind, shattering every fragile piece of my heart all over again. The illusion of the golden room dissolved into dust. The memories turned to ash.

My dad was gone. Buried in the dirt under a headstone that called him a traitor. Aunt Helena was gone. Uncle Hector was trapped in a broken body, unable to save anyone, let alone himself.

I slumped back weakly against the pillows. The last ounce of fight drained out of my exhausted muscles. I curled inward, pulling my knees up, and let out a broken, gut-wrenching sob. I buried my face into Callum’s chest as he leaned down to hold me. I cried for the tragic loss of my beautiful family. I cried for the life that was stolen from me. I cried for the innocent, giggling child I used to be.

But beneath the crushing grief for my family, a different kind of pain festered. An intense, burning rage consumed my chest. The anger wasn't aimed at Vesper. It wasn't aimed at the Alpha who had ruined my life.

The rage was directed inward. I hated myself.

I loathed my own stupid, naive, pathetic heart. Deep in my core, despite the endless cruelty, despite the humiliation, despite the abandonment and the six years of torture... I still loved Dante. I still loved Silas. I still loved Gideon.

I remembered their bright smiles from our childhood. I remembered the way they used to hold my hand. I remembered the promises they made under the old oak tree. My treacherous heart still beamed at those memories. I still desired the warmth of their affection. I still wanted my boys back.

And I despised myself for it. How could I control this pathetic organ beating in my chest? How could I stop it from yearning for the very monsters who allowed me to be boiled alive? It was a sickness. A disgusting, unbreakable bond that tied my soul to my abusers.

A sudden, sharp, burning pain shot through the right side of my neck.

I gasped, my breath catching on a sob. The spike of agony dragged my mind forcefully back to my excruciating physical reality. The numbing shock had worn off. The true wrath of the second-degree burns set in. The flesh on my neck throbbed with a fiery, relentless heat that felt like a hot iron pressed continuously against my skin.

I sniffled and pulled away from Callum’s damp shirt. I looked down through blurry, tear-filled eyes.

My hands lay on top of the thin hospital blanket. They were heavily wrapped in thick white bandages, swathed from my knuckles all the way up past my elbows. A faint hint of medicinal ointment wafted up from the gauze. My chest was bandaged too, tight wraps binding my collarbones beneath a loose hospital gown.

"It hurts," I breathed out, staring at my mummified hands.

"I know," Callum whispered, his expression softening into profound pity. He sat on the edge of the bed, running a soothing hand over my uninjured hair. "The doctor gave you painkillers. They will kick in soon. The burns are bad, but you will heal."

I looked up at his face. The physical pain was excruciating. It felt like my skin was peeling off. But the deep, emotional sting of betrayal hurt far worse than the boiling water. It cut deeper than any physical wound Vesper could inflict.

The triplets had stood there.

I saw their faces in the doorway. I saw Dante's shock. I saw Silas and Gideon freezing in place. They had watched Vesper grab that kettle. They had watched her hurl the bubbling liquid over my body. They had listened to my blood-curdling screams as I collapsed in agony.

And they had done nothing to stop her.

They didn't push her away. They didn't tackle her. They didn't run to me when I fell. They just watched me burn.

"They promised to protect me, Callum," I sobbed. My voice cracked, brittle and weak. I let my tears flow freely, cascading down my cheeks and soaking into the bandages on my neck. I didn't care how pathetic I looked. I didn't care about preserving my dignity. I had none left.

Callum stiffened. He knew exactly who I was talking about.

"They said they would never let anyone lay a finger on me," I continued, lifting my heavily bandaged hands toward him. My wrists shook with the effort. "Is this how everyone fulfills their promise? By watching me boil on the floor?"

Callum’s jaw clenched. He stared at my wrapped hands. His own eyes glistened with heavy, unshed tears. The fierce Beta, the man who had just commanded the guards with ruthless authority, now sat beside me looking utterly broken. He opened his mouth, searching for words of comfort. He searched for an excuse. He searched for a lie to soothe my shattered soul.

But he found nothing. He couldn't defend them. He couldn't offer me a single comforting lie. He simply blinked, a single tear escaping and tracking down his rugged cheek.

The silence in the hospital room confirmed my worst fears. I was truly, irreversibly alone. My childhood protectors were dead. The boys I had loved were gone, replaced by callous strangers who felt nothing for my suffering.

"I can't bear this anymore, Callum," I choked out, dropping my hands back onto my lap. "I can't. It's too much. The pain... the memories... They promised..."

Before I could utter another word of my crippling heartbreak, the room tilted.

A massive wave of dizziness surged powerfully over my brain. The steady hum of the fluorescent lights warped into a high-pitched ringing in my ears. The bright white hospital walls began to spin, swirling together into a chaotic, blurry vortex. My stomach dropped. The intense throbbing in my burns flared one last time before a heavy, numbing weight settled over my skull.

The vortex turned gray, then darker, shrinking my field of vision to a single point.

Callum reached out, grabbing my shoulders as I swayed. He shouted my name, but his voice sounded like it was coming from underwater. A million miles away.

The pitch black rushed in, swallowing the light. My muscles went limp against the mattress as I fell headfirst into the silent, merciful depths of oblivion once again.