Turning my attention to the pixeleon, I speak to the small creature through the bars. 'And what about you, little one? Do you like the name Pixel?' I inquire. In response, the tiny dragon rolls onto its stomach, emitting a small flare of fire, confirming its approval.
'He can breathe fire!' I exclaim, my voice brimming with excitement.
Warrick nods. 'Indeed, they can. And it seems he appreciates the name,' he confirms.
With a graceful flutter of its wings, Pixel returns to me, landing softly on my lap and curling up to rest. I stroke its back gently, feeling a warmth of comfort wash over me.
***
Brad's grip tightens around my throat, crushing the air from my lungs as he slams me against my locker. His presence looms over me. A menacing shadow imbued with malice. His words, laced with venom, pierce through the silence. 'I will make you pay for what you did to me, my sweet Rose,' he sneers, his voice dripping with cruel intent. 'We are not over, and it will never be over. You belong to me and no one else. I will always be watching you, whether in your dreams as you sleep, following you in stores, or waiting right here by your locker,' he taunts, his words painting a chilling portrait of possession. With an aggressive force, his lips crash against mine, forcing themselves upon me, the pain searing through me as his grip constricts around my neck, the darkness encroaching upon my vision. 'I love you,' he whispers into my ear before releasing his grip.
I jolt awake, gasping for air as panic grips my chest. My hands instinctively reach for my throat, searching for the phantom hands that had choked the life from me, but they find nothing. I am alone, drenched in a cold sweat, the remnants of the nightmare clinging to my senses.
'Rose!' Warrick's voice rings out, his hands gripping the silver bars of his cell, only to recoil as they burn his flesh once more.
Disoriented and still trembling from the lingering terror, I take in my surroundings, realizing that I had fallen asleep, consumed by the haunting nightmare of Brad's torment. The nightmare that refuses to loosen its grip on my subconscious.
'What happened? You were screaming, fighting in your sleep,' Warrick says with evident concern as he implores me for answers.
I wrap my arms around myself, seeking comfort from the frigid reality surrounding me. 'It was nothing. Just a dream,' I mumble, avoiding his gaze, unwilling to expose the raw vulnerability that festers beneath the surface.
But Warrick refuses to accept my feeble attempts to dismiss my anguish. He sees through the facade I have erected, reading the truth in my trembling form and downcast eyes. He speaks with gentle determination. His voice laced with empathy. 'Rose, that wasn't just any dream or nightmare, and I’m pretty sure the guards up the stairs could hear your screams. You were genuinely terrified. Please, tell me what happened. Let me help you.'
‘It doesn’t matter, Warrick. It was just a dream, nothing more. I’m fine,’ I tell him.
‘You’re not fine, Rose. Please, stop lying to me. You’re trembling and hugging yourself up against a wall. Your body language is telling me you’re far from fine. You won’t even look at me,’ he says.
I take a deep breath to calm myself and let go of my arms. My eyes slowly drift from the floor to Warrick’s. ‘See, I’m fine,’ I say, forcing my body to mask its true feelings.
Rose,’ Warrick says sadly and slumps back against the wall, realising I won’t be open up to him. 'Rose,' he murmurs, his voice filled with sorrow and understanding. ‘I thought by now, even as friends, you would be willing to put your walls down and at least talk to me about what haunts the back of your mind and haunts your dreams,’ he says.
I force back a tear, feeling guilty. ‘I’m sorry, Warrick. I struggle to think about it as it is. Talking about it is something I know I am far from ready to do,’ I explain.
Warrick's gaze remains fixed upon me, silence stretching between us. Then, with a slow nod, he speaks with unwavering support. ‘I understand if you have been through some kind of trauma which has become more evident as we’ve gotten to know each other. That you are clearly still suffering and healing from whatever has happened, but I want you to know I am here for you, Rose. Whether as my mate or friend, I will be there for you, and I will protect you if you let me,’ he says.
‘Thank you,’ I reply, my eyes sombre.
Pixel notices I’m shivering from the cold. He breathes a small fire towards my hands. I hover them close enough to warm my hands up. I smile and scratch his head.
‘How long was I asleep for?’ I ask Warrick, curious.
‘All night and morning. It must be at least lunchtime or even later. It’s hard to tell, with the flame torches on the walls being our only source of light. Guards did come by hours ago, and through mouldy bread in our cells, I let the rats eat it. They ate yours too,’ he says.
The thought of rats scurrying about my cell while I lay oblivious in slumber sends a shiver down my spine. 'I slept that long?' I reply, a touch of disbelief colouring my words.
Warrick's admittance catches me off guard. 'It was comforting to watch you rest,' he confesses, his voice carrying a gentle warmth.
I roll my eyes, but then we hear Gretchen and the wizards approaching from the stairs. I stare at Warrick, scared, and Pixel camouflages against the grey stone wall.
‘Just stay silent and stay calm,’ he says to me.
I nod and shuffle to the dark corner so the shadows can swallow me, but it’s no use. They can still see me.
Gretchen tilts her head and smiles sinisterly at me. I recognise Thaddeus and Amos but the other two wizards I have not seen. Their identities soon become clear—Caius and Orlan, the remaining members of the Mystic Council. Caius boasts flowing golden locks and piercing green eyes, his youth radiating from his appearance. Orlan, on the other hand, sports a long white beard that cascades nearly to his knees, contrasting with his head full of flowing white hair. Unlike Amos, whose bald head suggests a more advanced age, Orlan seems to be the second eldest in the group, whereas Caius looks the youngest. None of them seem to mind nor care that Venlore is dead.
‘The she-wolf still has her ears and tail out?’ Amos says, puzzled.
Gretchen's response is chilling in its command. 'Bring her to the chair,' she orders her words leaving no room for negotiation.
With a wave of his staff, Amos unlocks the doors, and my instincts propel me forward in a desperate attempt to escape their clutches. But Amos swiftly counters, pointing his staff towards me and unleashing a beam of magic that restrains my arms, rendering me immobile. Caius, too, channels his power, his staff preventing my feet from lifting from the ground.
Warrick's growl of defiance reverberates through the air. 'Let her go!' he growls.
‘That won’t be happening, Warrick,’ Gretchen grins. ‘We have some questions she needs to answer,’ she says, staring intently into my eyes.