Wolfless, Unbroken Abandoned novel Chapter 4

Chapter 4

reston turned his back on her and walked away, his words hanging in the air like smoke from a scorched field. He didn’t need to say more. His silence was louder than any threat. Georgia stood frozen in place, drained of color, her lips parted but speechless. There were no words left in her—none that would matter. None he would listen to.

The werewolf guard approached her without hesitation, his grip like iron as he seized her arm and dragged her down the corridor. She didn’t resist. What would be the point? Her legs moved on instinct alone, one step after another into the cold, yawning dark. They descended a spiral of stone and silence into the bowels of the compound, where light was a stranger and air stank of mildew and rot.

He shoved her into a cell without ceremony, the sound of the heavy iron door clanging shut behind her reverberating through her body. The finality of it echoed long after it ended.

The prison smelled like blood that had long since dried into the cracks of the walls. The air was thick with dampness, each breath sour and heavy. She pressed her back against the wall and slowly slid down to the floor, the concrete cold and unforgiving beneath her. Her hands still bore the ache of the restraints, wrists raw and stinging from the silver cuffs. Her wolf whimpered inside her—silent, injured, too weak to rise.

That first night, she barely slept. Her body ached, her mind spun, but eventually exhaustion dragged her under. Then, without warning, hands yanked her upright.

She gasped, disoriented, blinking against the dim light as she found herself surrounded by a ring of snarling faces. Werewolves. Not guards—these wore no uniforms, only cruelty. Malice twisted their mouths into vicious smiles.

“What do you want?” Her voice was hoarse, wary. She took a step back, heart racing as she scanned their expressions.

They said nothing, but their silence was more menacing than speech. They exchanged looks, then snickered, the sound rough and mocking.

One of them, broader and meaner than the rest, stepped forward. Her sneer deepened as she pointed a finger in Georgia’s face. “Did I hear that right? You’re gonna call the guards?” she asked, laughing bitterly.

Then, without warning, she struck.

The slap cracked against Georgia’s cheek with stunning force. Her vision blurred. Ears rang. The blow knocked her sideways, and she caught herself with one hand against the wall, breathing hard.

Her head swam, but her pride surged. She straightened. And then, with the fire of fury pulsing through her, she lashed out and slapped the werewolf back.

The sound echoed like a gunshot in the small space.

For one moment, the cell was frozen. The other inmates stared, wide-eyed. No one expected that. Georgia—pale, thin, and visibly fragile—had struck back.

A beat passed. Then fury exploded across the leader’s face.

“You bitch!” she screamed, red flooding her eyes. “You wanna die? Beat her down! Alpha Preston said we don’t have to go easy on her. We’re allowed to break her—just not kill her!”

Georgia’s breath caught in her throat.

‘Preston. He told them to do this. He gave them permission.’

The truth hit like a blade to the chest. A bitter chill swept through her, leaving her trembling.

That’s why no one was coming. That’s why the guards didn’t even stir, no matter the noise. They weren’t ignoring it. They’d been told to.

She stumbled backward toward the gate, panic rising fast. Gripping the iron bars with both hands, she screamed, “Help! Somebody, help me! They’re beating me!”

No one answered.

She shouted again, louder, rawer. “Help me!” The sound tore from her throat, more plea than command. She didn’t believe it would change anything. But she had to try.

Some part of her still hoped—still believed—that Preston wouldn’t let this happen to her.

But then her scalp burned. Someone yanked her hair and dragged her to the ground.

She fell hard, elbows scraping concrete. Pain bloomed in every limb as boots and fists found her. Kicks landed in her ribs, her spine, her thighs. She curled up, sobbing silently, trying to shield her head. She’d never felt so helpless. So animal.

She wanted to shift. Her body cried out for the transformation, for the strength of her wolf. But it didn’t come.

Her wolf was too weak—bruised by rejection, numbed by heartbreak. She had no power now. No protection. She was a shell.

The beating went on.

Still no guards. No one came.

The truth seared into her: Preston wanted this.

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