The Rightful Luna

Chapter 4 Torture

**TRIGGER WARNING**

This scene contains vivid details of physical and emotional abuse.

Carina POV

Time has lost all meaning. I have no idea how long I have been in this coffin. What I do know is that I am on the verge of losing my sanity. Being in this position for goddess knows how long, is no joke.

I am itching and desperate to move. To turn around, to breathe! And I am starving. I did not take time to enjoy breakfast at the hotel. More than food, I need a bathroom urgently.

Tears of anger and frustration are streaming down my face. Cybil will not get away with this, I swear. I will tell everybody and anybody until I can find someone who will believe me. I will pack my bags and leave. As much as I love Richard and Mason, I will not be treated like this.

I grind my teeth and clench my fists when it feels like my bladder is going to burst.

“I need a bathroom,” I hammer against the coffin, but I am greeted with silence.

“No,” I wail when I lose the battle and wet myself. I weep as the warmth of my urine spreads around me.

In the darkness, I cry out my shame. I cry about my hopeless love for a man that does not want me. I cry about the cruelty I am being subjected to when I have done nothing to deserve it. I cry until I fall asleep.

**

Ice-cold water in my face wakes me from a dreamless sleep and I gasp for air. Strong hands roughly pull me out of the coffin and throw me on the floor.

“You shameless b!tch!” More water is thrown over me while Cybil yells. “Urinating yourself like a child, and you want to be the Luna?”

“I …”

“Quiet!” Cybil gives me a backhand slap across the face. “You’re disgusting.”

I lower my gaze and start shivering uncontrollably. I am too cold, too flabbergasted and too ashamed to even attempt an effort to defend myself.

“Take off your clothes,” she snaps.

“W … what?” I gape at her.

“You heard me,” she snaps. “Are you deaf? Do you have water in your ears? Take off those clothes before you catch a cold.”

“I … I can’t,” I stutter, holding up my hands. “I’m tied.”

“For f*ck’s sake,” Cybil rolls her eyes and motions a guard closer.

I start to scream uncontrollably when he yanks me up on my feet and mercilessly rips my clothes off. I do my best to cover my shame with my hands and Cybil bursts out laughing.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” she snorts. “No man will ever get an erection by looking at you.”

“Eat,” a guard pushes a single bread roll, without butter or any condiment - into my hands.

“Hurry,” Cybil shouts. “We don’t have all day.”

Reluctantly, I take a small bite of the dry roll. Images of Snow White and a poisonous apple bombard my mind.

“Faster,” Cybil demands, and I obey. Surely, she will not poison me. Mason might not care about me but if I die, he and his wicked mother would have to explain to the pack why his brand-new bride passed away.

“Here,” the guard hands me a tin cup with water and I eagerly drink it. I just decided that poison would not be the worst thing. If I die, this will be over.

Suddenly, anger overcomes me. I do not care what this witch does to me. I will not submit, and I will not beg for mercy. I will not give her the pleasure.

“Thanks for the meal,” I smile sarcastically, and Cybil's face distorts in anger.

She looks at a guard and nods. I bite my tongue when he grabs me and drags me across the floor. He lifts my hands above my head and slips my ties over a hook, making me hang like an animal carcass in a butchery.

I maintain eye contact with Cybil while I am dangling from the roof. I ignore the guards and the noises around me.

Pain radiates across my back when the whip connects with my skin. I grind my teeth and force my mouth shut. I will not give Cybil the satisfaction and scream. Again and again, the guard whips me against my back, legs and behind. I might be able to control my screams, but I am defenceless against the silent tears which are streaming down my face.

“That’s enough,” Cybil finally grows tired of torturing me.

The guard frees me from the hook, but my legs give in immediately when he puts me down. He picks me up and places me in the coffin. The wood is torture on my freshly applied wounds, and I flinch in pain before he closes the lid.

**

I sigh inwardly when somebody opens the coffin. Please, goddess, not again. I cannot take much more.

“Shhh,” the voice is soft and gentle. “Try to not make a sound.”

“Who are you?” I whisper into the darkness.

“It doesn’t matter,” she replies. “Just keep quiet. My fate will be much worse than yours if we get caught.”

“I cannot turn on a light,” she explains, cutting the ties off my hands and ankles with a side cutter as she helps me out of the coffin.

“Lay on your stomach,” she leads me to a soft blanket, and I obey.

“This might sting, but it’s highly effective,” I suck in my breath when she puts cold gel on the wounds on my back.

I grind my teeth and sob quietly while she generously applies the cooling gel, and it is not long before I feel relief.

“I’m sorry I can’t do more,” she helps me to sit up. “This healing gel, combined with your wolf, will ensure that there will be no infection or scarring. I promise.”

“Drink this,” she hands me a bottle. “It’s Gatorade. You’ll need the electrolytes.”

“Thank you,” I eagerly finish the drink.

“Here’s a bucket and toilet paper,” she takes my hand. “I’m sorry, it’s the best I can do for a toilet.”

“It’s better than wetting yourself,” I reply sourly.

It takes me a moment to get comfortable on the bucket. Even in the darkness, it is awkward to relieve myself with my guardian angel within earshot.

“Where am I?” I ask to relieve the tension.

“The basement,” she replies.

“And nobody is finding it strange that I’m not in the East wing?” I ask dryly.

“Luna Cybil announced to everyone that you and Mason are on your honeymoon,” she replies. “Nobody even knows you’re here.”

“Except for the guards doing her evil bidding,” I grunt. “And you.”

“They’re known as her huntsmen,” she snorts. “They don’t defy her in any way. Rumour has it she nurtured them and has complete control over their doings.”

“And you?” I ask curiously.

“I hate her and her dreadful daughters,” she sighs.

“Come on,” she takes my hand and leads me to the coffin. “I’m sorry I cannot help you escape. The huntsmen will see.”

“Please don’t make me go back in there,” I plea when we reach the coffin.

“You must,” she says urgently. “But I promise you they will not whip you again. Mason will be back in two days, and she cannot afford any markings on you. The worst is over, and I will visit you every chance I get.”

“You promise?” I beg, reluctantly climbing into the coffin.

“Every chance I get,” she replies, handing me silver ties. “Put this on before they get here. Do not fall asleep without it, okay?”

“Yes,” I agree eagerly.

“I will leave the coffin open,” she continues. “But I cannot leave the bucket or blanket. Just pull the lid close when you hear them coming.”

“What’s your name?” I ask urgently.

“I shouldn’t say,” she replies.

“But how can I reward you?” I ask but she is gone. It is just me and the darkness.

“Thank you,” I whisper, and close my eyes.