Chapter 134 – Ella Finds a Passage
Ella wiped the tears from her face and scanned the room, Sinclair’s voice echoing in her mind. She was still upset with him for making her share her location, but she was determined to escape before he endangered himself coming after her. If there was a way out of this room, she would find it.
"Let me help!" her wolf urged eagerly, as exhilarated by the adrenaline as she was.
"You are helping," Ella rolled her eyes. "Whose instincts do you think I'm using here? Certainly not my useless human ones."
And it was true. The stronger her wolf had become, the stronger all her senses had become. Her ears strained for the sound of anyone approaching, her eyes hawk-like, raking over every nook and cranny of the bedroom, searching for the smallest detail on the walls and floors. Her nose sniffed the air, trying to detect any unusual drafts.
More than anything, she tapped into the strange, mysterious gut feelings that had recently become more pronounced, hoping this sixth sense would guide her. These were all things she wouldn't have been able to do before—at least not with the same sharpness. She patted her belly. "Mommy has a silly wolf, Rafe."
The canine in question snorted in her head, Not as silly as his fathers.
"You may have a point there," she remarked fondly, thinking of Sinclair's possessive, overprotective inner animal, who had a conniption if his scent faded from her skin or tried to bribe her with stolen children to let him avenge her honor. A deep pang rose in her chest as she lingered on her mate, love and longing overwhelming her.
"It's okay, we're going to see him again," her wolf assured her, every bit as heartbroken as she was—if not more so. The sight of Sinclair's battle-scarred body was fresh in her memory, and the pain she felt for his suffering was almost unbearable. She would never forgive herself if he was hurt worse because of her. "You're right," she answered with renewed determination. "Mommy's going to get us out of this," she added to Rafe, rubbing her navel.
She began walking along the walls, checking behind every painting, lifting every vase, shoving at the bookcases, and tilting and tugging each book. She scoured the space meticulously, feeling along the plaster and trying not to be discouraged when she came up empty-handed. Still, it was difficult not to feel pessimistic when everything she tried failed.
Finally, she reached the fireplace, poking and prodding at the mantel, applying pressure to the heavy gray stones and lifting the grate. Nothing happened. She ran her fingers along the underside of the opening, praying to find a button or handle, but found nothing. Yet, something told her to keep trying. She had been hopeful with the other objects, but now she had a surreal sense that this was it.
As a last resort, she began fiddling with the tools next to the fireplace, lifting the brush, spade, and tongs. Finally, she tried to lift the poker, but it wouldn't budge.
She yanked at the handle, but it remained firmly in place, as if glued to the floor. Her heart raced, and instead of lifting, she tried to pull it sideways. With a forceful tug, it finally shifted towards the floor with a pronounced click. There was a rumble and the scraping of rock against stone, and suddenly the back wall of the fireplace disappeared.
It took all her restraint not to jump up and down and cheer. Her spirits soared, and she hurriedly flitted around the room, pulling the curtains closed and unmaking the bed. She listened intently for anyone approaching, terrified that a guard might walk in while the passage was open, but also afraid of making more noise by closing it. She dashed to the desk and frantically tried to figure out what to write. The cipher Sinclair had suggested wasn't the problem—the question was what on earth she should say to the man who had abducted her.
Eventually, she settled on the following:
To His Royal Highness and Her Unholy Pain in the Ass, Lydia,
For what it's worth, your plan wasn't the worst idea. It was, however, a gross miscalculation to think I would just sit here and accept my fate. Really, if you're going to kidnap someone, you honestly ought to learn a few things about them first. Even though I may look like a helpless damsel, it's not in my nature to surrender. Please consider doing more research before your next scheme, or I'm afraid you might be doomed to fail again. Losing may be what you're accustomed to, but if you just apply yourself and put in the work, you'd be amazed at what you can achieve. And while I offer this humble advice for your diabolical schemes out of the goodness of my heart (I do worry that if you continue to be such an utter and complete failure, it might further degrade your mental health, and you're already plenty psychotic), I must warn you against targeting me again. Continuing to act against Sinclair is not only dangerous, it is phenomenally stupid. Eventually, he will lose his patience with humoring your pathetic schemes and fight back—and you will die an excruciating but well-deserved death.
Sincerely,
Ella Sinclair
P.S. Go fuck yourself.
Dropping the pen, she paused to glance at the go-bag she had taken to the safehouse. She didn't want it to weigh her down, but she couldn't afford to lose the herbs Adolpho had given her. She grabbed the tin, leaving the rest behind, and tucked it into her pocket. She quickly returned to the fireplace and slipped inside, every nerve in her body singing with excitement. "We did it! This is actually going to work!"
Her wolf howled with delight, and she searched for a way to close the passage from the inside, soon finding a lever similar to the one disguised as a poker. The stone closed behind her, and suddenly she was in utter, complete darkness. If her wolf were fully awake, she could probably see through the pitch-black tunnel, but instead, she could only make out dim shadows. Still, it was better than nothing. Thanking the goddess for this first step of her escape, she prayed that this passage led her straight out of the palace and that she didn't have to navigate a complicated maze of tunnels that might lead her to another room, or worse… get her lost. To get word to Sinclair before he staged a rescue, she had to be quick.
She set off at a trot before remembering she was supposed to be on bed rest. "You'll be more stressed by remaining in danger than you will by a little exercise," her wolf reasoned, but Ella wasn't sure. She slowed to a quick walk, telling herself that this was better anyway in case the ground was uneven or she encountered an unexpected step.
She was relieved when the tunnel continued straight ahead with only a few twists and turns, but no intersections with other passageways. However, her relief soon turned to fear as she walked further and further into the darkness with no end in sight. She wasn't sure how much time passed, but seconds turned into minutes, and minutes into what felt like hours. She had no way of knowing if her mind was playing tricks on her, or if she really was walking as far as it felt.
The longer she walked, the more paranoid she became. What if there was no end? What if she just kept walking forever and never got out?
"You're being irrational," her wolf answered in a soothing tone. "This tunnel is here for a reason; it can't go on forever, and the fact that it's so long is a good sign. There's no way we're still in the palace."
"But where is it going to lead?" Ella fretted. "At this rate, I'll never be out in time to contact Sinclair."
"We'll figure it out," her wolf replied. "Don't stress more than you have to. Think of the pup." Ella nodded in agreement and apologized to the tiny being inside her. "I'm sorry, Rafe. It's okay, I'm okay."
She wished she could say the tunnel ended soon, but instead, it went on for miles. She walked until her legs were weak with exhaustion, and when she finally reached the end, she was so relieved that tears filled her eyes. Of course, her tears quickly transformed from happy to horrified when she finally emerged from the passage.
If that tunnel was meant for evacuation, it certainly did its job. It emptied out into the frozen wilderness of the mountains outside the city, so far from civilization that she couldn't even see Moon Valley in the distance. It was the coldest month of the year, and the landscape was buried beneath a thick blanket of snow. She was wearing the simple clothes the Prince had provided so she could change out of her dirtied and bloodied kidnapping outfit: no coat, no gloves, hat, or scarf.
Suddenly, she was praying that Sinclair had staged his rescue earlier than planned, because if he didn't find her soon… she was going to die out here.