Cora-James POV
Gangrene slammed the door shut. In my fucking face. Overpowering me easily like I was nothing.
Damn the Lycan bloodline and strength! Damn Greyson Dubois!
The sound echoed through the small space like a thunderclap. I turned around, my hands hitting the bars in frustration.
I yanked hard. The door didn't budge.
It was the kind of door that belonged in a dungeon, not a goddamn pantry.
I looked around, looking for useful weapons to aid me in murdering the Alpha's annoying son, taking in the details of the blasted place.
The pantry was small. Cramped actually.
Ma must have ordered for supplies because shelves lined every wall, packed with jars and sacks and bundles of dried herbs. The smell was overwhelming—rosemary, thyme, sage, something sweet and rotting in the corner.
A single lantern hung from a hook, casting flickering shadows across the stone floor. But it didn't bother me as much as the low ceiling or the walls. Especially the walls.
