She no longer remembered their faces, only told them apart by the way they made her body jerk when they raped her.

Hard and fast, he was the one inside her when her child began to die, when the real blood began to flow... and he had howled like a wolf as if the gush of red fluid easing his way inside her body had pleased him. Then there was short and twitchy, he was the one who rode her the most violently, clawing his nails into her skin, marking her with little bleeding puncture wounds shaped like crescent moons.

Half aware, reeling from another blow when she refused to part her lips for the filthy cock held to her face, Claire blinked gummily and heard it again—the Undercroft prisoners were screaming for her in the halls.

She’d thrown up three times, vomited all the semen they’d shot down her throat each time one of them fucked her mouth and forced her to swallow as she choked on the gushes. She was still lying in it, face down, and it was cold, and pink. Sometimes she cried for Shepherd, when she grew lucid enough to feel the pain. Mostly she just stared at the cell’s only door, watching the feet of monsters shuffle by in their rags, terrified they would turn their attention on her and reach through the bars.

One swollen eye went wide when the third of the Alphas pulled her hair so hard her head was forced back. She heard him grunt savagely, knew him from the others by the way he liked to grope her when he rutted, and felt him knot amidst the bleeding wreckage of her body. There was no sound from her throat, only a strange echo that seemed to seep from a place far away.

“We agreed no knotting!” A growled complaint was flung at the man with his head thrown back, too busy moaning at the ceiling to pay any attention. “It was my turn next, and now you got the cunt stuck on you cock. Pull out!”

The only answer was a low phlegmy moan, the sound more animal than man. A sharp series of tugs shook the knotted pair, one of the men trying to yank the bastard away. It was useless, his knot was locked behind her pubic bone, but it woke Claire from her stupor, encouraged a shrill stab of horrific pain, and though it had been hours since she’d been able to manage it, Claire found another scream. The high-pitched shriek and the sobs that followed were wretched, a thing full of hopelessness and pain.

“Don’t kill her yet, cocksucker. I want this piece to last longer than the last ones.” It was the one who had laughed when her miscarriage began, the cruelest of her assailants who warned. “You’ll just have to wait it out.”