#Chapter 37 Dungeons are for Prisoners

The dungeon's musty air clung to my skin as Astor and I descended the winding stone staircase. Flickering torchlight cast eerie shadows on the damp walls, and I couldn't shake the feeling of being watched by unseen eyes. Ugh, creepy. They probably kept the dungeons like this to demoralize prisoners—given the near-perfect state of the rest of the manor, anyway. "Are you sure about this, Olivia?" Astor's deep voice echoed in the narrow passage. I struggled not to roll my eyes. “I’m not a wilting daisy, Astor, I can handle a creepy basement,” I said. He was getting a little more protective, a natural reaction whenever for any Alpha spending enough time around a pregnant woman, and while it was better than snark it still wasn’t my favorite thing. I counted it as an improvement anyway. “If you were a flower, you wouldn’t be a daisy,” Astor snorted. “Poison ivy, maybe.” “And ivy chokes out weaker plants to expand its own growth,” I retorted. “Besides, it’ll be a few more months