Aftermath (S)

Stories began ages ago, when the Great Lycan King still ruled all packs. When his hand brought unity between the shifters, the wolves and lycanthropes lived in tolerance of each other. Salvalor always had a shady reputation; their popularity amongst other packs was dead and buried for the cruel ways enforced and the brutality they brought with them. Always the root of trouble, but the sharpest spear of the Kingdom. It wasn’t a secret that back then, the Alpha of Salvalor wanted the Throne. But he couldn’t even begin to fill the shoes of the Lycan King.

Until all hell broke loose. Details are unclear, and most of those who had survived the purge died quickly afterwards. Those who didn't choose to talk about it, hence the gaping hole in history. The purge brought Lycans to extinction, and external forces succeeded in the coup. The King’s head hung on the castle gates until it rotted and melted away, and what became of his lineage no one knows. The first that ran was Salvalor, with an odd streak of kindness; they took what Lycans they could, fled the territories of the Kingdom, and went into hiding. Since then, no one really knows if any Lycans really survived, as none were ever seen again, and the name Salvalor soon disappeared from the mouths of wolves. The territory was split, packs squabbling for the throne, killing each other. The purge brought such chaos that the Kingdom became a wasteland, filled with rogues. Until they, too, had fled.

That was over 600 years ago. In the last few years, the name resurfaced. Rumours, at first, but then people started whispering in fear. A Lycan leading the Salvalor pack with a cruel, iron fist, awakened a new nightmare.

I’ve been awake for quite some time, pondering, escaping into my thoughts from the pain in my body. What I saw before losing consciousness couldn’t have been a hallucination. It was real. A giant Lycan landed by the cage. No one can deny what their eyes see, even when the brain takes time to accept.

Time seems to pass slowly. The night is cold, and the moon is hidden behind dark clouds. I can’t tell where it is. The girls from the corner are gone. They were dragging away the last one when I woke up. She was screaming, begging, crying. Even called out my name. As if I would be able to leap to her rescue through the metal bars. I just stared. Now, it’s been some time. There is no doubt that I’m next.

My left leg is throbbing with pain. I can barely move my foot. The ankle must be swollen, and from what I can see in the dark, the flesh looks torn. I hadn’t even felt it when I tugged my leg out from under the stones. Now, every little graze is burning. My biggest concern is that they’ll see my state and throw me into the pile of corpses. I’m already handicapped, I don’t want my body to be the thing that tips the scale of my fate.

With effort, I rip away what is left of the fabric on my right leg. Harsh breaths leave through my nose as I push myself to sit upright properly. It hurts when I breathe, too, but at least that wound isn’t visible. With careful, but shaky hands, I wrap the fabric around my left ankle. With one hand, I crumble and pull up my shirt and bite into it. I take deep breaths as I hold both ends of the fabric. Then I tug, tying a knot over the wound tightly. My eyes shut, and I stopped breathing to suppress the cry of pain. Tears roll from my tearducts, and I tie the knot one more time before sitting back. The shirt stays in my mouth a couple more seconds as I breathe through the sharp pain. Then I release it.

As if on cue, from the modest pack house, out comes the dark skinned wolf that captured me. He’s tall, I’d say the tallest wolf I’ve seen. Large builds aren’t uncommon in Alpha genes, but he surpasses even that. If I had to guess, I wouldn’t be wrong if I deemed him a Lycan as well. The girl who was dragged off as I came to was limp on his shoulder. He stomped past the cage, which is to the right of the entrance, to the pile of corpses. He dropped her, like a sack of vegetables, and then turned back. His yellowish eyes met mine, and my jaw instinctively tightened. It’s time.

I have no chance of a fight or a run. My only way is to be obedient. I close my eyes briefly. Fight through it. I sit up, shortening my breath so that my broken ribs aren’t so compressed. His footsteps stop by the cage door, and he opens it. I push myself towards the exit. He seems to hesitate, but then moves aside. Once my feet are out of the cage, I step down. Pain immediately shoots through my left ankle, and I feel my jaw go tight, teeth clenched so hard I wouldn’t be surprised if they chip. I breathe through my nose and stand up. One step, two, the cage door shuts. A large hand grips my arm just under my armpit, but he doesn’t shove or pull. He falls in slow step with me.

I’d say it’s odd, but I’m not struggling, wailing, or crying. If submission won’t save me from death, then nothing will.

We enter the pack house. It’s crowded, reeks of blood, sweat, and fur. Some wolves are turned, standing guard, others are in their human forms, sitting around, resting. There’s no sign of anyone from the village. I’m led through the hallway and then to the spacious living room on the left. The first thing I smell is burning flesh. Surrounded by wolves, in the middle of the room, sitting on a sofa, is the biggest wolf I’ve seen. Taller than the dark skinned one, with a wider frame, a man whose eyes are as red as rubies, sits as if he’s sitting on a throne. A bald head and a thick and dark beard adorn his head. His brows are scowling, but his eyes remain steady. Cold. Such fire in them, and yet they feel cold.

A shudder makes my skin prickle and crawl, and I hesitate at the doorstep. The dark skinned Lycan stops, but his hand tightens on my arm. Probably because he’s making sure I don’t bolt, but his hold grounds me. My eyes glide down.

On the floor, on the hands and knees, naked and bloodied, is the Alpha of our small pack. I can’t make sense of it immediately. And I don’t get the time. With what I consider to be a gentle pull, the dark skinned Lycan leads me further into the room. My eyes were glued to Gideon. His head hangs low, his arms are barely supporting him. The humiliating sight is more painful than the exposed, torn flesh of his body. He’s been beaten into submission. I don’t see his family. Either dead or held captive.

I stopped right by his side. Having to tear my eyes away from him, I swallow what’s left of my pride and drop to my knees. The Lycan holding my arm hesitates again. I can feel all eyes on me. Then he lets go. My ankle screams in pain as I sit on my legs, the one thing keeping me aware and level-headed.

The atmosphere is suffocating. It burns. The gaze of the Alpha Lycan is burning through my skull. I can see his spread legs in front of me. All muscle, all strength. If I were able to sense anything, I’d be howling in fear and pleading with him to stop. I know what it is. The influence that an Alpha has can be either painful or feel wonderfully safe. Like hot lava burning in one’s veins until they relent and submit. A force of power that suppresses every other instinct in a wolf, but the one that cries danger. Only I can’t feel any of it. Aside from being able to pick up on subtle threads of it, I can’t feel it.

“Name.” That, however, makes every muscle in my body clench. His voice is like thunder. Cutting into my belly and instilling the fear his power should. I breathe through it, focusing on the pain in my ankle and ribs instead.

“Sylla,” it’s shaky, strained, but loud enough. I almost don’t recognize my voice. I’ve never succumbed to fear, no matter what was thrown at me. But here and now, I can’t hold back what the bones in my body feel. From my right, Gideon lets out a breathy laugh. I can’t help but look as he lifts his head. There’s still defiance and fire in his eyes as he struggles against the forceful submission the Alpha Lycan is putting him in.

“Congratulations…your last resort is the pack runt,” he grits out. The words burned, closing my throat up as if he was choking me. Alpha Gideon has always been…kind. Runts are shunned, useless. But because of him, I was able to have some semblance of a normal life. He never called me a runt. “Try your hardest,” he continues, “The freak will be a weak lead.”

He doesn’t get to say anything else. His voice twists in pain, and his face turns even redder than the slashes on his skin. His arms give out, and he collapses. I’m frozen, my sight now on the floor again as Gideon’s screams turn into whimpers. The Alpha Lycan shifts on his seat, and I see his forearms rest on his knees.

“Look at me.” He commands. I obey. As if he really is affecting me with his power, I look up. Our eyes meet, and I feel like my insides are burning. His gaze feels cold. Even hateful in this moment.

“Where is the ravine passage?” It’s not a question, but a demand. And in that moment, a piece clicks in my head. This is an interrogation. And I’m the last one from my pack, aside from Gideon, alive. Gideon won’t give him the information he needs, so he’s interrogating others. And killing them when they don’t give them the information. “If you can speak your name, you can talk. Where is the ravine passage?” He asks again.

I feel a presence to my left, and somehow I know it’s the dark skinned Lycan. Possibly, readying himself to kill me. I stay silent for moments, my green eyes staring into the cold rubies. I know what he’s asking for. I know what this entails. Every wolf in my pack knows. None of them broke, or were too broken to tell. But I don’t break from the influence of an Alpha. I break from the violence I can feel coming. Live or be heroic. Honor the pack.

“Syl…vie…” It’s barely a whisper, but I hear it. I’ve never cried. But my eyes do water as I find my footing in the pools of blood. “Sylvie…” Gideon coughs up. A moment of silence passes. “Live..”

I felt something break. It wasn’t my ribs from the air that went into my lungs as I felt the weight be lifted off my shoulders. Strong wolves would honor the pack, protect the history. They would fight to the last. Loyalty, dignity, and pride. 'Runts don’t have that. They don’t need it. They’re barely even considered wolves. And I want to live.'

“A day’s walk through the woods, there’s a cave that leads out to the ravine.” My eyes flutter shut as I shed what little loyalty I had to my pack. It’s a sour taste. Feels like I betrayed myself. I didn’t think I would be this tied to it. Or that it would hurt more than broken bones. Gideon’s harsh words were meant to mellow this impact. They failed.

When I open my eyes, I can barely breathe. The Alpha Lycan had moved, the ringing in my ears now becoming clear as I hadn’t heard him. Crouching in front of me, still looming like a giant, his face is so close to mine. He’s taking in deep breaths, as if trying to catch my scent. I don’t have one. To wolves, I smell like water, scentless. There’s a grumble in his chest, and I catch the brief glimmer of a brighter red. His wolf must be present as well. The air around him feels stuffy, and his presence alone is suffocating. Every hair on my body is standing on end, electrified by the fear pulsing through my veins. My gut feels empty and twisted. The scent of blood is scraping my nostrils.

“Get her cleaned up.” He thunders and gets up. I don’t make a sound as the dark skinned Lycan lifts me up and slings me over his shoulder. My vision blurs again when I see Gideon’s body being dragged away. I didn’t hear them take his life. I didn’t see it.

Perhaps that’s for the best. But guilt is a sour bitch. And it’s burning my throat.