Aftermath (S)

'I could run. Jump out the window.' The guard is standing pretty far away from it, talking to another wolf. I could time it. My ankle is burning. Every step feels like hot nails are being hammered into the bone. The attempt would end in failure. Plus, I have nowhere to go. I imagine all the packs before mine were already buried in the ground. What is left of them merged with the Salvalor pack or was sold into slavery. I’m lucky enough that I’m still breathing.

The dark skinned Lycan left me in a room with a connecting bathroom. I’m struggling with just taking off my shirt as I shuffle towards the bathtub. My ribs are definitely broken; every effort I make and breath I take makes me shudder in pain. As I reach the bathtub, I strip from the torn garments. Turning on the faucet, I sit on the edge and lift my left foot to it. Taking off the ripped piece of my pants from my ankle, I close my eyes when it tugs at the dried blood over the gash. The blood had dried and created a crust with the fabric itself. Deep breaths, in and out, I rip the fabric off. Instantly, the wound starts bleeding out, and I clench my teeth to keep myself from crying out. Without wasting any more time, I slip into the warm water that’s filling the bath. It turns red, but the numbness from the warmth lets me breathe again. Even my ribs feel better.

To think that my first warm bath in a long while would be granted by the enemy makes me let out a bitter laugh. As the bath fills, I turn off the faucet and lie back. Everything is happening fast. The death, the betrayal, and now this. Feels like a shit story being written by an inexperienced hand.

I don’t want to take much time, not knowing whether someone will come barging in is making me uneasy. The more obedient I am, the better my chances of survival. It seems to be working so far. So I wash myself, scrubbing off the dirt and ash, the dried blood from scratches and cuts. It takes a bit, but eventually I dress the wound on my leg properly and even check my abdomen for any bruising. There is some, and since it hurts to breathe, there’s no doubt my ribs are at least fractured. I heal slower than the average wolf, it’ll take time before I can move and use my lungs properly again. After that, I look through the dressers in the room. Luna had a wider build than I, but I managed to find something that would fit me. Their son’s clothes from when he was younger. The trousers and the shirt fit well enough, and Luna’s shoe size is not much bigger than mine.

Just as I finish up, the door to the room opens. Without a knock or announcement, the dark skinned Lycan enters, his eyes immediately finding mine.

“Good,” he notes, “Alpha is waiting for his food. You’ll be serving him from now on.”

I’m not surprised that I’m being used, but that they’ll trust me to handle his food, and it’s written all over my expression. The Lycan’s lips twitched at the corners, a semblance of a smirk briefly easing his features. Amusement dances in his woody eyes.

“Don’t worry. You’ll be dead if you even think about trying anything.” His words are sure, confident, with knowledge of his own power and the Alpha’s. I keep my gaze on him and give him a slow nod. Silence takes over, his eyes searching mine for something I can’t figure out. His chest occasionally rises more as he keeps inhaling deeply. It’s been a while since someone was so conflicted about my condition.

“Downstairs. The kitchen is downstairs.” I speak, taking him away from his focus. He shuffles hesitantly, moving away from the door. We head downstairs, passing the wolves that are standing guard around the house. Each of them followed my trail with their gazes and sniffs. As we reach the kitchen, I check the ice compartment where the meat is usually kept. Seems like Gideon had stocked it up just recently, as deer meat and fish are nestled between bags of ice from the peak of the mountains.

Working around the kitchen comes with an audience. The dark skinned Lycan isn’t the only one watching me as more and more come to spectate how the runt makes the food for their precious Alpha. If I weren’t used to glares, I’d be a puddle of anxiety.

It takes a few minutes before the meat is done being roasted over the fire. Luckily, I’m standing around more than moving, but keeping up with walking normally is proving a lot harder. My ankle is beginning to burn more and more, but I have no choice and keep the show alive. If I limp, they’ll realize I’m more of a liability than a useful runt.

Alas, I prepare the food.

Lots of it. There’s no use for the meat to be stored anymore. I assume they’ll be departing once the Alpha has rested and recovered his strength. At the very least, they could eat it. I might be able to sneak some as well.

I plate the food and look up at the Lycan expectantly. He nods and leads me away from the crowd that starts to gather around the kitchen table. As he walks ahead, I take the chance to relieve some pressure from my left leg until we reach the living room.

A piece of wood comes flying towards us, which he catches without a problem. I freeze behind him.

“Failed?! Did I send you to pillage or to make friends with them?!” Like thunder from the sky, the Tyrant Alpha’s voice slices through the air. My hands shake as my stomach tightens with instantaneous fear. Wails of pain from someone fill the house, and as the Lycan moves into the room, I see a smaller male kneeling on the floor. His right arm hung limply at the side, twisted in unnatural angles.

“I’m sorry-..” he cries.

“Sorry?” The alpha growls deeply, a teeth-chattering sound that comes from his chest. My gaze goes to him. Eyes glowing red like burning coals, anger pulsing from him in waves that make the air in the room hot. His large frame circling as he would a prey, hands clenched into tight fists. The veins on his arms are popping from the exertion, everything about him ringing warning bells of danger. “Useless. Get rid of it. Then go with Wren to the west.” He orders harshly, glaring down at the sobbing wolf.

The dark skinned Lycan nods and, without hesitation, grabs the wolf by the back of his neck.

“Nazir,” the Alpha calls, causing the Lycan to pause, “No one lives.”

Nazir bows his head and moves to the doorway. I step out of the way, averting my gaze. I can’t watch the brutality as he drags that wolf away as if it’s nothing more than rubbish on the ground. Swallowing thickly, I hesitate to go into the room. I peek through the doorway, see him glaring at the bloody spot on the ground, shoulders taut with rage that seems to be simmering more and more. As I step, the floorboard creaks, and his head whips around. I stumble slightly, shaky hands holding the tray with the food and the cup of wine.

“Food,” in my panic, the word slips out with a squeaky voice. I clear my throat. “Food,” I repeat, as if I don’t know any other thing to say.

His eyes don’t leave me, even as they return to the deeper shade, and the silence becomes comically awkward. I have a feeling he’s debating whether to throw me out or enjoy making fun of me. Turns out it’s neither as he moves towards the sofa chair and sits down. This behemoth makes everything around him look kid-sized; it’s almost unreal. He gestures with his hand, and I come forward. Approaching him steadily, I set the tray on the stand next to his seat and took a step back.

I can barely smell the food. His scent is all over the place. Strong, thick, musty like from an aromatic bottle of cologne, but tangy with copper. It doesn’t make me want to vomit. A rare occurrence. Being a runt, my senses are less than they should be. But my sense of smell is strong, effective. Curse and a blessing at the same time. The scent of Alphas makes me sick, but his only makes my insides tight. As his anger dissipates further, it becomes less suffocating.

Still, as he grabs the chunk of meat still attached to the bone, his teeth sink into it when he bites, his eyes don’t waver. I’m compelled not to look away. Maybe I should, it would probably be more submissive, but I can’t force myself. He chows down the meat within seconds, like a wild animal, and drinks the wine in big gulps.

“The passage. Is it safe?” He asks, the deep voice less threatening. For a moment, I look at him dumbly, the words taking time to register.

“Oh, uh, the cave is. We sometimes take it to the village on the other side of the mountain.” It wasn’t the response he was looking for. He narrows his eyes in suspicion. “We never go to the ravine. Gideon…was the only one who did at times.” I add.

Talking about Gideon in the past tense is painful, sour. Unnatural. Every moment that passes, I expect him to walk through the front door, alive and well. Even though I know he’s dead, I can’t seem to accept it.

“And you? Have you been?” He follows up.

“The ravine?” I ponder, but there’s no one to lie to anymore. “Once… or twice... I go there sometimes.” I look away, finally, begrudgingly telling him the truth. Of course, I'll go there. It’s quiet, no one dares step a foot because it’s unstable, which is perfect. I can think. I can be alone. Away from the glares and the disdain the pack members had for me. A grunt comes from him.

'He’s laughing at me', the thought passes, and I look at him. I can see amusement in the way his thick mustache shifts. That thick, dark beard and the bald head make him seem threatening, but there’s no mistaking that he’s finding some fun in my fumbling. I haven’t been this bad at hiding nervousness since I was a pup, but with this beast, I can barely think straight. I blame it on the events. Not on the way his ruby eyes are taking in every single piece of me, grazing over even the tiniest details on my skin.

“We leave at dawn.” Dismissal in his tone is what I catch. I nod, stepping forward to collect the tray. Strong hand wraps around my wrist, a slice of fear and panic gutting me on the spot. He tugs me forward, the pain in my ankle making my knee buckle, causing all my weight to be put on that leg. My jaw tightens as I breathe shakily through the pain. He leans forward, scowling face inches from mine. Pools of red entranced me with terror and taking my breath away.

“Lie to me again and I’ll wear your skin as a belt.” The rumble of his voice makes his words even colder. The threat is clear, making my blood run cold. To the point that my fingertips tingle with numbness.

“I didn’t lie…” I quiver out, my breath shallow.

“Your name.” He returns, his breath on my lips.

“I didn’t lie,” I repeat.

“Didn’t you?” This time it’s a taunt.

“Sylvie is my name, yes. But no one uses it. Sylla is my-“ I don’t get to finish as his grip on my wrist tightens to the point the bone begins to ache.

“I know what it is. If I wanted your pet name, I would ask. Don’t. Lie to me. Again.” The last word is empowered with a growl, a mix of two deep voices, one so animalistic it vibrates in the air. My breath catches as I swallow, my entire form beginning to tremble.

“Yes, Alpha.” I squeak, not recognizing my voice in that moment. Another rumble in return, and he tilts his head to the side. Moving closer, I feel his beard scrape the skin of my jaw and neck. I shiver and shut my eyes, expecting pain. Instead, he inhales deeply. Then, as if I burned him, he moves away and releases my wrist. I stumble away, shocked and confused.

“Get out.” He barks. I don’t waste time. Practically ran from the room.

Whatever that was, it wasn’t good.

The feeling of his beard lingers on my skin, and my heart does dances I don’t recognize. I take deep breaths even if my ribs are hurting, heaving in the hallway as if I had been suffocated. I go through a door and find myself in a tiny storage room. Shutting it, I lean back against it, closing my eyes as I will myself to calm down.

One thing could set him off. One little thing. I can’t afford to take any risks.