Rubi

Abbey's point of view.

"Wake up, Abbey," someone called as I slowly returned to consciousness. "They are coming." Blinking away the haze of sleep, I found myself in the same uncomfortable position as the night before: my back pressed against the cold concrete floor, my knees tucked up. The cramped cell offered little space to move, making it impossible to straighten my leg forward.

I offered Charity a small smile in gratitude for waking me. "Of course," she replied, assuming the same uncomfortable position as she stood up. I knew I couldn't survive without her. I had met Charity three weeks ago when the Red Moon's pack took over our own. She had been kind and gentle to me, especially considering I had just lost both my parents to this terror. My father had been the beta of our pack before it was taken over, while Charity's father had been an Alpha. She was supposed to be the first female Alpha after him, but their pack fell to the notorious Red Moon pack.

The scent of approaching werewolves preceded their arrival, a mixture of blood and sheer masculinity filling the air. The cell, which usually smelled of hay used to feed horses, now reeked of something far more sinister. As the guards approached, we all knew what was coming. Some of the prisoners, typically male werewolves, would move to the front of the cell bars to yell at them, while others, like Charity and me, tried to remain invisible.

We, being superior werewolves, found it particularly challenging to blend in. Charity especially struggled, having been trained all her life to be an Alpha, now reduced to living in filth with guards who were complicit in her parents' deaths. If given the opportunity, she would tear the nearest wolf's head from their shoulders with ease, given her strength as an Alpha's daughter.

"Look at them, dirty little animals in the cage," one guard remarked as they made their way down the cell. They weren't entirely wrong; we were werewolves, after all. However, a smirk crossed my face as I thought  " See the kettle calling the pot black. We are all animals". 

"Why do we even keep them around?" the second guard pondered aloud as he tossed a loaf of bread into the cell. I wondered how they expected us to share it. To my surprise, they threw two loaves into our cell that day, and Charity, seizing the opportunity, grabbed one and generously shared it with a girl named Titi and her brother Kane, who shared the adjacent cell. Titi rarely spoke, but her gratitude was evident.

Watching Charity divide the bread and offer me a portion, I squeezed her hand in gratitude as she returned to her spot beside me. The first guard then explained,  "Alpha Jeremy loves his toys. They're his trophies" . The second guard agreed, "Living in the cell is a better punishment he'll generously give." With that, they moved on to other cells, throwing bread haphazardly.

Talk of Alpha Jeremy made my blood boil. His cruelty and brutality were infamous, and everyone feared him. It reminded me of the night my parents died, their heads ripped from their shoulders. Though I hadn't witnessed their deaths firsthand, I felt their last breaths as if they were my own. I swore revenge that night, vowing to take what was dearest to Alpha Jeremy.

"Alpha Jeremy a  towering  figure strides with arrogant confidence, his every movement exuding dominance and aggression. His eyes, cold and calculating, survey his domain with a sense of entitlement. Muscles ripple beneath his fur as he prowls, his presence commanding fear and submission from those around him.

With a snarl, he asserts his authority, enforcing his will with brute force and intimidation. He shows no mercy, exploiting his power to maintain control over his pack, leaving a trail of broken spirits and shattered dreams in his wake.

His actions are driven by a primal desire for supremacy, his every decision calculated to ensure his reign remains unchallenged. He thrives on the suffering of others, reveling in their fear and anguish as he asserts his dominance over them. To him, compassion is a weakness to be exploited, and kindness is a foreign concept in his ruthless pursuit of power. " Charity described him 

"Why would you want to leave your peaceful pack?" Charity inquired. "Your pack, the Victory Pack, is one of the most peaceful I've heard of." I explained my desire to explore, and she listened intently.

As we shared stories of our childhoods and Pack traditions, we found solace in each other's company. These moments of quiet reminiscence were our escape from the harsh reality of our current situation. I wrapped my arms around Charity, offering what comfort I could, knowing that together, we would endure.

We often talked late into the night, like friends at a sleepover, sharing stories and laughter. I imagined, In the soft glow of fairy lights, as both of us giggle and chatter, surrounded by a cozy nest of blankets and pillows. Our faces lit with joy as we shared secrets under the blanket fort  we built together. Outside, the stars twinkle, mirroring the sparkle in our eyes as we bond over late-night snacks and dreams of adventures yet to come. I smiled as i came back to reality.

It was the only way to maintain some semblance of sanity amidst the chaos. Instead of the cold, hard concrete, I imagined Charity and me cuddled up, reading stories and laughing. It helped me cope with the nightmare we were living.

Exhausted, we bid each other good night, hoping to wake up to a better reality the next day.