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A murmur of voices brings me out of a deep sleep. My head feels heavy and my thoughts are hazy. For someone who has just woken up, I’m way too tired. It’s that feeling of exhaustion that makes it all click and connect the dots.
Blessed be the wolf gods, you’re awake! my wolf exclaims, the relief palpable in her voice.
What’s going on? I ask, trying to orient myself. My eyelids are still too heavy to open, glued together as if the Sandman himself had visited me.
The witches took us, my wolf tells me with unmistakable urgency. We need to act now!
There are two things she’s referring to when she’s talking about acting. One is that we need to escape before they extract all the vital information straight from my mind, and the other is the ultimate sacrifice for the greater good of the species.
Garren… I start and trail off, grasping onto the slippery fragments of my memory. My mind conjures up an image of a handsome wolf with hair as black as the night itself and eyes that have only grown darker as his training progresses.
Open your eyes, my wolf urges. You need to fully wake up.
Taking her pleas to heart, I focus all my strength to make an effort to unglue my eyelids which, under normal circumstances, would be as easy as filling my lungs with fresh air. It’s as if my whole body has been affected by some spell. While I’ve never been targeted by witches before, I’ve heard enough stories to know how its aftereffects feel.
After an inexplicable amount of resistance, I finally manage to get my way and slowly open my eyes. Having vision only serves to further disorient me. The blurriness makes the shapes around me unclear and impossible to identify. It’s when I try to rub my eyes that I realize my hands are tied to the chair I’m sitting on.
It’s pure steel, my wolf comments, making it clear that we’re far too weak to be able to break out of here with sheer force.
A low grunt on my right side catches my attention and I turn my head in that direction. Blinking as fast as I can to clear my vision, I look at the large shape next to me. As it slowly comes into focus, I can put a name to it.
“Garren,” I whisper, relieved that he’s here with me.
He grunts and grumbles, but other than that, he seems to be still in the deep sleep’s clutches. His head has fallen forward with his chin resting against his chest. His pants and shirt are dirty and torn in several places.
What happened to his shoes? my wolf asks, noticing Garren’s bare feet.
He transformed, I reply as I remember how I begged him to kill me.
“Garren,” I call him as quietly as I can. I’m too disoriented and dazed to use my wolf senses, so I can’t be sure that no one’s around. Although I highly doubt that the witches would leave us alone. They must’ve given us some time to wake up before they will come to interrogate us.
Garren grunts again, but this time the sound is clearer and louder. I shush him, hoping that his senses have started to return enough to heed my warning. With agonizing slowness, he lifts his head and struggles to open his eyes. He seems to be dealing with the same inward problems I was.
“Wake up,” I urge him, needing him to come to his senses faster than I did.
“Five more minutes,” he pleads, his voice heavy with sleep.
“Wake up, Omega!” I hiss. “That’s an order.”
Something in Garren’s mind must’ve recognized the authority in my voice because his muscles tense, and his body stiffens. I growl to get his attention when he manages to open his eyes.
“Alyssa?” he asks, his voice too loud for my liking, so I shush him again.
“It’s me,” I confirm with a barely audible whisper.
“What happened?” he asks, his brow furrowing in confusion. His vision must’ve cleared faster than mine because he’s already looking around the dark room. “Where are we?”
I follow his lead and take a good look at my surroundings for the first time since I woke up. My Night Vision automatically kicks in, allowing me to take in the bareness of what the witches chose for our prison cell. While the walls are made out of thick stone that we won’t be able to break through, the door doesn’t look as sturdy as it was years ago. The red and brown marks along the sides tell me that the corrosion has gotten to it, and I can only hope that it worked its way into the door’s hinges as well. The walls are covered with dampness and the air is heavy with mold.
“We’ve been stupid enough to separate from the pack, which made us easy picking for the witches,” I snap, releasing bouts of my anger onto him even though it was my fault.
“We need to get out of here,” he says, ignoring my emotional outburst.
No shit, Sherlock, my wolf chimes in, her words dripping with sarcasm.
“The door,” I say, pushing through everything I’m feeling to focus on the facts. “That’s our only way out.”
Garren studies it for a moment, his eyes narrowing as if he’s able to see something that I can’t. At last, he shakes his head. “It has traces of magic all over it. The witches must’ve put a spell on it to keep us from breaking out. We need to come up with another way.”
