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However, there’s something different here. The fresh scent of a kill. Meat.
Moving deeper into the room, I kick aside the food and find nothing. On the left, there’s a tattered blanket, unapproved by me, and I find nothing beneath it. Yet I smell it. The animal within me does, too.
Closing my eyes, I center myself before inhaling deeply again. This time, the note of deer is sharper and my feet move at once. They lead me to a wall and my lids snap open, taking in the sole window—a small square large enough to fit a human head and nothing else.
Yet, there’s a dry red residue on the edge.
Old and yet new. As if delivered a few hours prior to my arrival in the prison.
Stupidity has a name.
The two captured and kept alive have no mate. No offspring. They’re nothing more than a means to an end, my connection to those responsible, and I’ve been patient. More so than I should’ve been, but fools never learn.
Never underestimate my tolerance for stupidity.
Everyone has a weakness.
This prisoner’s vulnerability is a woman. Young and impressionable and who has pled with me on her brother's behalf for as long as he’s resided here.
The next room is much the same. Only no extra meals.
Suddenly, the sound of struggling catches my attention. There are screams of obscenities, threats are made, and I smirk.
“Let the games begin.”
* * *
For an hour, I let them sit.
Each arsehole is strapped to a chair, his chains tight and the sight of fresh injuries blatant to the eye. Just like the lack of healing from all three, especially the male witch. His old and new wounds are infected: red and angry with hints of a mucus-like substance around the edges.
Interesting to say the least.
However, all attention is on me. Bloodshot eyes follow my every move while lips form words but no sounds come out, the sight of my animal dragging the carcass of a fresh kill causing hearts to beat fast. For breathing to become choppy while the sweet taste of my solo hunt lingers on my tongue.
I’ve had my fill.
My prey’s life essence drips from the two canines bared at the trio while an irate snarl rips from deep within my chest. Moreover, it’s comical when the heavy iron doors keeping us locked inside slam shut a second later and they jump.
Right now, it’s just us. No other guard or anyone to stop me from what must be done.
We’re enclosed, a place so deep underground that their screams will never be heard.
The time of hospitality is over. I want answers.
Taking the steps between us, I pass by the three men. Slowly. Growling. Each body now stills, trying not to react to the snapping of my teeth, but that only serves to amuse me.
Their fear is a heady concoction. Delicious.
Coming to a stop in front of the small dining table between us now, I regain control and shift. My anatomy resyncs—bones and muscles realign with the human construction while the animal falls back. The wolf’s features re-form into a sharp jaw with a short beard while the fangs stay.
“Who’s hungry?” I ask, but there’s no verbal response. Don’t expect one, either. Instead, one man’s hunger rises, and the gleam of black is a sign of his animal attempting to take over. He tries to shift and struggles against his binds while the other guard remains calm.
He wants the kill, but the earlier meal keeps him from lunging forward like his friend.
Starved. Going to die. In Cecil’s weakness, the mental link opens and I’m able to hear every thought. So does his friend and partner-in-crime, Jack, who’s shaking in his seat, but the other is too far gone to understand. His animal needs to be fed and demands he grab the kill, but those silver chains keep him from moving. They dig into his skin, burning him, yet his mind is too far gone. Bartolo lied. Everyone lied.
“What about you, Jack?” A pair of trousers lies over a chair in the corner, the golden knife I picked up earlier inside the pocket. They watch me get dressed. Jump at any sudden movement. “There’s more than enough for the both of you.”
