Parish (On Hold)

Fate Is A Funny Thing

I stood tall and strong on the concrete flooring, showing my dominance to all that were present. The air was cold as it settled on top of my skin making the hairs along my arms stand up. Although I was cold with only wearing a fitted t-shirt and blue jeans I did not let it show. I took a deep lung full of air and the stale smell of dust and rotten blood poured into my nasal cavity.

                I personally do not like to resort to violence, and neither do my pack members. Once in a blue moon though, we have to in order to obtain the information we need. The protocol is that my Third in Command or my Beta will question the prisoner that we have captured. If the prisoner doesn’t cooperate then they have to step up their questioning methods, if you know what I mean. Then if they still can’t get the information, I will come down to our holding cells and use my Alpha dominance over the prisoner and get the info that way.

                You’re probably asking yourself why we don’t just do that in the first place. We would really but there is no point in compromising the knowledge of the white wolf if we don’t have to. When I say we I mean my pack and I, they protect me as much as I keep them safe.

                I was standing in the entrance of what we call the holding house. Behind me where stairs that led back up to ground level, with a heavily guarded silver door at the top to keep anyone down here from escaping. I looked out in front of me at the ten cells that resided on this level. There were ten cells on every level of the holding house, and ten levels in total. Each level went further into the ground. So if I wanted to I could capture and keep a minimum of 100 weres here. That’s if I only put one in each cell. The cells can hold up to three people with wiggle room. 

                Five cells lined each wall on both sides of me, with a ten foot walk way in the middle of them. I stalked to the cell at the back corner of the wall to the left of me, cell number five. Silver bars made up all sides of the cell ensuring that no werewolf would ever escape them. Inside the cell I saw a heap of rags. I made me angry that he wasn’t supplied proper clothing, even if he was a danger to my people. I slid a long intricately pronged key out of my blue jeans pocket and inserted it into the lock on the cells’ door. The click of the cogs and gears in the heavy silver door caught the rouges attention and he snapped his gaze up.

                I was stunned, so stunned that I couldn’t move. I couldn’t think, couldn’t move, couldn’t even breath. His eyes were all that I could focus on, they were my eyes. I was staring at my dad, or a replica of him. The only thing he was missing was the Blue eyes and the nose, other than that he was the same. This man had the olive colored skin and the toned muscles that made my father the proud and strong Alpha that he was. Even hunched over and sitting on the ground I could feel the power radiating off of him, the same power that I held within me but mine was a hint stronger.

                Silver shackles held his wrists and feet down to the concrete flooring and dried blood stained the poor excuse of a shirt he had on. The shirt looked to once be white but now it was brown and had long slashes through it. I’m surprised that it still managed to stay on his shoulders. While I was openly studying the man in front of me, he was doing the same. Assessing me in every way that he could, it seemed that he wasn’t as shocked to see me as I was to see him.

                I pulled the door back and stepped into the holding cell to get a better smell of his scent. I needed to know if this was who I think it was and not just a very large coincidence. I stood two feet away from him and his eyes scrutinized every step I took towards him. Slowly I inhaled and he did the same. I froze up again, every muscle in my body locked up and tears sprung to my eyes. He smelled of home, something I hadn’t experienced since that night long ago. The night I tried so hard to suppress. The night my parents had been murdered in front of me.