The Hunted

Thirty-Six

Blake

At one point, before Blake had joined the community in Beare Lake, the basement beneath the rec centre had been converted into a holding facility for supernatural creatures. Rooms were complete with windowless doors, padded walls, silver or iron-coated door handles, and even pentagrams capable of holding demons and warlocks.

Though the room Blake had woken up in had even been outfitted with a special addition: a tablet connected to a video stream where Blake had no choice but to watch as her two werewolf friends were tortured.

For two days, she watched as Phillip and Chandra were beaten and bloodied. As silver blades sliced into their skin and wolfsbane was injected into their veins. Listened as they screamed in complete and utter agony.

It was a form of torture in and of itself. There was no one coming into her cell to slice up her skin but Blake felt each of the werewolves' wounds as if they were happening to her. The only contact she'd had with the outside world was when food was brought in twice a day.

The first time, a few hours after she'd woken and found herself locked away, it had been Carmen who'd been tasked with bringing in Blake's food. Meagre things – half a sandwich and some raw vegetables. Carmen had looked at Blake with pity.

Yet as she'd placed the meal inside, she'd paused to whisper, "They didn't find them."

A risk for Carmen to take, especially since she and Blake had never been that close. They'd worked together at the restaurant in town but didn't interact that much outside of waitressing. Carmen was a year older than Blake but mostly preferred to hunt earth-bound spirits. It wasn't often that they went hunting together so they had no reason to have each other's backs.

Still, Carmen had made sure that Blake knew that Annalise and Juliet had gotten away. Perhaps Blake wasn't the only one to have been horrified by Malachi's behaviour. Even if no one had come to her defence as she'd bought the werewolves time to run.

When she wasn't staring at that screen watching her friends be hurt, she was nursing her wounds. Her ribs ached, which made her think that someone had taken the time to kick her after she'd fallen unconscious, but nothing seemed broken. Worse than that though was the pounding in her head. Likely a concussion from whoever had snuck up behind her and knocked her out as she'd prepared to deliver the blow that would have killed Malachi. Then there was the stinging to her face where the kukri blade had sliced through the skin on the right side of her face from brow to jaw.

And worst of all, the messy lettering that had been carved into her right arm. The twin scar to Annalise's monster.

Traitor.

Maybe it was the aptest description she'd ever had given to her. Traitor. Betrayer.

She'd broken the promise she'd made to her father to protect Josh. Had instead led her brother into a life of hunting and pain and death.

She'd betrayed Red when she'd sold out Sanguis Ridge secrets to their enemies.

Then, she'd turned around and betrayed her own people for the sake of a few werewolves.

And while Blake regretted the first two betrayals, the last one...She would make that choice over and over and over again – even knowing that it would lead her here to this cell with a brand on her arm.

So Blake sat. And thought. And listened to her friends dying in another room.

On the morning of her third day in captivity, the cell door opened and Malachi entered. He came alone, though Blake could see the familiar outlines of his guns and blades holstered and sheathed across his body. There was no point in trying to attack him. Not when she didn't have any weapons and there were surely Malachi's most trusted hunters on the other side of the door who would shoot her dead if she dared to try anything on their beloved leader.