The Hunted

Thirty-Eight

Blake

No one came to remove Chandra's body from Blake's cell and so she sat with the body of her werewolf friend for hours.  Chandra's blood was still on Blake's clothes and in her hair and on her skin but she didn't care. 

She had no way to remove it, anyway. 

            Blake alternated between staring at Chandra's lifeless face, her own bloodied hands that had driven the blade into Chandra's throat, and the image of Phillip on the screen.  He sat in the corner of his cell, blond head bent into his hands.  Blake had heard his scream when Chandra's heart had stopped beating in her chest.  As if he'd known that she was dead.  Like he'd felt Chandra's soul whisper by as it had exited this place of horrors.  Blake didn't know what existed after death but she hoped Chandra found some peace there. 

Wherever it was. 

She almost wished that Malachi had left that blade in here so she could turn it on herself.  There was no point to anything now.  Not when Malachi was heading back to Colorado, back to where Red and everyone else she cared about was waiting. 

If he had truly figured out a way to bring down that wall...If the force he'd assembled was significant enough, the wolves wouldn't stand a chance.  Malachi could place hunters everywhere, completely encircle the pack and move in slowly.  Pushing them closer and closer together until there was no means of escape.

There would be no specific targets this time.  No need to cause panic within the pack when the intent was obliteration. 

And Blake had helped Malachi along.  Had told the hunters where and when to strike and who to target.  She'd informed them about Lucy's pregnancy and the coordinates of the packhouse.  They knew the patrol schedule of the wolves and even if it had changed since Blake had been gone, perhaps Malachi's internal contact had provided him with even more information than she had delivered.

In one day, her people would be dead.  Henry would fall, brought down by Malachi's gun, and Red...He'd fight his way out.  He'd try and find a way to save them all.  Red would be on the frontlines, fighting against the hunters that were coming back to rip his family apart once again. 

Fate was cruel, Blake thought, to have shackled him to her.  Crueller still to let her fall in love with him, only for their time together to be cut so drastically short.

The day slipped by though Blake had no way of knowing what time it was.  She knew only that her body was growing hungry and tired.  At some point – it must have been sometime in the evening – the door to her cell reopened. 

It was not Malachi who entered nor was it anyone bringing her food as her stomach hoped but rather a familiar head of chestnut brown hair and dark eyes filled with worry.

"Hix?"

He shut the door and paused for a moment as he took in Chandra and the pool of blood on the ground.  The blood on Blake. 

"Hey," he said not unkindly.  "How are you holding up?"

"I feel like I'm at Disneyland.  Zip a dee doo da and all that jazz."

"Glad to see you're retaining your usual good humour."  Hix shook his head and walked towards her.  He crouched and smiled crookedly.  "You look like shit, Blake.  Malachi did a number on you.  Does it hurt?"

Hix gestured to the wound on her cheek.  Crusted and dried with blood from where Malachi's kukri blade had ripped across her face as they'd fought the other day.

Blake blinked at him.  "Of course it hurts, Hix."

"Right." 

"What's it like out there?"