Enchanted by the Hellhound

~straining against his shackles~

one

Bella was struggling. She didn't want to admit it, but she could. Mentally? Most definitely. Emotionally? Absolutely. Physically? A blind man could tell she was fading fast.

The eighteen year old brunette was trudging in what she hoped was the right direction to the field. Because she felt like she now needed proof. Proof they were here. That he was here and she didn't just imagine a whole year of... of nothing.

A few clicks of tongue showed her impatience but her lungs then tightened when she could see that perhaps moments away from her... the thick forest was opening up.

She tried not to make a mad dash, but her steps were a lot faster than before to get to her desperately needed proof.

Bella skidded to a halt at the edge of the tree line.

She gulped and fell to her knees, reaching out with a trembling hand to touch a single dead flower of the many that filled the field. The girl took a shaky breath as a tear trailed down her ever so pale skin. Closing her chocolate brown eyes to prevent any more tears, Bella never noticed the approaching danger. Not until he spoke words of them, redheads and acts of kindness.

The brunette truly felt like she needed what was about to happen. She knew.

No one could outrun a vampire.

Bella, already on her knees, bowed her head, accepting her fate and thanking whoever was listening for the freedom of pain caused by him.

Her only regret? Charlie.

She could and should have been a better daughter. And she should have told him more often.

Yeah.

Her dad deserved more than her.

:3

He had no idea how long been in the darkness of this cave. The iron stakes piercing his wrists, ankles, thighs and throat were chained to walls and a filthy ground, leaving him covered with dried blood and minimal movement, all the while trapped in the deep pit that was his eternal prison beneath the earth. The raven haired beast, despite being caged away in the dark, kept the same physique he was frozen into when he came of age. His immortality keeping him at his top form, his strongest.

His pitch black gaze found nothing in the gloom of his jail, the coldness of the shadows licking at his tanned, muscled form. Something he would have enjoyed, but he missed the sun...

Larger than the shifters, towering over the small wolves, in his opinion, they were fun to be around. But he barely remembered fighting alongside the brave creatures against the red eyed, blood sucking demons.

So much blood and so many dead.

And it was only the flickering images of their sweet victory keeping him sane.

Though so many were lost...

He shuffled slightly, a pained growl bouncing off the tiny cave walls as his iron pikes burned his flesh, while his throat tormented him further with just a small sound. His attention was then drawn upwards to the top of his prison, as light, definitely feminine, footsteps raced above his head. The iron spike lodged through his throat preventing him from saying a thing.