The Eve of Darkness

Chapter 20

"What the hell is this?" Xiomara spat, staring down at the photos in the file with a vehemence that rivaled Aria's own. However, the main difference between the two werewolves was that while Xiomara appeared to be righteously angry and only that, Aria's mind was riddled with emotions that were shaking her to her very core. While anger sat on her shoulders, it was companied by others. Anxiety groped at her lungs, shame ate away at her throat, and sadness picked at her abdomen. The urge to cry, scream, and vomit catapulted itself against Aria's consciousness all at the same time, and she had to stumble down to sit at one of the chairs surrounding the conference table. 

Within the manila folders that had sat on the conference table, Aria and Xiomara had found notes and reports of local animal activity, as if the hunters were hoping to use the local fauna to locate the Darkwoods pack. However, as much as the new method of hunting was worrisome, it was not the thing that triggered the two werewolves' rage. 

No, what cause Xiomara's rage and Aria's panic was the large number of photos within the files. To get a better grasp, Xiomara had spread them out across the end of the conference table. Within the photos were images of Aria's torture, her suffering and her interrogation sessions. Images of flayed rib cages, burned shoulder blades, lacerations across Aria's back, and even a sickening photo of when she was waterboarded glared at Aria with a taunting vileness that brought bile to the back of her throat. Each image was an immortalized snapshot of some of the worst, most painful moments in Aria's life, and she didn't know how to compartmentalize for the sake of their recon mission. She could feel the ghosted drag of fingers over her throat, the phantom feeling of electricity burning its way through her muscles, and the haunted slice of a blade across her ribs. It was as if Irma and her two companions had been resurrected, their mirages standing before her even when she shut her eyes. 

Worse even, there were photos of others as well. There were stills taken of werewolves forced to take wolfsbane baths, staked through limbs, hung on meat hooks, injected and hooked to IVs filled with acid. Each image was a singular display of the darkest parts of humanity (or the lack thereof). Aria couldn't help but think of the irony of it all: hunters dedicated themselves to eradicating that which was inhuman, while they themselves committed the most inhuman acts without provocation. 

"I swear, if I could bring those mother fuckers back, I would make them suffer everything they've done fifty fucking times over, pinche hijo de pu-" 

"Mara," Aria breathed out, her eyes squeezed shut as she brought her hand up over her mouth. The urge to vomit was sitting in the back of Aria's throat, waiting with its patient, predatory gaze for Aria to fall over the edge. 

Something in Aria's voice must have alerted Xiomara that the Sola was, in fact, not okay. For as quickly as her hackles had risen in response to the grotesque images, the warrior had knelt before Aria's legs, placing her hands on the outside of her knees. 

"Aria? Hey, hey, its okay," Xiomara breathed, reaching up and running her fingers gently through Aria's hair. "They're not here - you're not with them anymore. You are safe." Aria's heart pounded in her ears as she tried her best to hold back the sob climbing up her esophagus, right behind the bile standing in line for its emergence. 

Xiomara cursed as Aria's hyperventilation and heartrate continued. Her vision began to darken around the edges and her lungs burned with the rapid rise and fall of her own chest. 

Suddenly, as if making a last minute decision, Aria was pulled into Xiomara's arms. The warrior began to hum a low-toned song, her fingers threading through Aria's hair and down her back. Aria gasped for oxygen as tears gathered in the corners of her eyes. After a few minutes, Aria's breathing evened out.