Siren's Call

Chapter 6

Lycaon orders his men to tie her down, and she watches, horrified, as some of the wolves seem to stretch, fur rippling and twisting, as they stand upright as humans. Her hands are separated and bound at the wrists, while two men grab her ankles, forcing them apart and making her lie spread-eagle on the dirt. Massive pegs are driven into the ground, and they attach her bonds to each of these, careful to tighten them so she can't wriggle free.
"You're going to need a name Pretty," Lycaon leans over her. "Go to hell," She spits back, but he just laughs "already been there sweetling, not the nicest place I must say." He sits back on his haunches, studying her. "It sounds like you're a bit of a brit hm? What about Faolan?"
"What?"
"Your name Pretty, you're not all that smart are you?" he questions, peering at her like he could see through her skull to check if she's got a brain.
"I'm not an idiot!" she bites back. "Of course you're not, my Pretty," he chuckles endearingly.
He leaves her after that, probably to check on the orders he gave earlier, and Percy is left to wait, watching the full moon climb higher in the sky as her growing fear climbs with it.
The ropes chafe at her wrists and ankles, and every so often someone will come check that they haven't been loosened by her constant pulling and wriggling. At one point a lady armed with a heavy knife steps up to her head, grabbing her long black hair and sawing at it roughly. Percy cries out and thrashes her head, but a man with thick arms grabs her, forcing her head to stay still as they cut her hair.
When they're done, they don't even bother to pick up the discarded hair, leaving it to tickle her neck and shoulders, the light wind blowing some of it into her nose and making her want to see. She can't tell how much of it they had cut off, but she knows it's a lot. Her hair had been almost down to her butt, something she was immensely proud of, but now it feels light, and from how close the blade had been to her throat, she's not sure how much has been left for her.
Lycaon comes back shortly after, while she's still trying to blink back the tears that threaten to start gushing. "Come along now Pretty, and no wriggling."
A team of men untie her from the pegs, pulling them up out of the ground as they force her into a different clearing. The sound of waves is stronger here, almost deafening.
Painted onto the ground in something red, she refuses to think it might be blood, is a large circle, with two overlapping triangles inside, one flipped upside down. She watches as they hammer the pegs into the edges of the circle, and when they push her down to her knees and then onto her back, she doesn't fight, merely doing as they direct, soft and compliant.
A detached feeling over calm washes over her as they strip her clothes, covering her privates with a white cloth, and then begin to paint her body with more of the red liquid. They paint words in unknown languages, symbols from histories long forgotten, and as they do it, they breathe words of prayer to the moon, soft whispers, an utterance not for her ears. Sacred.
The Werewolf King watches over them approvingly, waiting for them to finish, but not hurrying them. This is an important step, and he feels no need to rush.
One by one, the men step away from her body, and the few women step into their place. One lady lays a heavy white cloth over her chest and arms, another over her feet, and the last lady places the cloth over her eyes, blocking her from seeing anything.
"Wolves, we gather here as pack, under the full moon. The sacred, loving moon that governs our gift. And tonight, we will honor our age-old traditions, and welcome a new member."
He falls silent, and she can hear heavy footsteps approaching, each one thudding louder than her heart.
The darkness is constricting as she feels him come to a stop beside her, the cool breeze blowing across her bare stomach sending tingles up her spine.
She feels his breath against her skin, and despite not being able to smell it, the rancid odor makes her stomach curl on itself.
"It has been many years since we have performed this ritual. Most of our members being turned outside of the moon's influence, and without the proper ceremonies. However! Tonight we will rectify that! With the blessing of the Moon, this young wolf will give ease to your transitions, pulling the pain from your bones as you shift. She will be our gift from the Moon."
A sudden searing pain in the side of her stomach makes her scream. It feels like thick needles are piercing the skin, injecting her with a poison that flows like ice through her veins. She doesn't even feel as they pull out, only the continued fire that fills the gap, leaving her gasping for breath. She doesn't register as words are said, nor when a thick liquid is poured over her and rocks are placed in her hands and on her feet.  She doesn't feel the tapping as they ink a band around the upper section of her arm.
She does feel it when Lycaon slashes claws across her face, reopening the wounds given by the Hellhound mere days ago. He gives another slash of his claws across the wound on her shoulder, making them burn with renewed pain.
"My wolves, my brothers and sisters, my kin," He calls out, "I present to you, the newest member of our pack; Faolan."
The clearing explodes into yips and cheers, howling and baying to the moon.
Someone releases the ties at her wrists and ankles, and they pull her roughly onto unsteady legs. She can barely see anything out of her left eye, red filling her vision, but she locks her right eye onto the blurry figure of the Werewolf King. Lunging forwards, snarling as she punches him square in the jaw.
He laughs as hands pull her back, rubbing at his cheek, but seemingly without pain.
"There, there little Faolan, there'll be plenty of time for you to earn your place in our ranks. In fact, I do believe your first shift should be starting right about.... Now-" His smug voice is cut off by her screams filling the clearing once more.
It's agonizing as her bones snap and her skin tears, her body rearranging itself from the inside out. It seems to take hours, and when it's finally over, she collapses, exhausted.
A large gray wolf stands over her, snapping at her ears, pulling at her fur. But she ignores it, there's no will left in her body to stand. The gray wolf snaps one last time before abruptly picking her up by the neck in its jaws, and it's only when her body hangs limply beneath her that she sees she's no longer human. She has paws. Four of them. And everywhere she can see is covered in thick black fur, and she's betting everywhere else is too.
Judging by how everyone else in the clearing has been replaced by a large wolf, and that she was with the King of Werewolves, she's guessing that she too, is now inhabiting a wolf body. Whether she'll later be able to turn back, she's too tired to care.
The gentle swaying as the Wolf King carries her is too much for her tired mind and sore body to handle, and she slips into a painful sleep.