They swung open the cage door, cattle prods at full power, humming with electricity. The man lazily lifted his hands in surrender. "Now, now." He said softly. His voice was like velvet. "No need. I'll do as you please." The man in the cage said, his...
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Kiril turned his head away from the girl, a schooled look of boredom on his face. It wasn't that he couldn't bear to look at her, like Ivan couldn't the moment her leg had been thrust between those thick silver bars. No, it wasn't that. But neither was he someone who could watch eagerly, watch excitedly, with some air of victory.
He'd stayed stone-faced while she screamed; while the beast behind the bars ravaged her flesh. And when it was over, and what was expected of him was no longer applicable, he turned away. Samuel was the first to her side as his brother Mitroshka reluctantly pulled her from the jaws of the lycan, the doctor no doubt fearing for his own life should another one of his picks die. Ivan was close behind, ever the empathetic one.
He wasn't sure why he'd taken up Ivan as his singular, solitary ward. He'd given up many weak men to his brothers before. Samuel was one of them. Perhaps it was something about the way Ivan bent like he had once, always obligated but still hopeful. Searching for a way out.
Kiril had long given up on finding a way out.
Samuel and Ivan picked up the girl, gentle, so gentle, and carried her up the stairs. She was the first one out of that reeking cellar, followed by a wave of their men; off to do what they were turned for. Kiril followed, but before his boots could cross the threshold, Vsevolod called out to him.
"Stay, brother."
Kiril paused, letting the remainder of the men flood out of the bloodstained cellar. They were all chattering merrily about the brutality of the scene. When they were gone, he turned to face his two brothers, and the lycan within the cage.
The beast had been insistent on many things, defiant as he was. One of them was that his name was Augustus. Kiril thought that was strange, that he would be so attached to such a human name when he harbored such a monster beneath his skin. When he so eagerly bit into the sacrifices they offered him.
The man in question wiped the back of his hand across his bloodied mouth, smearing it across his face as he sat back against the bars, careful to arrange the tattered fabric that still clung to his body in a way so that his bruised skin wouldn't directly touch the potentially deadly metal. His regal features sculpted into a look of boredom, and he began scraping the blood out from under his nails as his gaze grew distant and wandered.
Vsevolod turned away from the beast, taking careful steps to remain outside of the taped square and the lycans reach, and addressed him. "You'll be looking after the girl by yourself this time," Vsevolod said in a nonchalant fashion.
Kiril fought not to show the flicker of surprise that flashed through him. "Why?"
"Mitroshka has other duties- namely keeping our doctor in check so that he doesn't cause a mutiny."
"Samuel?" Kiril asked, tone cold. "He's too afraid to do anything."
Vsevolod scoffed, "it's not him I'm worried about. It's who he could tell."
Then it clicked.
Dimetreaus.
"The man is utterly devoted to you," Kiril murmured carefully.
The lycan in his cage shifted forward ever so slightly, and the hairs along the back of Kiril's neck raised. "Well, that might be the case. But his devotion to his sister is strong. It's imperative that no one tells him about this."
Kiril nodded slowly, forcefully relaxing his jaw so that the gritting of his teeth wouldn't clue his brother into just how distasteful he found the task being set before him.
The girl wasn't someone he cared to know. Not when that look had reminded him so much of Mischa. He had no interest in reliving her death, as would certainly happen with this woman. Vsevolod had to know she'd die just like all the others they'd tried this on, but Kiril kept that thought carefully tamped down. It would mean his head if he broadcasted such dissent.
Vsevolod began to make his way to the cellar doors, shooting over his shoulder an additional command. "Do not let her die, little brother." The threat was left unspoken. Kiril already knew the "or else" behind every instruction his brother; no, his alpha, gave.
A sharp laugh echoed through the room. Kiril watched his brother's shoulders stiffen, and he turned on his heel to find the culprit shaking from the self perceived humor of the situation.
He heard the cattle prod lift from the cement floor behind him, and Vsevolod stalked forward with it in his hand. The lycan spoke through barking laughter, "You're fools if you think you can harness the power I possess." A bite entered his every word. "You will never have the lycan you seek, foul little creatures. No werewolf could hope to compete. That is why you must keep me locked up here instead of facing me."
The man's golden eyes blazed, and Kiril stood stock still, waiting for him to leap up. He never did, even as Vsevolod jammed the silver tipped prod between the bars and shocked him. He barely flinched, eyes never leaving Kiril's pale eyed brother.
"Say it again, beast," Vsevolod called out, zapping him again.
There was blood on the lycans gums as he grinned at them, and he spat at Vsevolod's polished shoes before he spoke. "She will die, wolf, just like that beloved sister of yours. She will turn to ash and rot in the ground. Will you weep for her like you wept for dear Mischa?"
It was Kiril's turn to stiffen. His bones ached with the tension that roiled through him. He could see the rage come over his brother like a second skin, and the air in the room grew impossibly cold. Still, his brother kept a hold over his shift, and instead snarled out, "where did you hear that name?"
The lycan tilted his head back and laughed- a pure sound that made his skin crawl as if he were being watched; no, hunted. Vsevolod growled as he jammed the prod into the man's neck, again and again punishing the creature until his laughter grew hoarse and stopped, turning into grunts of displeasure and pain.
So focused was his brother that Kiril found his thoughts wandering to forbidden topics. To Mischa's singsong voice in the meadows of their youth. He shook his head to free himself of the memory. He could not be caught thinking of it- not this close to Vsevolod.
Instead, his thoughts went to fate. Could it be anything but? These thoughts of his sister, the lycans words, and that girl, who so reminded him of summers long past. They clawed at his mind, and he found himself trekking up the stairs to follow the bloodstains in the snow.
