Fatebound: Volume 1

Chapter 2: A Caged Bird

Raven woke with a start, a splitting pain coursing through her skull. The world around her spun, her vision swimming with dark, blurry shapes. As she blinked, the haze began to clear, revealing a dimly lit tent. The air was thick with the scent of wet earth and something more acrid–smoke, sweat, and the unmistakable musk of the Lycans.
Her hands were bound tightly behind her back, wrists chafing against the rough rope. She tried to move, but her legs were similarly bound at the ankles. Panic surged through her as she remembered the burning village, the sight of her mother’s broken body, the snarling faces of the Lycan invaders. A wave of nausea rolled over her. She fought it back, blinking away the tears that threatened to spill. No, she would not break. Not here. Not now.
She forced herself to breathe slowly, to take in her surroundings. She was alone, but she could hear voices outside, speaking in a guttural language that she could not understand. The tent was large, perhaps the command post of the Lycan leader. Its walls were lined with animal pelts, some dyed with strange symbols. A crude wooden table stood in the center, covered with maps and strange instruments.
Her head throbbed as the events of the past few days crashed back into her mind with brutal clarity–the siege on the fort, her father’s desperate last stand, the flames consuming Royce, and finally, the blow to her head that had sent her into darkness. Her father…her mother…everyone she had ever known was gone.
Anger surged in her chest, hot and fierce, like a raging wildfire. She clenched her teeth against the tears that were blossoming in the corners of her eyes. She could not allow herself to cry, not now, not ever. Tears were for those that had given up. She had made a promise to herself, to her father, to everyone that had died: she would not give up.
The tent flap was pulled aside suddenly, flooding the space with harsh light. A massive Lycan ducked inside. He was taller than any man she had ever seen, with broad shoulders and fur that was a deep, burnished silver. His eyes, a piercing yellow, glinted with a mixture of curiosity and amusement. He carried a long, jagged sword at his side and wore armor made from thick, dark leather reinforced with metal plates. The sigil of a snarling wolf’s head was emblazoned across his chest.
Raven’s heart was pounding, but she held his gaze, refusing to show fear. Captured as she might have been, she refused to give the impression that she had been truly defeated.
The Lycan stepped closer, his eyes scanning her face. “You are awake,” he said, his voice a deep rumble that seemed to vibrate through the ground beneath her. His accent was thick, so much so that she could barely understand him, and he spoke her language with a strange, clipped cadence.
She didn’t respond. She would not give them the satisfaction.
The Lycan’s lips curled into a small, predatory smile. “You are a brave one, I see. Most of your kind would be begging for mercy by now.”
“Mercy?” Raven spat the word out. “From beasts like you?”
The Lycan’s smile widened. “Good. I do not like weak prey. Spoils the hunt.” He crouched down in an attempt to bring his face more level with hers, though his immense size caused him to remain towering above her. “I am Fenrik, War Chief for this legion. And you, little one, are my prisoner. You should be grateful. I have decided to spare your life.”
Raven’s eyes blazed with fury. “Spare my life? You killed my family! You destroyed my home!” She struggled against her bonds, the ropes biting into her bruised flesh. “I’ll kill you all, every last one of you!”
Fenrick chuckled, a deep rumbling sound. “Such fire, but fire can be snuffed out. You will learn that soon enough.”
He made his point by suddenly bringing the back of his hand across the side of her face. The blow sent her sprawling onto her side, her vision blurring again and her ears suddenly filled with an incessant ringing as her brain rattled around inside of her skull. She could taste blood, but she fought with all of her strength to keep herself from crying out in pain. She would not show any weakness in front of her captors.
Fenrick stood, turning to leave the tent. “Prepare her for transport,” he barked to someone outside. “She sails with the others.”
Raven’s heart pounded as two smaller Lycans entered the tent, their faces obscured by thick metal helmets. They moved quickly, roughly hauling her to her feet. She bit back another cry of pain as they dragged her out into the open air.
Outside, the camp was a chaotic sprawl of tents and makeshift barracks. Fires burned in metal braziers, casting long shadows across the ground. She could see other prisoners–men, women, and children–huddled together in small groups, their faces drawn and terrified. A few of them bore fresh wounds, others were smeared with dirt and blood, but all of them wore the same look of despair.
Raven felt her resolve harden. She would not end up like them. She would not be broken.
The Lycans led her through the camp, past rows of snarling guards, their eyes following her every move. She was taken to a wooden post driven into the ground, where they tied her hands above her head. She gritted her teeth as the rope pulled tight, biting into her wrists.
Fenrick approached again, a small leather pouch held securely in his hand. He reached inside and slowly pulled out a piece of dried meat. “Hungry?” he asked, holding it out to her.
Raven glared at him, refusing to answer.
He shrugged and took a bite himself. “You will need your strength,” he said, chewing. “The ocean journey is long, and not all survive it.” He swallowed, those cruel yellow eyes of his not once ever leaving her face. “It would be a profound shame if one such as yourself was to prematurely expire. I know many high lords back home that would gladly part with their gold for a slave with your qualities.”
Raven felt her heart sink, a cold chill racing along her spine and filling her with an odd numbness. She had heard stories of the Lycan ships, of their raids on coastal villages, of the terrible fates of those that were taken captive. But she would not let fear control her. She lifted her chin, staring directly into Fenrik’s eyes. “I’ll survive,” she said boldly. “I will survive, and I will find you. And when I do, I will make you pay for what you’ve done.”
Fenrik’s smile faltered for the briefest of moments, his eyes filling with something other than amusement. Anger? Frustration? Whatever it was, it was clear that he was not happy with her refusal to show any amount of fear.
“We shall see.” he muttered before turning his back on her.

…

The days that followed were a blur of pain and discomfort. Raven was kept in a small wooden cage with several other prisoners, her hands bound tightly behind her back. They were given little food and even less water, and the constant rocking of the ship made her stomach churn. The ocean was rough, the wind cold and biting.
She could feel the grief gnawing at her insides, an ever-present weight that threatened to crush her spirit. She had lost everything–her home, her family, her people. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw her mother’s lifeless face, her father’s determined expression as he fought to protect her, the flames devouring her village.
But she refused to cry. She refused to give in to the despair. Instead, she focused on the anger, the burning rage that simmered just beneath the surface. She imagined herself breaking free, grabbing a weapon, and cutting down every Lycan who stood in her way. She would avenge her parents, her village, and her people.
At night, she would test her bonds, wriggling her wrists against the ropes until her skin was raw and bleeding. At one point, she had even managed to succeed at moving her arms from her back to her front, though not without a great deal of discomfort. She listened carefully to the conversations of the guards, slowly picking up bits and pieces of their language. She watched their movements, their routines, looking for any weakness, any opportunity to escape. Her tutors had always said that she had a good pair of ears and a clever mind.
The other prisoners seemed to have given up hope. That sat quietly, eyes downcast, barely speaking. But not Raven. She would not allow herself to become one of them. She would not allow herself to be defeated.
She overheard some of the guards talking about their destination–a place called Corsyra, an island or city of some sort, the specifics of which she wasn’t able to fully understand. From what she was able to piece together, it was there that she and the other prisoners would be handed over to the slave traders, where they would then go on to be shipped to the Lycan kingdom to be sold as property. It all sent a chill down her spine, but she did not let it show.
On the fourth day that they were at sea, a storm hit. The ship was tossed violently on the waves, the wind howling like a banshee. Raven clung to the bars of her cage as the deck bucked beneath her, rain lashing against her face. She could hear the shouts of the Lycans, the frantic barking of orders as they desperately tried to keep the ship under their control. The ship creaked and groaned, the sails flapping wildly as they threatened to be torn completely from the rigging.
And then, with a loud crack, the main mast split in two.
The ship lurched to one side, throwing Raven against the bars of the cage. She cried out as pain shot through her shoulder. Water poured over the deck, drenching her to the bone. She could see the fear in the eyes of the Lycans as they struggled to regain control.
For a moment, she allowed herself a grim smile. Even nature seemed to be taking her side.
But the moment passed quickly. The storm raged on, and she knew that if the ship sank, they would all be lost. She pressed herself against the bars, straining to see through the sheets of rain. She had to find a way out, had to seize this opportunity.
Her eyes darted around the deck, searching for anything she could use to free herself. She saw a small knife lying on the ground near one of the fallen Lycans, its blade gleaming in the rain. Her heart leaped. If she could just reach it…
But the knife was too far, and her hands were still bound. She gritted her teeth, her frustration mounting. She had to think, had to find another way.
And she saw it. One of the Lycan guards, struggling to pull himself up from where he had fallen, his back turned to her. His belt was loose, his dagger hanging just within reach.
Raven took a deep breath, her heart pounding in her chest. This was her chance.
She waited for the right moment, not daring to take even the slightest of breaths as she waited for her opportunity to strike. Said opportunity came in the form of another wave crashing over the deck, causing the guard to slip and stumble once again. With a burst of energy, she lunged forward, twisting her body as best as she could as she desperately reached through the bars. She felt her fingers brush along the hilt of the dagger, slipping over the rain-slick leather. The ship bucked again, nearly throwing her off of her balance, but she just barely managed to hang on. Her muscles were screaming in protest as she put everything she could into trying to reach the dagger that hung so tantalizing close to her. The dagger swung slightly, just out of reach. She clenched her jaw and tried again, ignoring the pain in her throbbing shoulder and the sharp, salty wind that stung her eyes.
The guard shifted suddenly, his attention momentarily caught by yet another wave crashing against the side of the ship. Raven didn’t know if she would ever be blessed with an opportunity like this again, this very well could be the tipping point that decided if she would spend the rest of her life as a Lycan slave. With that thought in mind, she redoubled her efforts, stretching as far as her body would allow, the tips of her fingers grazing along the leatherbound hilt of the dagger, and then–success! She hooked her fingers around the hilt of the blade and carefully, carefully, began to draw it back towards herself.
Just as she was about to pull the dagger free from its scabbard, a hand shot out, slapping her own away. The Lycan guard turned, his yellow eyes ablaze with fury. He tugged the dagger back out of her reach before delivering a swift kick through the bars, catching her square in the ribs. Raven gasped, pain exploding in her side as she was thrown backwards, her head slamming against the wooden floor of the cage.
“You think you’re clever, human?” the guard snarled, his face twisting into a sneer. He spat on the ground near her feet. “Your tricks won’t save you, not from us.”
Raven struggled to breathe, the pain in her ribs sharp and unrelenting, but she refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing her cry. Instead, she glared up at him, her green eyes filled with defiance. “I’ll find another way,” she spat, each word a vow.
The guard laughed, a low, rumbling sound. “You’re bold, little one, but boldness means nothing when you’re incapable of acting.” He kicked the cage again for good measure. “Try that again and your punishment will be far more permanent.” He turned and walked away, muttering under his breath in his harsh, guttural language.
Raven lay there, gasping for air, her body aching with pain. She could feel the bruises forming on her ribs, the sting of fresh cuts from where her skin had scraped against the rough wood. She cursed herself for not being faster, for not thinking of another way. Her mind whirled with frustration, her heart pounding with a mixture of fear and anger.
But she would not give up. She could not afford to. She had to keep fighting, had to keep looking for a way out. She would not let herself be defeated. Not by these beasts.
As the storm raged on, the Lycans began shouting more frantically. She watched them, studying their movements. They were struggling to control the ship, the wind tearing at their sails, the waves battering the hull. Some of the Lycans seemed more afraid of the storm than they had been of any human resistance. It was chaos, and in chaos, there was always opportunity.
Raven’s eyes darted back to the knife. It was still there, lying on the wet, slick deck. She shifted her weight, trying to maneuver herself closer to the bars again. She had to try, had to keep moving. Her breath came in ragged gasps, the pain in her ribs sharp and unyielding.
She waited, watching the guards’ frantic movements, biding her time. When one of them turned away, distracted by a fallen beam, she darted her hand out again, fingers stretching for the knife. Her fingers were just inches away, the metal of the blade gleaming tantalizingly in the dim light.
But another wave slammed against the ship, knocking her cage against the deck and causing her to lose her balance. She stumbled, falling hard against the wooden bars, her head spinning with dizziness. The knife slipped away from her, skidding across the deck and disappearing into the shadows.
She let out a frustrated cry, a sound that was more animal than human, a roar of pure, unfiltered rage. The nearby Lycans turned to look at her, their eyes narrowing with suspicion. She had no choice but to draw back, sitting with her back against the cold, damp wood, breathing heavily, her heart thundering in her chest.
She had been close–so close–but it had all slipped away again.

…

Days passed in a blur of exhaustion and frustration. Raven barely slept; every time she closed her eyes, nightmares of her parents’ deaths, of the burning village, of the Lycans’ snarling faces haunted her. She was tormented by grief, a deep, aching void in her chest that seemed to grow wider with every passing hour. But she clung to her anger, letting it burn like a flame in her heart. It was the only thing that kept her from being swallowed by her despair.
The Lycans seemed to delight in her suffering. They would taunt her, hurling insults and jeers, laughing at her futile attempts to escape. Whenever she did try to sleep, they would bang on the bars of her cage, waking her with a start. They called her “little wolf”, mocking her defiance, sneering at her stubbornness.
And yet, despite everything, she refused to break.
One night, as the ship rocked gently on the waves, Raven heard a soft voice from the far corner of the cage. “Why do you fight so hard?”
She turned her head, squinting through the darkness. A girl, a few years older than herself, sat huddled against the bars, her face pale and gaunt. Her hair hung in matted tangles around her face, and her eyes were wide with curiosity. “You’re just making things worse for yourself,” the girl continued. “Why don’t you just…give in?”
“Raven felt a surge of anger. “Give in?” she hissed. “To what? To them? I’d rather die!”
The girl’s expression softened. “You might,” she whispered. “They don’t show mercy, not to us.”
“I don’t need their mercy,” Raven shot back. “I just need a chance.”
The girl looked at her for a long moment, then nodded slowly. “You’re different,” she murmured. “Not like the others. Most just…accept their fate.”
Raven’s jaw tightened. “Then they’re already dead.” she muttered.
The girl gave a sad smile. “Maybe. Or maybe they’re just trying to survive.”
Raven didn’t reply. She turned her gaze back to the ocean, watching the moonlight dance across the dark waters. The other girl’s words echoed in her mind, but she pushed them aside. She would not be like them. She would not accept this fate. She would find a way out, no matter what.

…

Days turned into weeks, and soon time had lost any semblance of meaning. Raven had begun to grow weaker. There was never a time when she wasn’t in pain. Her ribs no longer ached, but her entire body was covered in bruises of varying severity. Her stomach constantly churned with hunger, and her throat was dry from lack of water. Fenrick had been right, the voyage was proving to be rather hazardous.
As the days went by, the space within the cage began to grow less and less crowded. Her fellow captives began to fall victim to the elements, starvation, and dehydration. There had been around three dozen of them when the ship had first left the shores of Arturia, but now only half of them remained. A good day was when a body wasn’t being dragged from the cell. The Lycans showed little care or respect for those that had died due to their cruelty, perfectly content with throwing the bodies overboard and into the ocean.
She made more than one attempt whenever the guards entered the cage to retrieve a body, but every attempt had ended in failure. The repercussions for her escape attempts was the reason for why her body was covered in bruises. After so many failed attempts, Raven barely had the strength to keep trying. However, no matter how many times they beat her, she never once showed them any signs of weakness. Suffer as she might, she refused to let them see her defeated.
After what felt like what might have been an eternity, the ship finally came into view of land. It was an island, from what Raven could tell, and a busy one at that. Ships of all shapes and sizes were bustling in and out of the island, making port at what seemed to be a large city. A very large city. There was only so much she could see from within the cage, but what she could see showed that the city seemed to span from one side of the island to the other.
“Corsyra.” she heard one of the guards say, and things started to click into place. Corsyra seemed to be both an island and a city, and if all the ships were anything to go off of, a bustling trade hub of some sort.
The ship docked at a pier where very similar looking ships were also moored. The Lycans dragged the prisoners off of the ship, chaining them together in long lines. Raven felt the cold metal bite into her wrists as they bound her to the other captives. She gritted her teeth, determined not to show pain.
As they stood on the deck of the ship, waiting for their captors to lead them onto the pier, something in the corner of her eye caught Raven’s attention. A slight gleam, a reflection of light that no one else seemed to have noticed. It was the knife! All this time later and it still hadn’t been retrieved. The knife was wedged between a couple of crates, hidden almost completely from sight. Had it not been for the slight gleam of sunlight reflecting off of the blade, she would have never noticed it.
As soon as she set eyes on the knife, she immediately knew what she had to do. It likely wasn’t going to endear her to her fellow captives, but such a risk was completely negligible in her eyes if it meant arming herself. Determined to see this through, regardless of how it would end, Raven set her plan into motion. She stumbled in the direction of the barrels, collapsing to her knees once she felt that she was close enough to the barrels that her body would obscure what she was doing. Quick as a flash of lightning, her hands darted out and snatched up the knife, the blade disappearing under the waistline of her tattered trousers in an instant.
Just as she had expected, her collapsing out of line had resulted in the captives in front and behind her being tugged out of line as well, an unfortunate byproduct of them being chained together. The disturbance didn’t go unnoticed, the Lycans descending on them almost immediately, roughly pulling them back to their feet and pushing them back into the line.
“Don’t move, meat.” one of the guards snarled as he roughly shoved Raven back into her spot in the line, his claws leaving marks on her bruised and sunburnt flesh.
They were herded off of the ship and towards a series of makeshift pens on the beach, surrounded by crude wooden fences. They Lycans shoved them  inside, slamming the gate shut behind them. Raven stumbled again, but caught herself before she could fall. She glanced around, taking in her surroundings. Beyond the shabby walls that had been erected to separate them from the rest of the island, Raven could see small glimpses of the city that sprawled just beyond view.
She could see others walking along what could have only been a road of some sorts. Not only could she see more wolves like those that had brought her here, but she could also see various different kinds of humanoid animals. Canines of various different breeds and species, foxes with vibrant ginger pelts, and at one point she could have sworn that she had even caught a glimpse of what she believed was a lion. They hadn’t yet been taken to the Lycan territories, but wherever they were was close enough to Arcadia for all three races that inhabited the continent to make use of it.
She could see other ships anchored at the docks, their sails furled. More Lycans moved about on the beach, overseeing the unloading and loading of supplies and cargo. She saw cages filled with more human prisoners–men and women and children, all looking thin and terrified.
Raven’s anger surged anew. This was a staging point, a place where the Lycans collected their spoils before shipping them to their homeland. She clenched her fists, her nails digging into her palms. She had to get out. She had to find a way to escape and free the rest of the captives.
But the Lycans were watching closely, their eyes sharp and alert. One Lycan, a tall wolf with gray-brown fur and dull gray eyes, was making his way along the length of the pens, his gaze sweeping over the captives with cold calculation. In his hands were a quill and a thick, leatherbound book, the wolf occasionally stopping to scribble something into the book. He was examining his new merchandise, making notes and recording their details. They were being treated like cattle at a market!
When the wolf stopped in front of her, she met his gaze with an unyielding glare, her hatred burning like a beacon in the dark.
The hours dragged by and Raven could feel exhaustion start to settle over her. The weight of her bonds pulling at her arms, her bruises aching, and her sunburnt skin itching with irritation. But, despite her discomfort, she refused to rest. She refused to let her guard down. She kept her eyes on the Lycans, watching their movements and searching for any gaps in their patrols.
The sun had begun to set, dying the sky a vibrant orange. The camp had grown quieter, the Lycans having long since finished loading and unloading their ships. Torches were lit, the shadows cast by the flickering flames dancing across the glittering sand of the beach. The captives huddled together for warmth, their faces drawn and weary. Raven’s mind raced, thinking through every possible scenario, every potential escape plan.
Suddenly, she heard a low, rumbling growl. She turned, her heart pounding in her chest, to see one of the Lycan guards approaching the pen. He was tall and broad-shouldered, his fur a deep, russet brown. He was carrying a whip in one hand, the leather cracked and worn.
He stopped in front of the gate, his eyes scanning the captives. His gaze ultimately settled on Raven, and he grinned. “You,” he barked, pointing at her. “Come.”
Raven hesitated, her heart racing. She knew better than to trust his grin. Her instincts screamed at her to run, but with her hands bound and guards surrounding the pen, there was nowhere to go. She forced herself to breathe, to keep her expression calm and defiant. If they wanted her, they would have to drag her out.
The Lycan guard growled impatiently, stepping closer to the gate. “I said come!” he repeated, his voice a low, threatening rumble.
Raven didn’t move. She felt the eyes of the other prisoners on her, a few filled with pity, most filled with fear. Her mind raced. What would they do if she refused? Beat her? Kill her? Or worse? She could see the guard’s grip tighten on the whip, and she knew she was running out of time.
“Move!” he barked, his voice louder and more commanding.
“Make me.” she shot back, her voice steady despite the fear coursing through her veins. She knew it was foolish to provoke him, but she couldn’t help it. Her anger and defiance were all she had left. She wished she felt as confident as she sounded.
The guard’s eyes narrowed, his grin fading into a snarl. “Very well,” he growled. He opened the gate and stormed inside, his large frame casting a shadow over the trembling captives. He reached her in two strides, his massive hand grabbing her by the throat and lifting her off of her feet. The sudden force left her breathless, the air knocked from her lungs.
“You think you are brave?” he growled, his breath hot against her face. “You mistake foolishness for bravery.”
Raven struggled as best as she could, kicking at him with all of her might, but his grip was like iron. He dragged her out of the pen, slamming the gate shut behind him as he went. The other captives watched in silence, their faces pale and marred with an expression of mixed horror and resignation.
The wolf glared at her, his eyes gleaming with malice. “You have too much spirit,” he said, his voice a low growl. “No master will want a slave that refuses to follow the simplest of commands.”
Raven tried to twist away, but the guard’s grip tightened painfully. “I have no place with you,” she spat, her voice raw with anger. “You are nothing but beasts, and I will never bow to you.”
The Lycan’s grasp on her throat was making it harder and harder for her to breathe, the edges of her vision starting to turn black. She could feel her consciousness starting to slip away, her struggling starting to grow weaker and weaker. She knew that there was no knowing what state she would wake up in if she were to lose her consciousness, assuming that she were to wake up again at all.
With all other options extinguished, the girl made one last desperate move to free herself. She drew the knife free from the waistband of her trousers before lunging forward, putting as much of her weight as she could behind the strike. Desperate as it might have been, her strike found its mark, the knife’s blade plunging deep into the Lycan’s unprotected throat. The wolf let out a gurgling noise of surprise, his grip on her own throat loosening as he stumbled before falling backwards.
Raven, stubbornly, refused to let go of the knife, falling to the ground along with the Lycan and landing on top of him. Now that air was once again filling her lungs, all she could see was red. With a near feral cry, she pulled the knife free from the wolf’s throat, his lifeblood flowing freely from his wound and staining the sand beneath him. All of the hate and rage that had been simmering inside of her came to a boil all at once, manifesting itself as a level of aggression that startled even herself. She could hear shouting all around her, but she was singularly focused on the Lycan underneath her.
Once, twice, three times she was able to plunge the knife into the wolf’s chest, putting her entire weight behind each stab to ensure that the blade was able to pierce through the guards armor. It was when she was drawing her arm back for a fourth stab that she felt something hard and heavy collide against her ribs, sending her flying off of the guard and sprawling into the sand, the knife flying free from her grasp and into the growing shadows. Pain arched through her body, her vision blurring as she struggled to push herself back to her feet, only for another kick to connect against her belly. The air was once again forced from her lungs, a pitiful wheeze escaping from her lips as she was driven back into the sand.
Despite the pain that was now wracking her body, Raven couldn’t help but feel an odd sort of calmness settle over her. She was going to die. They were going to kill her for what she had done, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. For some odd reason, she didn’t feel afraid. Instead, she felt…satisfied? Despite everything she had suffered, despite all the pain they had inflicted on her, they had failed to make her break, they had failed to rob her of her defiance, and they had failed to bend her to their will. She had won.
She had expected another kick, to feel teeth and claws tearing at her flesh, or perhaps even a blade to cut open her throat the same way she had done to the guard, but it never came. Before the Lycans could touch her again, a shout rang out through the air, clear and firm and commanding. The voice spoke in the same language as the Lycans, but it sounded different, less rough, less guttural.
As her eyes began to come back into focus, Raven was able to just barely make out the one that had shouted through the throng of Lycans that had descended on her. It was a caracal, one of the Cait. He was still shouting, the odd language of the beast-folk doing little to mask his obvious outrage. The caracal was arguing with the bookkeeper from earlier, both of them speaking far too fast for her to try and pick up on any of the words, but she could tell from the way they were both gesturing at her that she was the subject of their argument.  
Suddenly, a bark from the bookkeeper caused all of the guards that had just moments before been ready to tear Raven apart to disperse, most of them returning to their prior postings while a few others went to stand behind the bookkeeper. She had not the slightest of ideas of what had just happened, watching in silence as the bookkeeper and his entourage of guards led the caracal into a large tent.
The rush of adrenaline she had experienced earlier had worn off, leaving her body aching and sore and trembling. Before she had time to even react, she suddenly felt a large hand clamp down roughly on the back of her neck; one of the Lycans had returned. He dragged her towards a wooden post that had been driven deep into the sand near the edge of the camp, all the while making threats of the pain he wished to inflict on her. She didn’t respond, far too exhausted to even muster up the most passive of retorts.
The guard shoved her against the post, binding her wrists above her head, just as had been done to her before. She could feel the rough wood digging into her back, the ropes biting into her wrists. She bit back a wince, still determined to keep up a strong facade.
She didn’t know how long they left her there. She must have finally lost consciousness at some point, the girl opening her eyes at one point to see that dusk had finally bled into twilight. The body of the Lycan she had killed had vanished, the sand beneath where he had once lain still dark with his blood. Every inch of her body ached in a way she had never felt before. It took all of her remaining strength to choke back a pained sob.
If this is how it feels to survive, perhaps death would be preferable. The thoughts raced through her mind, a poison that threatened to crush what little remained of her will.
Finally, after what might have well been an eternity, the Lycans returned and released her from the post. They pulled her roughly to her feet, obviously disinclined to show her even the smallest amount of mercy, especially after she had killed one of their own. She had expected to be led back to the pen with the other captives, or perhaps somewhere else so that they could exact their revenge on her. To her surprise, however, they steered her in the direction of the tent that the caracal and the bookkeeper had disappeared inside of.
“Congratulations, meat,” One of the guards growled, his words thick with contempt. “You’ve just been bought.”