My Broken Voice

Chapter 1

Summary:

Dark. Alone. Cold. Hurt. That was how the young female ward of the Alpha of The Red Talons Pack spent most of her time as a young girl. It only got worse as she grew older, as she was forced to stay in her room and occasionally get beaten by the Beta of the Pack, with the Alpha intentionally turning a blind eye for him.

She doesn't get much of a break besides the long hours that she is left alone in her dark room, which is slightly more unbearable than just enduring Beta Scott's "visits". Her food is barely edible, her clothes tattered and falling apart, and her body riddled with scars from infected wounds and weapons made mostly of sharp silver.

She finally gets a rest when her Pack is attacked by another who knows how awful the Alpha and Beta are and are willing to lose a few werewolves to save the people who are being kept by them. She gets taken to a human hospital and now the people of her new pack have a problem on their hands. She can't talk, and something or someone is coming after her with a vengeance, using a way to communicate that was previously thought impossible.

Can she find out who is hurting her and what they want? Will she be able to open up to the Alpha of her new pack, who just wants to help her adjust to her new bright surroundings? And will the new tall, dark, and handsome Alpha be able to get her to talk again?

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Darkness. That was all I could see. There was no sliver, glow, or ray of light in sight. My room, as I had grown accustomed to, was completely dark. I breathed in a mix of mold, blood, a slight tang of sweat, and my own waste. The air was practically toxic but I didn't care anymore, my previously sensitive nose had become desensitized a while ago. Time seemed to run together now, not that my memories of the past were forgotten but the memories of the present were quickly slipping away.

My room had a door and no windows, so I could never tell what time it was or even if it was day or night. My only source of air circulation was a small vent at the top of the ceiling. Too high to reach and too small to crawl through. My bruises and cuts still throb from when the Beta of my pack last came to visit me. I couldn't hear anything except the echoes of my shallow breathing and my own subtle heartbeat. I didn't know how long it had been since my last meal, but I felt the ache from my stomach, begging to be fed.

I decided to take a deep breath to receive a larger burst of oxygen and cringed at the pain when my lungs tried to expand past the capacity of my small chest. Bad idea. I coughed and breathed weak, shallow breaths. My room, cell, whatever, was cleaned at least once a full moon and I was nearing the time when it needed to be cleaned again. I don't have any windows or anything so I was actually just guessing, but my room was smelling more and more gross so I had to guess it would be cleaned soon.

It took me several years to succumb. To stop fighting against them. Eventually I had to realise that there was no use in fighting. I just wasn't going to win against two strong lycanthropes. And It wasn't like it could get any worse. I was alone, I was always cold, and the only relief from the torture of isolation was the snapping end of a whip or the rusty edge of a knife. Likewise, the only relief from the physical torture was when they left me alone, leaving me to live in this cruel circle. Now I'm used to everything. It doesn't hurt less, and I don't wish to be somewhere, anywhere, less than before, but I know the patterns better. I can brace myself. I can't fight it, I know that now. I hardly have the strength to do much and even when I do, I can't move anyway because of lingering pain from new or old wounds, some of them even infected. It's not like they would torture me then send down a medicine wolf to help me out. As far as they were concerned, they would rather I die a slow death.