Queen of Wolves (ON HOLD)

III

iii

The ground is cold and hard, and yet, at the same time, my body feels numb all over and I can barely feel it. I'm scared, and alone. It's been barely a day, and I'm already going mad. I didn't manage to get any sleep during the night; my thoughts caught up to me and I was restless, confused and afraid. I don't know what happened, I don't understand. Something went wrong but but nobody would tell me. I'm not mad anymore. I'm confused, bewildered, in shock.

I don't know how long I have been in here. Maybe hours, maybe days. The confinement is torture. The only contact I've had with anyone is the few times that guards have patrolled down the hall. I have not been fed, though they brought me a piece of cloth to put on so I was not nude.

I hear a large slam from the big metal door, the only entrance and exit of this prison. I hear screams, a woman, that approach me. I lean forward, crawling up to the barred front of my cell to see the commotion. I grip the bars, putting the side of my face onto the cool surface. I see guards hauling a young woman towards me while her cries and slurs sound through the air.

"You pieces of shit!" she yells,  struggling in their tight grasp. She has an very prominent accent, and looks to be of East Asian descent. "Let go of me!" They bring her closer, and I can see her tangled, matted hair that covers her face, which looks beaten and bloody, though I can see it's original olive colour. They bring her to my cell, stopping in front. I move my face from the bars as one of them reaches into their pocket. I catch a whiff of the air and the unsettling scent, indescribable but easily recognizable. It brings a shiver up my spine and I shudder. She's a rogue.

"Move," he tells me before quickly shoving one of the keys into the little hole on that side of the door. He jiggles it to the left a little before there is a click, and it is swung open. I scurry away, backwards, hitting my back on the far wall. The guards shove her inside of my cell mercilessly and she falls onto her knees, then on all fours. Her breaths are rough, raspy. She's exhausted. The guards slam the cell door and leave us in silence, only her heavy breathing to be heard.

"Are you..." I start but trail off as she looks up at me with beady eyes, dark like night. I swallow, nervous and anxious. I shrink back, but not before seeing a large spot on her muddy and stained shirt, covered in blood and spreading. I stand slowly. "You're hurt. Let me help you."

I take a step towards her, and she growls, low. "I don't need your help," she grumbles through deep breaths. She groans in pain as she falls back, sitting down with her knees acting as a shield in front of her. She eyes her wound, lifting up the shirt a little, and I realize that it's worse than I thought it was.

"At least let me bandage it with something clean." She glares at me, but her eyes soften a little.

"Fine." I take it as a hint to crawl over to her slowly, cautious. I kneel down, beside her and closest to the wound. She leans away, exposing it more to me. I lift up the fabric and inspect the cut in the region of her ribs. I carefully move my finger to brush over it, and she hisses.

"Sorry," I mumble, moving away. I take the edge of my sleeve, still relatively clean, or at least cleaner than what this woman is wearing. I pull, hard, and the seams rip. At this moment, I'm feeling thankful for the poorly made shirt they gave me to cover my body. The fabric is thick, and the seams are poorly sewn, easy to tear. The sleeves are overly long and the shirt is unreasonably big on me. I doubt they took my size into consideration; why would they? I take the ripped piece of cloth and stretch it out, measuring. "Lift up your shirt for me..." I tell her, and she obeys, raising the fabric to expose her ribs, holding it up and covering her breasts. I wrap the sleeve around her waist, covering the wound and tying it on the other side. "That'll do for now..."

"For now? What, you think they'll come in here and patch me up or something?" I nod awkwardly. Why wouldn't they heal her, are they that heartless? The woman looks at me, confused and perplexed. "Have you... have you ever been inside of a jail? Ever?"

"Uh... no... I...," I mumble inaudibly, looking away. It can't be too shameful to not be a fugitive, can it?

"What's your name, sweet pea," she asks me, inspecting the wound on her side. It's already starting to bleed through the beige fabric that I had tied around her waist.

"Agara," I tell her, sitting back against the wall and crossing my legs in front of me. I lean against it, feeling the cool stone through my shirt. "Call me Aggie, for short."

"Well, Agara, Aggie, the name's Kenna, and I have a lot to teach you. Your first lesson: Every man, woman, and everyone in between, for themselves. There's no mercy for people like us here, or anywhere." What does she mean when she says 'people like us'? She can't seriously think that her and I are alike in any way. I grew up here, lived here, in Northblood, surrounded by power. She's a rogue wolf, and most likely grew up with nothing.

I ask her, "What's that supposed to mean? 'People like us'." I cross my arms over my chest, in total disbelief at the audacity of this woman.

"People like us, Rogues, what did you think?" She answers, clearly annoyed. I pause for a moment, dumbfounded.

"I'm not a rogue," I announce. "That's impossible." She looks at me like I am insane.

"Your scent, I can tell from your scent. You don't belong to any Pack." I freeze up. Alpha... He must have disowned me, cut me off, destroyed the connection. Why? What have I done to deserve this? The incident at my ceremony, most likely, though it's still a blur.

He said that the legend is true, but I have no clue what he speaks of. I'm confused and baffled, upset, angry, and scared. I'm horrified of what is to come, and if I'll even survive until then in this cold, rotting prison. Perhaps my new cellmate, Kenna, will make the ride less miserable, though I have yet to learn about her and her motives.

Thanks for reading this chapter!