Shielding the Beast (discontinued)

Five | Lifeblood

Life•blood

Noun

The indispensable factor or influence that gives something its strength and vitality.

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The man's receding footsteps echo down the corridor, pounding softly against the stone floor. The drawn-out squeal of a door neglected of oil screeches again, making its movement known.

For a second time, the light divided into faint lines across my skin appears, shining through the maze of metal and stone that makes up the dungeon. The loud slam of a latch rings out, signaling that whatever door that had been opened is now closed, cutting off my direct route of escape.

A new scent fills my nose, quickly analyzed in the air by my inhuman sense of smell. It's masculine, werewolf, and of a higher level of dominance, although not enough to withhold the title of Alpha -- a definite Beta.

Yet another scent compiles atop that one, overpowering it-- this one incapable of comparison to any essence within existence or even imagination.

The blood flowing within my veins pulses wildly in desire and ardor, quickening its course. It's as if every trace of the drugs injected into my body vanishes into oblivion, my strength revitalizing with rapidity. A sharp intake of air forces itself into my lungs, rejuvenating my whole being as if to safeguard my life.

My vision begins to change, redness washing over it; like trickles of blood smeared on a camera lens.

My insides feel as if their tightening all at once, condensing, solidifying, the beast awakening like a tidal wave in an endless ocean.

Through crimson sight I watch as a door in the bars of my cell swings inwardly open. A tall, dirty blond strides in, his eyes paying no concern to me, but rather what's coming behind him-- and what my full interest is trained on more intently than a starving lion on a fresh piece of meat.

Through the door of the cell walks the quintessence of everything good, the complement of my existence.

He has a tall stature of magnificence, with medium ash brown hair, combed over on the top and shaven shorter on the sides. His eyes are like two suns in a starless sky, the golden yellow irises that are all but glowing in the dark.

In seconds the sublime figure is in front of me, ripping the chains from my form and disregarding the scorching silver and searing wolfsbane as if they're nothing more than cotton balls being thrown at him.

My body falls like a bag of soaked sand from where I was previously bound, my middle landing on his shoulder. Hands immediately secure my weight, placed on the back of my thighs and the small of my bare back. A mix of contrasting elements burgeons from his skin touching mine to create a purely pleasurable sensation; like frosted electricity set aflame.

Gingerly, my feet are lifted to the ground, allowing for me to stand upright. I ignore the chill that travels up my shins from the cold stone of the floor.

His hands find what seems like their home on each of my unclothed sides, mine latching onto his upper arms, gently squeezing them for evidence of his reality.

Specific words surface to my mind, each of them describing him perfectly. Solid. Strong. And what has been denied from me for 8 long and blood-painted years, refuge.

My insides claw at themselves like a newly empowered fledgling wanting to test its limits, reminding me of my change, my strengthening, my reinvigoration.