An enslaved pack ruled by a merciless dictator. A pack of assassins out for blood and revenge.
A lone wolf who can't find his place among any of it.
Through betrayal, binding pacts, and revolutionary acts, with more shadows looming between the tree...
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No one else came into the cellar for what felt like days. Jrasic was left to nothing but his own thoughts in the dark room illuminated by only a narrow window far above his head. It was the only way he could tell it was around afternoon. Perhaps no one was coming again.
That was fine by him. The wound across his chest stung but already began to heal. The one on his stomach was a different story. Despite it, Jrasic forced himself to his feet and became easily winded. He pressed one hand hard against the poorly patched wound and used the other to right himself against the wall.
His chains clanked and shifted loudly with every movement. The cuffs were tight around his wrists and they connected him to the wall with a chain large enough only to allow him to sit and cross is arms before him. He was sure the cuffs would slide right off if he shifted and he had half the mind to do so until another wave of pain coursed through him from his stomach.
Camille had drove that blade exactly the right way. She probably severed a few important veins, shredded some muscle perhaps. Things he knew only Jason could have treated well enough for his wolf blood to fully heal him in a matter of days. That drew him to study the wound instead, pressing a shoulder up against the wall.
The bandage consisted of just a gauze pad taped to his skin over the wound. Little more had been done. So that explained why even now, blood oozed from beneath the tape and slipped through his fingers. Too much blood...but Jrasic refused to sit again.
He decided holding the wound did no better than what the bandage was doing and so returned to his chains. He wrapped them around both hands and gave them just an easy tug. They straightened but did nothing more. If he wanted to get himself out, the only way would be to shift. But if he shifted, there was no telling what that'd do to his wound. He wouldn't make it far anyway. Not bleeding through the snow.
The one and only door to the cellar creaked open and Jrasic turned to find Sonya descending. She smiled sweetly at him and held out the single apple she carried with her. She tossed it to him once she reached the bottom step and Jrasic had just enough leeway to catch it in one hand.
"How are you today, Jrasic?" Sonya asked as if they had just bumped ways in the hall. "I'm sorry haven't been down to see you since you came home. There's much to prepare with a war over my head."
Since you came home. Like he had willingly taken a blade to the stomach to be taken back to this cursed pack. He growled lowly at Sonya, his claws growing out in response to pierce the apple.
She noticed and merely pouted at him. "Really, I thought you'd be more happy to see me." Sonya crossed over to a table of horrifying trinkets and perched on its edge. She selected a scalpel from the array and toyed with it between her fingers. "Didn't you miss me?"
"This won't work," Jrasic told her. He'd already heard enough from Camille. "Terra won't give into this."
"Won't she?" Sonya near purred. Her sweet smile fell away and she leaned forward on the table. Jrasic didn't see it coming until it was too late — her hand lashed forward and a second later the scalpel embedded itself into his arm.
