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...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
It was definitely getting colder. If there was any heat at all pumping into the cellar, blood loss and the constant flow of poison through his veins constantly made Jrasic cold. He sat slumped against the wall with both arms limp at his sides, the shackles already biting into his wrists and rubbing the skin raw.
His breathing was ragged and he held his gaze fixated on no one thing in the dark room. Jrasic kept his head tilted against the chains that bound his arms, just short enough that they were pulled taught in his position.
It was probably snowing again. Real heavy flakes, not the mushy stuff he and Terra had run through on their last shift together.
Terra. Even the vague thought of her caused a different kind of pain to lace his whole being. Wherever they had fled to, he at least knew she was safe. That she was alive. He tried to convince himself that his own survival proved as much, if what Camille had said was true.
Not for the first time, he allowed himself to think of her. The movement of the corner of her eyes when she smiled, or the way her nose crinkled when she drew in thought. He found himself picturing that expression of hers most often. Before, it would bring a smile to his lips in the darkness that surrounded him. Now, his muscles disallowed even that gesture.
The door to the cellar opened and closed quickly, blocking out the cold wind that threatened to follow. The footsteps into the darkness were light and quick, and something fell to the ground with a thud before cool, soft hands cupped his face.
Jrasic started at the foreign touch and his breath caught. His mind slowly tore its way back to the present and his gaze narrowed in on the girl before him. She was familiar, and through all the wolfsbane he was sure he knew her scent. It took him a moment to fully place the name to the fuzzy face in front of his own, and even then it was a guess.
"Willow?" he asked, to be sure. His voice broke on the single word.
"You look terrible," she whispered and tried to smile, though the expression fell away quickly. The woman moved her fingers gently over the bruises and cuts on his face and neck, her eyes filling with tears.
He didn't resist her and he puffed out a breath. "I've been better," he got out then slipped his gaze beyond her as if expecting someone else to appear. "What are you doing here?"
Her hands drew back from him and she suddenly found it hard to meet his gaze. "I-I'm supposed to...but I can't, Jrasic." Willow shook her head and turned for the bag she left on the ground. "You know I couldn't do that to you."
"They sent you down here." Jrasic tried to straighten more and winced harshly. "If you don't do what they want, they'll hurt you." He dropped his head back against the wall, peering down at her bag.
"What do I care anymore?" she asked him. She kept her voice to a whisper. Willow pulled out a bottle of water and unscrewed the lid as she moved back to him. "It's been like that for years." Though she placed the rim to his lips, she waited for him to let her help.
