seven

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Illyria awoke to find herself suspended from her wrists over a grotty cellar floor. The cellar was empty and large; no windows, just a steep staircase made of rotting wood and a locked door with light sneaking through underneath, somewhat dimly illuminating the moldy space. Illyria's sensitive nose was assaulted by the smell of stale air and wet dog, most probably from previous captives.

As her eyes adjusted to the little details she saw sludge on the floor, and scratches carved into every surface except the ceiling. They, whoever they were, obviously held werewolves in this cellar for long periods of time; long enough to make them volatile and crazy, turn them every bit into what rogues are feared for.

Illyria took a deep breath, trying to focus her senses so she could figure out a way to escape. She wiggled her hips, trying to see if she could slide out of the shackles; bad idea. A lancing pain shot up her arms causing her to bite into her lip hard enough to draw blood, her body still swaying slightly from the chains that held her up. Illyria looked up, causing her to swing, and what she saw nearly made her lose her stomach's contents. A thick shard was welded onto the inside of each of the shackles, and these same shards were stuck through her wrists, crucifying her.

Her eyes widened as the scent of fresh blood hit her nose and she felt it dripping out from underneath the shackles, steadily flowing down her arms. Moving was definitely a terrible idea. Illyria felt light-headed and swallowed the thick bile rising up her throat. The sound of a key twisting in a lock brought Illyria's attention to the only door in the dank cellar; her problems forgotten as she readied herself for a fight

Illyria held her breath as the door creaked open on it's rusted hinges, and a man stepped over the threshold, his heavy boots pounding on the untrustworthy staircase as it struggles to accept his weight.

"You're awake," the man spoke, pausing at the foot of the stairs while sighing, "I'll go get the boss." Illyria watched him make his way back up the stairs, and then lifted her head when he returned, Jaxon in tow. "Well, well, looks like Sleeping Beauty has finally awakened."

Illyria released the breath that she was holding, her nose then invaded by the scent of rogue; wet dog, tree mould, and smoke. A distinctive, yet disturbing combination. "Aren't you going to say hello?" Jaxon mocked, cocking his head to the side as he took a seat on the last step of the staircase. His henchman standing protectively by the door, eyeing her openly with distrust and amusement. Illyria scoffed internally. Feeling her wolf fight to the edge of her consciousness, ready for any opening; to fight, or to escape. Illyria knew that the second an oppurtunity came, her wolf would be in control.

"Hello Alpha Jaxon," Illyria said, her voice too sweet while a smile - no, a grimace – coated her lips. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

Jaxon smirked as Illyria swung a little, more blood pouring from the gashes in her wrists. "Why Illyria, you look a little stuck, would you like to be released?"

Illyria's eyes narrowed as she lifted her head to meet his view. He was testing her, he thought of her as weak. "Mmh," Illyria hummed, looking up to her restraints, stiffling a gasp as the action caused the metal shards to shift within her, scraping bone. "I think I actually like it up here, thanks." Illyria looked down at her feet as they pointed towards the floor, trying to stop the swinging before she hurt herself even more.

Her eyes lifted as she met Jaxon's glare. The amusement gone from his features as he met her stone cold glare. "I'm glad you think so." Jaxons stood, brushing sawdust from his dress pants. "I hope you enjoy your stay."

Jaxon walked up the creaky stairs and into the hallway, his henchman following but not before slamming the door closed, leaving Illyria in a room almost as dark as pitch.

The days and nights that followed were long and cold. Not one person visited Illyria, not to deliver food, not to even check that she was still there. Her only way of telling the time was by the changes in light that shone through from underneath that door.

It was eleven days, maybe longer, maybe shorter, before she heard a sound other than the dripping of mold onto the stony floor. Her wrists were rubbed raw from the times her wolf had tried to escape from her shackles. Her stomach clenched and tight in the anticipation of food; stomach acid sometimes working it's way up into her throat before going back down. Her eyes were tired as they sometimes tried to focus on something; anything. Her neck and back cramped from trying to hold her up, as if letting her flop down was really an option.

The only thing she had was her hoarse voice, humming the familiar tune of 'Whistle a Happy Tune', her mother's favourite song from her favourite musical. At the beginning of her captivity, once she realised that no one was coming for her, tears would run down her dirt stained cheeks. She had no one to look strong for; no one to convince of her unyeilding strength. She was just a girl; a kidnapped, orphaned, rejected girl.

Now her tear ducts were dry, her mouth too, and her way of letting the emotion out was pressing her chapped lips together and humming. The words of the chorus running on replay in her head. The slam of a door somehwhere in the house brought her eyes to the door, and then the heavy footsteps in the room above her caused sawdust to rain down on top of her hair. She head men yelling, clothes ripping, primal growls as men screamed. Her eyes widened as she struggled in her shackles. This wasn't good; infact this was the epitome of not good.

Illyria stopped struggling when the sounds above her stopped, and footsteps entered the house heavily. Illyria held her breath as they stopped on the other side of the door.

When the door was ripped open Illyria looked away, a familiar scent invaded the room and her wolf wilted, as footsteps approached her. A hand grabbed her hair and yanked her forward, bring her face to face with a very angry, very dangerous Alpha Werewolf.

"You thought you could send a message to your little friends, ask them to come attack us and you'd be saved? Huh!" Jaxon's eyes were black as he brought his knee into Illyria's stomach; had she not been restrained she would've fallen straight to the floor, keeling over as he broke several of her ribs.

"Come on you Bitch!" He grabbed her throat and brought her face close to his. "I just killed your little friends and it's your fault that they were here in the first place. How'd you do it?"

Illyria felt tears prick her eyes as he mentioned killing her friends, but the lack of oxygen was getting to her and black spots clouded her vision. "Come on!" Jaxon slapped her with his other hand, causing pain to erupt on the right side of her face. "Tell me!" He yelled, "How'd you do it?"

Illyria felt his fingers digging in to her trachea and she felt a detached sort of numbness as he hit her once more, splitting her lip open. She looked up at Jaxon as veins popped in his forehead and he yelled, but she heard nothing more than her heart beat ferociously pounding in her ears.

... and with that, her vision went black. 


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