108K 3.9K 354

Illyria felt small, wet drops splatter on her forehead. Her eyes were still closed while her arms were caught above her head. She shook her head as the drops persisted, thinking of what convoluted position she must've fallen asleep in to be this sore. Her head fell on her arm and pain shot through her wrists. Her eyes opened wide and she came face to face with a man.

She was in the cellar. Hanging upright. With Rogues. Not home. Not in bed.

"Welcome back, Princess," The man smiled, Illyria's attention being brought immediately to the large gap inbetween his front teeth. The man stepped back and straightened out his posture; he was tall, as tall as Tristyn, and he radiated dominance.

"I must say you remind me a lot of your parents, particularly your mother," he brought his thumn up to the pout of her bottom lip and ran the pad of his finger over it, "you have her lips." Illyria growled, her lips pulled back as her canines were revealed. The man stepped back with an amused smile on his lips, "I see you still have some fight left in you,"the man laughed. "Pity. Jaxon told me it was all wrung out."

Illyria rolled her eyes, "well Jaxon's a dipshit," she spat, recoiling as the man step forward once more, placing his hand on her cheek. He opened his mouth to speak when the cellar door banged open and a boy ran through, almost tripping on the rotten steps. "Alpha, Lycans were spotted on the border, what do we do?"

Illyria watched the boy as he spoke, he seemed to be no more than fifteen years old and yet here he was, working with rogues. The longer she looked at him, Illyria wanted to hate him, but she just couldn't. He was a child. He had no part in this war. The man sighed, his eyes almost black as he turned back to Illyria. "We'll be back soon sweetheart, I'm just going to have to deal with your little friends."

The man, the Alpha, stepped backwards and up the steps, Illyria watching him go with cautious eyes. He was an Alpha, he was powerful, but he was rogue. And Rogues always turned on Rogues. They couldn't have an Alpha, they were lost, crazy; nomads.

Illyria felt an uneasy weight settle in the pit of her stomach; this was it. She felt blood drip down to the crook of her neck but she was numb to the pain that should've been shooting down her arm, caused as she twisted her wrists in their metal prisons. A desperate cry left her lips as she struggled, the pain finally becoming prevalent in her arms. Tears fell from her tear ducts, obstructing her vision as the blinding hot pain seared her nerves. Her chest wracked with sobs as she heard the fight come to a close. Heavy foot falls fell in the hallway above and she tried to wipe away the evidence of her tears before whoever – presumably the Rogue Alpha – stepped through the cellar door.

Illyria schooled her features into a blank mask. Her heart, and wrists, ached but she ignored it. She had been complacent for too long, and now, now she was going to fight. Even if fighting meant no emotion, no reaction; it was the small victories that she would win from now on.

Illyria's chest heaved as the doorknob to the room twisted, tentatively turning as though whoever was on the other side was unsure as to what lay behind the cellar door. Illyria's breathing hitched as the door began to swing open, creaking on it's rusty hinges and flooding the cellar with sunlight.

Blinded by the sun Illyria hid her eyes in the crook of her neck, using her hearing as a guide. There was a gasp, a manly utterance of 'shit', hurried foot steps and then the person, who was decidely not the Rogue Alpha, came to a stop infront of Illyria. They reached up to her wrists, pulling away when Illyria hissed.

Illyria felt another person's arms wrap around her waist, holding her up while someone fiddled with the cuffs. Filled with curiousity Illyria opened her eyes, looking up at her tall saviour. It was one of the Lycan's that came with Alpha Logan and Rachel.

Gentle PredatorWhere stories live. Discover now