The Kitty Cat's Mates (ManxMen)

13 | A Hag Dressed in Porcelain Skin

She tilted her head. "Escaped?"

The man did not answer. He heavily fidgeted with his hands.

Beatrice sighed through her nose and circled him slowly. "You are in charge of these creatures, are you not, Fargus?"

"Yes... yes I am, m-my lady."

"And you dare let another one escape yet again?" she scoffed.

"I a-apologize madam, but the chains have already rusted after a long time, and there weren't any ways to have it changed with that beast lurking beneath its hold—"

"Have you no brain to execute any solutions? For all that has happened, those dogs are sniffing into our doorways yet again. Just because of your cowardness and ignorance? Your incompetence... is quite troubling."

"I-I-I'm sorry, L-lady Beatrice, but I will make sure that there won't be another time—!"

The woman emitted a demonic shriek; her face contorting to a rotten complexion and her mouth gaping inhumanely as large needle-like teeth protruded from her purplish gums.

A rambling gurgle was the last that left the man's lips before she bit down on his throat.

After sucking his blood dry, she threw his body like a weightless rag doll on the side. Beatrice reverted to her veneer of aristocratic beauty. Her tongue stretched out as she spun it around her bloodied lips.

"There really won't be any." She breathed out.

Just when she was about to leave, Ratt, the earlier rodent stopped her:

"L-lady Beatrice—"

"What?"

"W-we got a visitor," Ratt hesitantly, yet repulsively snickered.

Beatrice blinked, prodding an inquiring gaze with her annoyed, yet curious eyes. She heard the screaming of a man that echoed and pulled closer towards them. Then guards, struggling to keep and hold a sweaty, breathless, and violent man, entered the room. There was a spiked shackle on his neck, keeping him away from shifting.

"I'll fucking kill you all! I'll kill every one of you!" the man, or werewolf, roared.

"Lady Beatrice," one of the newly arrived men said, as they closed the distance towards them. "We found him sniffing around near the border. It seems like we've caught one of our missing pets."

"Well, well," Beatrice mused, walking towards the scene-maker. "Welcome back," she gestured at her men, who nodded and pulled the trashing werewolf's chin up to keep his head still. Beatrice then ran his fingers across the hem of his shirt and drew it down, looking at the tattoo carved into the area just below his right collarbone, "Number 193."

Beatrice flinched when the man spat directly at her face.

"Futu-ți dumnezeii mă-tii, you damned bitch! Why don't you fucking rot in hell!" the man screeched.

Beatrice clenched her jaw but withheld herself, as she wiped the spit on her face. She'll have the score settled in due time. "Aww, you hurt me and my late mother with such barks, little dog."

"Esti facut din laba si carat de muste in pizda ma-tii! You'll all rot in hell! Damn you! Damn you all, you fucking bloodsuckers!"

"With open arms." Beatrice huffed, flinging a strand of her hair away from her face. "But before we do as you wish, how about we show you a little limbo in here, hm?"

She stared, prodding a suggestive look, at the guards holding him. They grinned back.

"Don't kill him," she said. "Make it so he begs for the real hell instead."

The werewolf gritted his teeth, and as a last attempt, he slammed himself against one guard, elbowing the other one, and kicking the next with all the force on his legs, bringing more ruckus as he tried to dart between swerving hands. Beatrice watched with delighted eyes.

Then a guard ran over to the scene, a taser pole in both hands. The weapon hit the werewolf on his shoulder, and the latter shook and dropped on his knees to the floor, stiff. Then the guard struck him again, this time on the side of his neck, and he finally dropped on the floor.

Beatrice kept watching as they pulled the unconscious dog away.

"Ma'am," another guard cut in, "word has it that those werewolves will be attending a gathering," he informed.

Beatrice tilted her head. "Gathering, you say?"

"One of the famous pride, Tierra Madre, will be holding a party for their new King."

"Cats... and dogs." Amusement gleamed at Beatrice's eyes. "Did I hear it right?"

The guard nodded.

She gazed at him before her lips curled into a slightly arched smile. She then turned her heads at the vampire guards around them.

"Turn more slaves in," she ordered.

The guards started to move and outcries clamored and echo throughout the entire place wildly.

"Silence!"

"Leave us alone!" The people wept.

"Keep them yapping to yourself!" the guards banged at the bars with their batons and yelled as they began to open each metal bars, dragging people that screamed in their grips. They shackled spiked iron chokers around their neck that linked with the others either behind and in front of them. The cries and yells continued. The guards slammed rebellious men with batons, either shocking them or leaving them with the choice to comply with their unfathomable future.

"This is interesting," Beatrice said, thoughts ringing back to the information she had just obtained, before she walked away, the soles of her shoes hallowed by the screams behind her.

A playful smile crept on the corner of her lips.