(3) Painstaker

Eighteen: Prisoner

Sam tried to come with us. After about ten minutes of arguing with a man who doesn't actually speak, I ended up spraying this bottle in his face that had 'Sleep Potion' on the label. He was out within seconds.

"If that has negative side effects, I'm going to pour the entire bottle in your morning coffee," Flower warned as we exited the room.

I spared her a narrowed look. "For some reason, I don't doubt you'd do that."

She shrugged. Flower was a step ahead of me, as her sense of smell was several times stronger than mine. I couldn't even detect a hint of a scent from my clothes, the bruise, or even when the person was standing right in front of me. Fortunately, their scent hiding tricks didn't work on Flower.

Soon, the modern looking halls tapered off until we found ourselves surrounded by dark grey brick and a chill of a breeze. "This doesn't make me feel good," I muttered to Flower as we ventured deeper down a dark, creepy hall.

Wind was coming from somewhere. Vents, maybe, although I couldn't spot any. I could, however, hear the sound of wind passing through a tight space, the whistle of it bothered my sharp hearing. The halls were dark, but easy enough for the both of us to see through. Here, it appeared more like a dungeon than a happy motel for supernatural creatures.

I didn't like it one bit.

Flower must have not felt comfortable ether; she repeatedly scratched at her shoulder. "I should have brought my sabre."

"I don't think the judgmental witches would appreciate you carrying around a weapon."

From the corner of my eye, I saw her shoot me a look. "Judgmental? You're judgmental."

I bristled. "Hey, I'm working on it."

"Wait." Flower shot her arm out, causing me to walk into it. Lifting her head, she sniffed at the air, loud enough for me to hear it. Flower suddenly took off into a run down an adjacent hall; this one darker than before. I trailed behind her, but I didn't reach her target before she did. She stopped in front of an indent in the hallway, standing wide-eyed in front of something. As I approached, I noticed the glow of flickering fire on her face.

When I reached her, my eyes settled on what she was gawking at. Her surprised rubbed off on me instantly. There, staked to the wall, was a wolf's skin, its blood smeared on the ground and the wall. Its head had flopped backward, lifeless blue eyes staring back at me.

Oh Goddess. Oh no. Blue eyes. Zeke has blue eyes. The panic was just about to make me black out, but then I realized the fur wasn't right. Zeke's fur was charcoal. This one was just barely black. With my head clearing from the panic, I noticed a note written in blood on top of the skinned wolf.

'Catch me if you can, Blondie. If I catch you first, I get the prize.'

My heart beat quicker in my chest. Blondie? I was blond. The dead wolf was a threat. Did this person want to skin me alive? Was this really about me being with Zeke? No. Skinning a werewolf had nothing to do with jealousy. This was about something more. It had to be.

Flower took a tentative step forward, inhaling through her nose. "A rogue," she informed. "He must have been staying here."

'Falcon's haven is supposed to be a safe place.' Zeke's words ran through my mind on repeat as I stared at the dead rogue. Was it me? Had I brought danger to people who were innocent?

A darker part of my mind tried to muster up a reason. Maybe this rogue was one of the bad ones. Maybe this rogue was just like my father said they were. A torturer, a murdered, a rapist. Stepping away, I tried to shake off those thoughts. I didn't know this wolf. I didn't know his life or his past or if he had a family waiting for him. I didn't know anything.