The Irony Of Being A Werewolf

~Chapter 43~

                                                                               ~Chapter 43~

        

                                      I woke up several times to catch glimpses of dark figures moving across my vision before blacking out again. When I finally managed to stay awake, all I felt was utter confusion as to where I was.

Blinking back grogginess, I sat up to observe the room I was in. Tried to, at least. Thick binds strapped across my chest kept me immobile on the hard surface I was laying on, presumably a cot. I had to tilt my head in a slightly painful angle to see that the room was plain, with no windows and only one door.

Further searching showed me that the only object visible in the room was a lamp on the other side of the room, too far away to use as a weapon.

Where the hell am I?

Forcing my fingernails to lengthen into claws, I did my best to cut away at the binding strapped to my wrists. I must have been scratching at it for over half an hour to no avail before I finally decided that it was not going to work.

Letting out an exasperated sigh, I let my head fall back onto the cool surface I was laying on and took deep breaths in an attempt to clear my mind so that I could think through the situation.

The only logical answer I came up with was that the hunters had captured me. Perhaps for revenge after what happened to Saria. Perhaps to finish the work that my parents had stared. Perhaps for entirely other reasons. The reason for why I was captured wasn't as important as the need for an escape plan.

After what seemed like hours had passed of me considering possible escape routes, the single door at the head of the room creaked open and light shone through. It took several moments for my eyes to adjust, and when they did I could've sworn that my heart stopped beating for a moment.

"It's been a while." My mother said coolly, her face as hard as stone. She looked like she had aged well beyond her years with deep bags below her eyes and wrinkles from stress on her forehead. She had once had a youthful beauty that other women her age envied. There were no traces of that woman left, however.

My eyes shifted to the man standing beside her. My father looked nearly the same as he had two years ago, but with an unshaven face and darker eyes. His face was just as blank as my mother's, just as blank as it had always been.

I tried to speak, but no words came out. I wanted to ask how they were still alive, why they pretended to be dead, and what they had been doing all this time. All I could manage was to stare at them in shock, however. Mixed in with that shock was also a feeling of dreadful familiarity, as I was reminded of the last time I lay captive before them.

My parents are alive. My parents are alive. My parents are alive. The words spun through my mind repetitively, as if on a loop, and the only other thought I could manage was to wonder if this news made me happy or frightened.

Maybe both.

"I understand this must be very shocking to you and hard to process." Despite how my father's words appeared to be understanding, his tone was mocking. He was making fun of me, his voice implying that I was weak.

"No shit." I snapped, my anger flaring as my fists clenched by my sides. These weren't my parents; these were merely hollow shells of them who had been blinded by hatred for my kind.

"We won't tolerate that language." My mother, not that she deserved that title, hissed. Her eyes narrowed into a glare directed at me.

"Don't try to act like my mom now. Don't you think it's a little too late for that? Besides, what are you going to do about it, kill me? You're going to do that anyways so you might as well get it over with." Maybe antagonizing my captors wasn't the best idea, but I couldn't contain my anger. My blood was on fire and I was sure it was showing in my eyes.