Hunter uses his historic chuckle. "Not really, but it would be appreciated," The man smirks, and he begins to laugh once more as my mouth hangs open in shock. When (not if) I got out of this cell, I was going to kill him. Scrap that - I was going to punch him in the balls, and then kill him. "Anyway, it's too bad that you're hungry. Prisoners tend not to get food."
I roll my eyes at his remark, but I wasn't expecting food either way. However, it did piss me off that Hunter was playing mind games.
"Now, Aurora, I require your company," Hunter states with glee in his eye.
I edge closer towards the bars, wrapping my hands firmly around the iron until my knuckles product from my hands, turning the skin a cadaverous iridescence. "I'm not going anywhere with you," my bitter voice spits.
"Well, Aurora, either you come with me or all of your friends die. Your choice." His face is sharp and alert like an eagle whilst on the hunt for prey.
"I hate you."
"I know," he chuckles, using a bony finger to wave forward one of the rogues at his side. The werewolf hastily opens the cell, and I retreat from the bars, still gazing at Hunter, as if I even dared to tear our eye contact, he would kill everyone before I even had time to shout 'stop!'
The rogue grunts, urging me to come forward and I do as he asks. He produces a rope, and I hold out my still-white hands for him to tie up. The rope encloses tightly around my limbs like vines, suffocating my fingers as they drop in front of me when the knot is completed. Not that it really mattered whether my hands were tied or not: I would never be able to escape this hell hole.
A feral gold flashes in the eyes of the rogue soldier as he roughly grapples my right arm, hurtling me forwards so that I stand beside Hunter. I cringe at the loud bang as the cell closes behind me, leaving me sealed off from everything and everyone I know, leaving me in the unknown with Hunter.
"Is this really necessary?" I enquire, holding up my arms and the delicate rope work surrounding my wrists like a halo of thorns.
Hunter barely glances at me. "Not really, but we don't want you escaping."
I sigh, and feel my muscles bulge in my arms. I pump all of my fury and channel my hate, instantaneously pulling my hands apart and snapping the rope. I glower at the material as it falls to the dark floor. "Well that lasted long," I exhale.
"No matter, you're not going anywhere, and I'm sure you're aware of that," he reminds me with a derelict tone. His movements were a lot more twitchy and prolonged than I remembered, as if he could sense that something was wrong. His muscles were tensed despite his generally calm posture, and there was a bead of sweat rolling down his forehead. As the leader of the rogues, he must've known there would be repercussions for kidnapping a whole group of werewolves from the other side of the battlefield, but he had never seemed disorientated by that simple fact. If there was one thing I had learnt about Hunter, it was that he was never afraid. Never. He always had a smirk on his face, whether he was losing a battle or trudging over the bodies of fallen comrades. That's how I knew that he was a rogue at heart.
I feel my heart collapse in tragedy. "I know," I reply, because no matter how hard I tried to escape, Hunter would be on me in less than a millisecond.
We reach a flight of stairs, and Hunter elegantly leads our small parade up the rough steps. The building was ancient, with cobwebs encasing every nook and cranny, every pocket of darkness, and every spare patch of rock that wasn't shrouded by torch light.
Finally, we reach the top of the steep stairwell and enter into a hallway. Without another word, we slip into the first doorway, opening up into the main chambers until we finally grind to a halt.
The room was spacious, with a bed at the end of the long room, and a set of two human-made sofas beside my right hip. A stretched navy carpet draped the floor, running across the length of the indolent blistered cobblestone. Tapestries hung on the wall, camouflaged by a husky shield of cobwebs, concealing part of the stories woven into the material. I spot the flash of a bloody sword, and glance a human helmet on a human head. This castle had been a settlement years ago, and it turned out that the rogues had done little to clean up the place since arriving.
Hunter waves a hand to usher the two rogues behind me away, and as soon as the door slams shut behind them he gracefully takes a seat on one of the grey sofas, patting the seat beside him.
"Water?" The platinum-haired boy queries. He flexes his precise fingers towards a glass of water that has already been poured.
Shaking my head, I saunter over and sit on the couch opposite him, trying my hardest not to make eye contact. "What do you want with me?" I narrow my eyes and fold my arms across my chest, sitting with my back straight, ready to leap into action if I deemed it necessary. "It's all good that you've kidnapped us and all, but why don't you just kill us? Damien doesn't care. He never will."
"Ah, but he does," Hunter smirks, rising from the chair as he takes a second glass of water from the table. He swings the translucent glass between his thumb and index finger, the colourless liquid never splashing outside the confines of its container. "You should see the way he looks at you."
"Damien doesn't care," I reissue, my voice turning into a growl. My brain clicks like a spark, and I wonder whether I could take him on in my wolf form. Probably not since I couldn't even beat him in my human form.
Hunter still wears his usual smirk, as if he had been born with it and it was permanently plastered on his face. "I know you don't believe me, but he does. And I'm counting on it," He shifts back down onto the seat and leans towards me, his lips pale, his eyes glazed with lunacy. "How long do you think it'll take until he comes to rescue you? First, he needs to realise that you're missing. Then he has to hold a meeting and discuss unimportant plans that will nonetheless be shattered. And finally, he will come and rescue you because he doesn't want you to get hurt. You may think I'm a psychopath, but trust me, I know more than you think."
My eyes rake up and down his body, my face snarling with disgust. "You're right, you are a psychopath."
Instead of Hunter's smile diminishing, it grows. "It's nice to have that confirmed," he take a sip of the water, and then slams the glass down so hard on the table it smashes.
A tinkling noise echoes through the air, slicing apart the relaxed conversation. Hunter's face distorts to a stormy hardness, his eyes firm, his limbs rigid. "Damien will come, and when he does, I will kill him. You will lose this war, I can guarantee it."
"We're stronger than you think," I hiss. "We can defeat you."
"There is no defeating me," he yells, spit flying from his mouth as if he were a rabid animal. Blue veins throb in his head, his neck straining as he edges even closer. "You can't defeat me. You will never defeat me."
Silence follows his outbreak, and all I can pick up is the rhythmic breathing and a rusty creaking as Hunter sits back in his chair. He pants rapidly, his chest rising and falling with fury, his fists clenched. I had never thought I would see him like this: furious and wild beyond recovery.
The creaking noise ceases. Hunter glares at me. A clock chimes. And a voice rebounds momentarily around the room: "We'll see about that," the tone states as a blade whistles through the air, driving into Hunter's chest before even he can acknowledge the movement.
I swiftly climb to my feet, and spin on my heel to see Damien and Azra standing in the doorway, Damien's golden flecks reflecting the daylight streaming in from the windows. He smiles at me, but not before chucking a sword in my direction which I am easily able to pluck from the air.
I swirl the weapon with my hand, admiring how light it was and how effortlessly I could manoeuvre it.
"I told you," Hunter chuckles from the sofas, having made no effort to move. A plume of crimson blood had stained his clothes a dark pigment, and his lips were surrounded by a splattering of blood. He was definitely, one hundred percent, a lunatic. "I told you he cared," he repeated, taking me completely off guard as he thrust the knife from his shoulder and lunged towards Damien.
The King lashes out with his sword, causing Hunter to arch his back to avoid the blow. Damien doesn't hesitate to kick the rogue as he attempts to regain his balance and fails as his frail figure lands on the floor in front of me.
I waste no time, and swing my sword at his supporting arm as he tries to steady himself and stand up. The iron slits the skin cleanly, causing yet another rush of red blood to cascade down Hunter's arm, and onto his hand before meeting the floor.
Instead of giving up, the bloodied man persists and attempts to use his other arm to help him stand up. I watch as the cut I had recently inflicted already begins to seal up, healing at a faster rate than a werewolf should. There was definitely something different about him - another species in his blood that made him different.
Thud. My foot meets his hard stomach. The male rolls on the floor, landing with his arms pressed against the chilling ground. He spits a concoction of blood and saliva before standing up. Hunter shook as if he was shivering, his skin wax-like, his face a mask of enmity.
Hunter's eyes shift to the knife lying a few meters away and scrabbles to reach it. His finger stretch to grab the handle, but I sprint up to the blade and scatter it with a defiant kick. Hunter grunts, jumping to his feet and wiping the sleeve of his shirt against his lips to try and rid his mouth of the dried liquid surrounding it.
The rogue starts towards me with his bare hands, but yet another dagger embeds itself in his collarbone, knocking him backwards. I have no time to say thank you to either Azra or Damien as I place both hands on my sword, sending it straight through Hunter's chest. The blade enters with ease, and the man on the other end of the weapon's eyes pop out in shock and pain. I twist the blade, letting go as Hunter endeavours to pull out the sword with cries of acrimony. As the seconds blur on, he flops onto the dead floor, his bloody fingers twitching with demise.
Every cell in my body hopes that he is dead. But, knowing Hunter, there was still some chance that he was alive, and there was nothing we could do to guarantee his death. Something about Hunter was not werewolf. Whatever he was, it was unnatural. No werewolf was that fast. No werewolf was that strong. No werewolf was that... undefeatable.
I feel as though my heart has frozen and become cold. Since when was I so cold blooded? Granted, he deserved to die, but surely I should feel some sympathy? He would have family, just like I had. Perhaps they would mourn him when they realised he was no longer with them. Perhaps not. My money would be on the latter.
"Aura, we need to get out of here, " Azra's voice snaps me back to reality, and I blink away the fog in my eyes, only to see Damien's face meters away from mine. I scrunch my eyebrows and flinch away, retrieving my sword from Hunter's limp body.
"I'll lead the way," I say, walking confidently past Damien and Azra who part to let me through. Damien doesn't even give me a second glance as I saunter straight past him, avoiding his gaze. Why was he even here? He's the King. If the King died, then we would have no one strong enough or willing to lead us.
Despite not wanting to make my way back down to the cell, I mount the stairs and begin to descend without uttering a single word.
"What did he do to you?" Damien questions from behind me, worry lining his voice.
I shrug my shoulders. "Nothing, but he killed Jason. Turns out he was on their side the whole time."
His footsteps quicken as he catches up to me. "He didn't hurt you or anything?"
"No."
I spot Damien lower in head in my peripheral vision. There was no denying that he was handsome with his mesmerizing eyes and sharp jawline, but he was still an arsehole.
"Hey!" Voices shout as we reach the bottom of the staircase, faced by two rogue soldiers with their swords clenched within their grasps.
I roll my eyes a the two rogues savagely surge forwards. One drops his sword in the rush and doesn't hesitate to pick it up as he continues to charge forwards, his fingers sick with blood from an open cut on his wrist, inflicted from an earlier date.
His hands grapple towards me like a scarlet hook, outstretched like the curling tide, coiling from the strength of the ocean and abruptly releasing its deadly onslaught. His face mimicked the same feral notion I had seen in Hunter's eyes the moment before he died - the look of a rogue.
My fingers feel nimble as I slash with my sword, slicing through one of the rogue's hands before it can touch me. The male barely whimpers in pain, his eyelids pinching up with the common distress of agony, as if he no longer felt anything except bloodlust and adrenaline. It was one of the many reasons they were practically unstoppable.
A blood-crested fist meets my face, my teeth grinding as my jaw is forced to the side. Ache blossoms in my jaw, and I hear a gritty click as I force it back into place. A shaky hand reaches up to wipe the blood and sweat off my face, only to come away in a torrent of ruby liquid - my nose was bleeding.
My face turns into a visor of animosity, my buried wolf instincts triggered from within. I grit my rattled teeth, feeling the sharp scrape of chipped bone with my tongue. Blood fills my mouth, the metallic taste blurring my senses as I clumsily swing my weapon in an ungracious ark, meeting the rogue's shoulder.
I only manage to scrape the werewolf's skin, a light gash appearing on his organ between his torn clothes. The response I receive is a growl like no other I have heard before. I was used to the animalistic whine from other werewolves, but this rogue sounded as though he was shredding his own vocal chords. On purpose.
My heart aches at the noise, contracting with some unknown fear and pain I have never experienced before in my life. What had any of these werewolves done in the first place to deserve to be this feral? To be a rogue? Some had been born into the world as a bloodthirsty beast against their will, and others had been forced to join the cult. Some were naturally sick in the head, but none deserved this fate. Not one that was forced upon them.
My body feels numb as I step forward with the sword, finding the rogue's breastplate and hammering through the light bone. There was no crunch, just the gurgle of foaming from my opponent's mouth before he sails through the ice-laced air and hits the ground with a heavy thump.
I clench my muscles as I withdraw the slick blade, sprinting down the rest of the corridor with both Azra and Damien in pursuit, the other rogue having been slain. To my surprise, only the two of them have come to rescue us.
Blood rushes in my eardrums, each footfall rebounding into my ears like the boom of thunder during the vexation of a storm. The fluid in my veins begins to churn, my whole body feeling as though it's on fire, and I am the source.
"Where are the keys?" Azra asks quickly in concern as we near the cell, and I ignore her, running blindly to save the other werewolves trapped in the cell. For all I know, they could be dead. You never knew what the rogues would do, or when.
I watch as Josh's partially obstructed head comes into view, his eyes widening at the sight before him, particularly Azra. Instead of slowing down, I clench my jaw so tightly that my teeth feel weak enough to shatter, but fortunately don't. Blood fills my mouth once more as I accidently bite down on my tongue too hard, the laceration numbed by the hormones in my bloodstream.
My palms ram into the bars, gripping them before I take a huge breath of fresh air and rip the door open. My actions surprise me, but maybe I was stronger than I had originally thought.
"Josh!" Azra sighs as she rushes into the cell without vacillation, flinging herself into the arms of her best friend. Josh's hands waver for a second before firmly enclosing around Azra, tears forming in his eyes.
A pain erupts in my hand, and I divert my gaze to see a cut across the skin from my successful attempt to force open the cell. Crimson residue seeps onto my hand from the slice, the skin surrounding the cut already beginning to seal up.
&n
bsp; "Why didn't you do that sooner?" Damien's deep voice questions with a hint of amusement. I step away from the cell, and surprisingly closer to the Alpha King himself. Close enough so that I can glance into his eyes. Just like Josh, I could barely read his orbs. He had the same gold flecks swimming in a sea of deep cobalt, highlighting the fluctuation of varying pigments. They were beautiful - perhaps too beautiful for a man. Yet there was something dangerous about the look on his face. Something that made me feel... Different.
THE ROGUE WOLF Page 17