The next thing I knew, I was blindfolded and collared, thrown into the back of some sort of vehicle, traveling to what I would later learn was their temporary camp. That was the beginning of my life in captivity; the life I’ve lived for more than ten years now. The life I wish had been taken the day the rest of my pack met their maker.
There have been two bright spots in my life since that day, keeping me alive, keeping me sane—the day that I killed the short, bald man, gaining freedom for just two days, and the hope that Olivia was alive, fighting to save me from this place.
• • •
Twenty years I have been on this earth and for more than half of them, I have been a prisoner to the Frenchman. His friends call him EJ, but I refuse to think of him as anything other than the Man. I am his property, he is my owner; nothing else. I don’t need to think of him by name or in any way that may trick me into thinking there is anything humane about him. He has taken everything from me—my family, my best friend, my pack, my virtue, my wolf, my life. He keeps me with a collar around my neck and walks me on a leash as a reminder that I am a prisoner . . . his prisoner. If ever given the chance to kill him, I would do so in a heartbeat, with no regrets.
I haven’t seen him in over a week now; he left in a hurry one afternoon and told me he would be back soon. Ever since then, one of his friends has been bringing me my meals and administering my injection each day, but other than that I haven’t seen or spoken to anyone.
When the Man is here, he regularly takes me out of my cage and walks me around on my leash, making me sit at his feet while he performs his daily tasks. The injections are to ensure that I don’t change into my wolf again. The one time that happened, the bald-headed bastard who spit in my face paid the ultimate price before I escaped. I ran free through the forest for a little over a day after that, but having no idea where I was or how to leave the area, the Man and his friends caught up to me quickly.
That was nearly six years ago. I’ve almost forgotten how it feels to be in my wolf form, and wonder if I’ll ever experience it again.
I lie down on the hard, frozen ground hoping to sleep yet another day away, but I am quickly awakened by chaos in the camp. The men are yelling with panicked worry in their voices, their footsteps shaking the earth as they frantically scurry about. Outside the entrance to my area, I hear one of them telling another, “EJ est mort. Nous devons quitter maintenant. Obtenez la jeune fille. Dépêchez-vous.”
I’m still not fluent in French, but I’ve been around it long enough to know what the first sentence meant. The Man was dead. I don’t even know what to think, and I’m not sure what this means for me. Part of me is hopeful that maybe I’ll finally find my freedom, but a larger part is scared that the small amount of protection that he offered me from his friends has now disappeared, and that the hell I’ve been living is only going to get worse.
Suddenly one of them bursts into my cage, grabs me by my leash, and forcefully pulls me to my feet. Without a word, he drags me out into the icy air and throws me into the backseat of a car. He cuffs my hands behind my back before moving around the car and sliding into the driver’s seat. Minutes later we are on the move, leaving our campsite behind.
Soon the thick foliage gives way to open countryside, and then I begin to see the makings of a town. The town quickly becomes a city; well, at least I think it is anyway. There are buildings and homes everywhere, and all of the signs are written in English. I can’t stop looking out the window, in complete awe of the sights whizzing by me through the glass. Then I see it; I can’t remember the name of it, but the tall thin building with the big clock on the top of it tells me that we are in London.
My heart aches as I think about my momma and how she always talked about how she wanted to visit London one day. Pop had promised he’d get her there, but neither of them ever made it.
Here I am, Momma, I think to myself. I hope you can see me.
My eyes well up with tears as I think about how much I miss them. The overwhelming emotions building internally are tempting my wolf as the medicine from the morning begins to wear off. A growl escapes my lips, which causes the driver to look back up at me. The fear in his eyes in unmistakable, and I weigh my options.
Unfortunately, I don’t have time to do much because moments later the car pulls up behind a building that appears to be an old cathedral. The driver grabs something out of the front seat, then scurries around to my door. As soon as he swings the door open, I lunge at him, but he grabs me by the hair, yanks my head to the side, and jabs a needle into the side of my neck.
Immediately losing all feeling in my body, I fall to the ground and everything around me fades to black.
• • •
Waking up on a tiny cot that has been shoved inside what appears to be a storage closet of some kind, I try to get my bearings. My head is still cloudy as I try to recollect the events that led to me being here.
I swing my legs over the side of the makeshift bed and attempt to stand up, but clumsily stumble into a shelf. As I slam into the metal structure, a bible falls off the ledge and memories coming flooding into my mind. I’m in a church . . . the Man is dead . . . they brought me here . . . they drugged me.
Shaking my head, trying to knock the cobwebs loose, I hold on to the shelf as I feel my wolf grumbling deep inside me, yearning to be free. I don’t have enough room in here to shift, plus I need to figure out where I am and what’s going on before I do anything stupid and get myself killed. I don’t know what purpose I serve to these other men, especially now that the Man is gone, but my gut tells me that without him, they lack leadership and organization.
The noise I made getting up must have alerted someone outside, because I hear voices and footsteps heading my way. I don’t know whether to be good and do what they say, or to try to fight them. As the door creaks open, I see an unfamiliar face enter the room. The man is rather old, his face wrinkled and hair solid silver, and he’s dressed in a long black robe and a silver cross hangs low around his neck. I cower in the corner as far away from him as possible as he enters the room, with my back against the wall and no place to go, before he squats in front of me.
“Calm down, child. There’s nothing to fear. I’m Father Luke and you’re in my care now,” he assures me calmly. He reaches out to touch my arm, but I jerk my arm away swiftly, afraid he will strike me. Chuckling under his breath, he pulls back and stands up. “Suit yourself then. If you prefer to spend your time in this room, I won’t force you out. Just knock on the door when you’re ready.”
He turns around to exit the room, but before he makes it out the door, I call out in a hoarse voice, “Wait!”
I need to get out of this room; I need to figure out what in the world is going on. Shakily, I rise to my feet and take the few steps that separate me and the priest, accepting his outstretched hand and trailing behind him out into the light.
I follow him down a short hallway with several closed doors, the walls painted a deep maroon and the dark floors made of distressed wood. At the end of the corridor are two large wooden double doors, which we pass through into a breathtaking chapel. The ceilings appear as if they reach into the heavens, each window made of intricate stained glass, and the overall decor imperial and majestic.
As I inhale deeply, the scent of furniture polish fills my nostrils, reminding me of Momma when she would clean the house. Even after all these years, the ache I feel in my heart never subsides when I think about my slain family. The pain quickly turns to anger as I remember who I’m here with. He may be a man of the church, but he’s somehow associated with the monsters who have kept me captive for so long.
Ripping my hand from his, I growl, “What do you want from me? What do you want from me?”
His warm smile rapidly fades and his eyes instantly change from friendly and inviting to cold and cruel. He brings his hand to the collar that is still fastened around my neck, and leans in to whisper in my ear.
“Listen to me, you little bitc
h. I’ve been waiting to get my hands on you for years. I never understood why EJ was keeping you to himself, but now . . .” He brings his other hand up to my face, dragging his long nail down my cheek. “Now I see why, but unfortunately for you, he’s not around anymore to protect you. It’s time for you to give me those little wolf babies he promised me.”
He pulls away with a shitty grin on his face. “While we wait for them to bring me your mate, you will make yourself useful around here and earn your keep. I expect these floors to be clean enough to eat off of and the wood in here to be polished every day. Now you best get busy, I let you sleep in today.”
After ten hours of nonstop cleaning, I’m relieved when Father Luke returns to the sanctuary and dismisses me back to my tiny room, where a cheese sandwich and a glass of milk wait for me. I quickly scarf down the food and then crawl onto the cot and curl into a ball. Unable to stop the tears steadily flowing down my cheeks, I know I need to get out of here.
I can’t do this.
I’d rather die.
• • •
I’ve been in the church for a little over a week now, and I’m no closer to escaping this nightmare than when I arrived. I spend all day, every day cleaning the chapel, which doesn’t really bother me much; I just wish I knew who these men are that come in and out of the back offices with Father Luke.
Each day when I awake, I’m afraid it will be the day my chosen mate shows up. I don’t want to be mated, and sure as hell don’t want to have any pups. To be quite honest, I don’t know much about that stuff, which kind of embarrasses me, but I know enough to know that I don’t want any part of it . . . especially if it’s anything like the torturous acts that the Man used to put me through. Just thinking about it causes me to shudder and my legs to instinctively close.
I do know that when a male and female are together as a couple, it’s supposed to be based around love, like it was with Momma and Pop. Unfortunately, I don’t think I’ll ever be able to experience that; I never want a male to touch me again. The Man ruined me for the rest of my life.
Sunlight pours in as the main door opens, allowing a gust of crisp December air to flow through the center aisle that I’m kneeling in, polishing the wood at the end of the pews. A woman’s unique scent reaches me before I even raise my head, and whatever it is sends my brain spiraling into a befuddled mess of confusion. I hear the door close, followed by footsteps moving down the aisle toward me. I want to turn around so badly to see who it is that is approaching, but I am frozen with fear.
“Excuse me, sweetie. Can you tell me where the confessional booths are?” Her voice calling out to me is like the sound of heaven in my ears. I have not been in the presence of another female since the day I was captured ten years ago.
Sucking in a deep breath, I muster up all my courage and twist around on my knees to face her. When our similar green gazes lock, she stops walking and we both gasp loudly. I am completely taken aback by her beauty. She is both exquisite and ethereal, but there is something else about her. She cocks her head at me, obviously perplexed. She stares as if she knows me, and I feel like I should know her. There is something so familiar about her, but I can’t put my finger on it.
Muttering under my breath, I plead, “Please be here to save me.”
“Did you say something?” she asks curiously. She is still standing a good distance from me, and I wonder how she heard me.
Finally finding my voice, I reply softly, “I, uh . . . I was just talking to myself. I apologize, ma’am.” I look down at the floor, scared that I am being rude for staring.
She walks purposefully toward me again, but I don’t move. When she reaches me, she kneels down on the floor in front of me, placing her hand under my chin and forcing my gaze up to hers. Her voice is barely more than a whisper as she asks, “Who are you? What are you doing here? What is around your neck?”
Again, her scent is swirling in my nose and I’m completely perplexed as to why she smells so different. Is it just because she’s a woman? Why do I feel so connected to this stranger?
“My name is Lelah and I’m not sure,” I say.
“Are there other shifters here? Are you part of a pack?” Her gaze darts around the chapel, looking for I don’t know what.
“How . . . how do you know?” I ask, dumbfounded. I don’t know why, but I feel completely at ease in her presence, even though she knows my secret.
Laughing softly, she lightly strokes my cheek. “What do you mean, little one? Can you not smell me?”
I feel my eyes grow wide as realization dawns on me. “You’re one, too?” I squeak. “Who are you? What are you doing here? Do you know Father Luke? Are you here to get me? Can we leave now?” The questions tumble out of my mouth.
She shakes her head. “I’m Savannah and no. No, sweetie. What are you talking about? Who is Father Luke and why would I take you?”
Now it’s my turn to look around, making sure that we are still alone. I’m certain there are cameras watching us, and I’m praying that no one is monitoring them right now. “Miss Savannah, you need to leave right now. It’s not safe here. Hurry before they find out you’re here. They’ll keep you, too.”
“Keep me? Who’s keeping you, Lelah? What’s going on?” she asks with extreme concern.
The sound of a door closing back behind the altar startles us both. “Go!” I urge her frantically. “Now!”
She quickly scrambles to her feet, but before she leaves, she looks down at me with a compassionate smile. “I’m gonna find out what’s going on here, and I’ll be back to get you, little one. I promise.”
She is out the door before I know it, and despite the fact that Father Luke is stalking toward me, his face bright red with anger and his eyes piercing a hole in me, my face holds a smug smile. I know our encounter was brief, but something tells me that Savannah will keep her word and come back for me.
“Who were you talking to? Who was that woman that just left?”
He barks questions at me as he yanks me up by the arm, then shoves me toward the altar without letting go. His grip is sure to leave a bruise on my arm, but I refuse to answer him. Slamming me against the wooden structure, he pins me with his body. My belly is pressed against the heavy piece of furniture, his chest flush against my back. He releases my arm and moves his hands to my hips, and I shudder with disgust at his touch. I can feel his breath on the back of my neck and his words send a chill down my back.
“Tell me who that was, Lelah, or I swear, as God as my witness, that I will take your sweet pussy for myself right here.”
“I don’t know,” I say, frightened of what he was going to do, no matter what I reply. “Sh-she was asking for directions,” I stammer. “I to-told her that I wasn’t familiar with the area.”
The priest aggressively pulls up on my hip bones, forcing my chest forward and my ass to rub against his crotch. The taste of bile is threatening at the back of my throat as my gaze is fixed on the ornate reredos in front of me. His hands release my body for a moment but before I can pull away, one hand grabs my hair at the back of my neck and violently pushes my face into the table. Goose bumps blanket my skin from the draft of air as he lifts my long skirt up around my waist. I hear as he shifts clothing out of the way, his heavy pants and grunts as he anticipates what’s to come next, and I brace myself for what’s about to happen. Then, as if God himself is intervening, the main doors to the sanctuary fly open and a series of angry growls fill the air.
Both Father Luke and I whip our heads around to see who or what has entered the chapel, and he gasps. There are no fewer than eight wolves huddled in the back of the large room.
It’s been forever since I’ve seen any of my kind in their animal form, and I’m in awe of their beauty. Massive in size, their thick coats have a lustrous shine and their eyes burn with an intensity that is palpable. Their presence fills the room in a way that can only be felt, not described, and I can feel the priest begin to tremble against my body.
Standin
g in the middle of the pack is Savannah, who is in her human form, but her eyes glow a deep, golden amber. “Release the girl,” she demands through gritted teeth. “I’m giving you one chance, and one chance only.”
Several of the wolves begin to slink to the side aisles, their sneers and growls continue as they slowly make their way toward us. The largest of the wolves holds close to Savannah’s side. He’s the biggest wolf I’ve ever seen, or at least that I remember seeing from my pack, and his tri-coloring is by far the most stunning. His imposing stature alone demands respect; he screams alpha without opening his mouth.
Father Luke scans the room. I’m not sure if he’s contemplating an exit or a fight, but apparently his pride clouds his better judgment. “Over my dead body,” he scoffs, jerking me in front of him as a shield. “She. Is. Mine.”
In mere seconds, the flanking wolves yank me away from him and carefully shove me in the direction of Savannah and the alpha. They pin Father Luke to the floor, keeping him alive as the two leaders purposefully stride down the center aisle toward us. Savannah stops at where I’m lying on the floor and scoops me up in her arms effortlessly; the alpha continues on until he’s hovering over the priest. He looks over his shoulder at us and she nods her head.
“You heard his request,” she spits out. “Over his dead body. Give him what he wants.”
Savannah turns and carries me out of the church, holding my face to her chest so that I can’t see what is happening. I hear flesh ripping, bones crunching, and muffled screams as we exit into the bright sunlight. She walks toward a waiting car, its back door open. Placing me on the seat next to her, but keeping me tight against her body, she gives the driver a nod and we are off. She grabs a tool on the seat next to her, then brings it up to my neck and cuts my collar off.
Bringing my hands up to the now exposed skin, I gently stroke my fingertips over the delicate flesh. I have dreamed of this moment for so long that it almost seems surreal.
Moments In Time: A Collection of Short Fiction Page 53