Blake

Blake had come to terms with the fact that she was going to die. Had accepted it the moment she'd found herself on the wrong end of the fight.

Not like that had been her fault in the slightest. No, the blame for that one rested firmly with Don. Fucking Don.

He was the reason that Blake was here, rotting away in the jail cell. It was nothing fancy – four walls, a cement floor, a toilet that was against the opposite wall from a simple cot, and a single door with no handle. She didn't even have a window – only a harsh artificial light overhead.

Blake's muscles were stiff and aching and her head throbbed. She could feel the blood on her, the stickiness of it replaced by dried and hardened flakes on her face and neck. It had matted into her hair after she'd been thrown into this hellhole and blacked out. Her face still stung from where that werewolf had smashed her into the ground but it was her arm that hurt the worst.

Victor. Not just anywhere wolf. That bastard had killed her parents, scarred her at eleven and then given her new scars now at twenty-three. Twelve years she'd been waiting for that death blow and she'd failed at the final opportunity. All she'd managed to do was get torn up by him again. Victor's claws and teeth had left deep gashes that would scar forever. Each motion stung and even the exhalation of her breath on the wounds caused her to bite her cheek in pain.

It wasn't the worst condition she'd ever been in but without medical help, she knew it would only be a short while before infection set in.

Perhaps that's best, Blake considered as she slumped against the wall, ignoring the cot. Even if it did look clean and soft. Blake wasn't here for comfort. They hadn't chained her up, leaving her free to roam as far as the eight-by-eight foot cell would allow.

Better to go from illness than to have them torture me and kill me slowly.

Still, it would likely be a painful death once the torture started. Long and drawn-out. But at least death was guaranteed. None of the other hunters would come back for her. If the roles had been reversed, Blake knew that she wouldn't come unless it was her brother and she thanked whatever gods were above that Malachi hadn't brought him along on this hunt. Malachi would look after Josh now that she was gone.

This would wreck him, though. Losing her. Josh would never recover from it. He would turn hard and mean and cold. He'd become like Malachi.

He'd become like her. Unforgiving. Cruel.

Blake didn't know how long she sat there, braced against the back wall of the cell facing the door. Long enough for exhaustion and hunger to set in. She spent the next twenty-four hours dozing on and off, never allowing herself to relax in the enemy territory she'd found herself in. Once, after waking, she'd found a tray of food by the door.

She'd taken one look at it and dumped it down the toilet. Better to die from starvation than to eat whatever they were offering her. The food was likely doped with some kind of drug to loosen her up and get her to tell them all of her dirty little secrets, anyway. It was safer for her to keep her mouth shut and hopefully weaken herself enough that she'd just slip away from this world before they even had the chance to notice she was gone.

Blake estimated that she'd been in the cell for at least twenty-four hours by the time she saw her first interrogators. She'd been pacing the cell like a caged animal as the door swung inward, exposing a pair of werewolves.

The first was about her age with ebony black hair that fell past his shoulders and monolid eyes that were so deep a brown they were practically black. His skin was a warm bronze and there was a displeased set to his jaw. His face was filled with barely concealed fury.

The second was more familiar to her, even if she'd only met him recently. Wavy blond hair, blue eyes, a young boyish face...The werewolf from the woods. As a wolf, his fur had been speckled grey.

He was also carrying a tray that looked and smelled to have a plastic bowl filled with broth, a cup of water, and a piece of bread. The same spread she'd dumped down the toilet the day before.

Not a chance, she thought as she glared at them. Blake leaned against the wall, her hands clenched into fists. Daring them to come forward.

The blond blinked as he set the tray down, mid-way between her and the door. He retreated back as if he'd been instructed to keep his distance. "In case you're hungry today. Eat it or don't. I don't give a damn."

Behind him, leaning against the wall, the dark-haired one wrinkled his nose as he stared at her. "My name is Li," he told her. "This is Phillip. We can help you fix that arm. Bring in some medical supplies. Get it cleaned up in no time."

Blake only narrowed her eyes further. Not a chance in hell would that wolf, or any other, get close enough to her to fix her arm. Blake was hoping for blood poisoning. It would take her faster than starvation would, at any rate.

She felt a curse rising on her tongue but she reigned it in. Though she made no effort to hold back the murderous scowl on her face and Blake could tell, from the way that they exchanged startled glances that the message was received.

"Shit," Li muttered to his companion.

The blond, Phillip, hummed in agreement but he didn't remove his eyes from Blake as he said, "Fine. Be miserable and in pain all that you want."

Li knocked on the door and it swung open. As they exited, he said, "Red's going to have his hands full with this one."

"Poor guy," Phillip added, halfway out the door. "He definitely wasn't anticipating this."

"Was anyone?" Li replied. "I mean—"

But Blake didn't get the chance to hear what else they had to say for the door slammed shut, cutting off the stream of their chatter. Red, she thought committing it to memory. It didn't sound like a name but Li had said it casually enough that it might be. Perhaps it was a nickname.

Maybe Red was a werewolf that enjoyed bathing in the blood of humans. Surely that would be gruesome enough for him to earn a nickname like Red.

The only silver lining was that a werewolf like that was surely crazed enough to be goaded into killing her. Five minutes into a conversation with it and she was sure that she'd have her throat slashed.

Not a good way to die but an option if this starvation and blood poisoning plan didn't work out.

Blake's eyes fell on the bowl of broth and bread. Only five feet away from where she stood, sitting on that plastic tray where Phillip had placed it. Just so she wouldn't be tempted later, Blake crossed over to it, wincing as pain tore through her body. She could hardly lift her destroyed left arm so she used her right hand only to take the bowl and cup of water and dump the contents into the toilet. She did the same with the bread and deposited the empty containers next to the bowl in such a way that it would be obvious she hadn't eaten anything that they gave her.

And then, exhausted, Blake slumped on the ground against the far wall and fought to keep her eyes open.

Again she dozed, on and off, for what seemed like a few hours. It could have been only minutes for all she knew but eventually the door opened again.

This time, only one man – werewolf – entered.

Tall, darked haired, and hazel eyed, with a slightly crooked nose and a scowl on his otherwise handsome face. He stood with his shoulders back and arms crossed, as if he were trying to intimidate her.

Like hell that would happen.

Blake knew this man. She'd seen his photos before the hunt and then had faced him in front of a large house before being dragged here. It was the Alpha. The one she'd spit at. Apparently, she wasn't the only one to have missed her mark. Daryl had messed up too, more than she had if the werewolf standing before her was any indication.

"Twenty-nine of your people are dead," he said by way of introduction as the door slammed behind him. Blake had the feeling that he was here to play bad-cop. The two idiots from before had likely been sent in to soften her up a bit before the Alpha came to fill her with pain and terror.

"You killed twelve of my people," the Alpha told her. "Twelve. That's something I don't take lightly. So you're going to answer my questions, hunter. Or that twenty-nine is going to go up to thirty."

Good, Blake thought. Take me out. Cause I sure as hell am not going to tell you shit.

The Alpha crossed the cell and knelt down a foot away from Blake. He balanced on his toes as those hazel eyes narrowed. "I'm not killing you," he murmured as if he could read her internal dialogue. "But the man I have in the cell next to this one...He's still fair game."

Blake didn't even know that man's name, only that he was one of Daryl's guys. If she said nothing, the Alpha would kill him. If she answered his questions, the Alpha would wait until he had all of the information he wanted, and then he would kill the man and Blake, and then have the information he needed to go after her people.

Really, she didn't have any option but to stay quiet.

That didn't mean she couldn't fight back.

"What will it be, little hunter?" the Alpha crooned. "Are you ready to talk?"

Blake smiled.

***

If you enjoyed this chapter, let me know your thoughts in the comments below! :D