Sam groaned as she slowly came back to herself. Whatever Chris had injected her with on the van was finally wearing off, colours returning to their normal hues and feeling flowing back into her limbs. It had been a truly terrifying experience, trapped in her own body, unable to move or speak as the world melted into nonsense, blurring together into an incomprehensible mess of lights and colours to the point that she couldn’t make out what was going on around her. The worst part had been how good it felt, even as subconsciously she knew how much danger she was in. It made her want to just give up and sink into the blissful sensation instead of trying to focus and come up with an escape plan. Thankfully, she was finally back to her senses.

Honestly, part of her wished she was still drugged.

She was hanging by her wrists from a pair of handcuffs in a pitch-black room, completely naked. The cuffs were cutting into her skin, causing blood to drip down her arms, and her shoulders were aching horribly from supporting most of her weight. Her nose was still throbbing tenderly from the kick she’d received in the van, having just about doubled in size from the swelling. At the very least, it felt like someone had set it back into place for her, which was a small mercy. That collar was still around her neck, as irritating as ever, and making it impossible for her to do anything to alleviate the pain she was in, or attempt an escape, though that was probably the point. Weirdly, her head felt… strangely light, and her scalp and ears were unexpectedly cold. She realised she couldn’t feel her hair tickling her back, and the realisation felt like a kick in the gut. One rub of her prickly scalp against her arm confirmed it.

Those bastards had shaved her head. It almost hurt more than the knowledge of where she was.

She tried not to dwell on it. There were much worse things than losing all of your hair, and Sam had a feeling she was about to experience a lot of them. Besides, she was a werewolf, it would grow back quickly.

If she lived that long. But it was best not to think about that little caveat.

With her nose being as damaged and blocked by blood as it was, she couldn’t get a good read on what was around her in the darkness. She could hear another person nearby, from their heartbeat and breathing, but she had no way of confirming who it was. It would only make sense if it was Drew, though. Why else would someone just be sitting in the dark with her? Actually, she didn’t want to think about that. Just the thought of it being anyone else gave her the creeps.

“Drew?” she whispered into the darkness. There was no response, so she tried again, a little louder. “Drew! Are you there?”

There was a little hitch in the other person’s breathing, then a groan. “Aw fuck, my head.”

“Drew!”

“Sam? ‘s that you?” It sounded like he had a bit of a lisp going on.

“Yeah, it’s me. Are you okay?”

He hesitated. “Eh, mostly. Got a split lip, but otherwise I’m okay. I, uh, woke up a little while ago, while they were shaving my head. I got a little bitey, and, uh… I don’t think they liked that too much. What about you?”

“My arms are fucking sore from hanging here, and my nose hurts like hell, but I’m still alive, so that’s got to count for something. Oh, and they shaved my head as well.”

“Wait, ‘hanging?’”

“Yeah. What, are you not?”

“Nope, I’m just strapped to this chair.”

“No fair, my shoulders are killing me.”

He laughed a little, but it was more subdued than normal, for pretty obvious reasons. Being able to talk to him was nice, but it was a cold comfort with the knowledge of where they were sitting at the back of their minds.

“Hey, Sam?” he asked after a short period of silence.

“Yeah?”

“Any… ideas for how we’re getting out of this one?”

She sighed. “Not unless I can get this collar off somehow. With my wolf I might be able to break these cuffs, but without it, not a chance. I think… I think we might just have to do our best to hold out until Roxy and the rest find us.”

“...shit. Any idea of what to expect?”

Sam swallowed thickly. “Well, you’ve seen Roxy’s scars.” Her voice came out shaky and weak.

Drew didn’t get the chance to respond to that. All of a sudden, there was a loud ‘ker-CHUNK’ and the lights turned on, briefly blinding the both of them. Once Sam’s eyes had adjusted enough for her to see, she finally got a good look around the room and at Drew. Honestly, there really wasn’t much to talk about. It was a completely bland concrete box, herself and Drew being the only notable features. Drew was in a similar state to herself, totally naked aside from the collar around his neck, with a swollen lip and a shaved head. The nudity didn’t really bother her - they were werewolves, it wasn’t uncommon for them to accidentally catch an eyeful of each other when they were shifting back from their wolf forms - but now that the lights were on, it made her feel that much more exposed, unable to even bring her arms down to guard her vitals.

“I’ve gotta say,” Drew muttered, voice still a little frail from the shock of the lights turning on. “You can pull off a buzz-cut surprisingly well.”

The weak attempt at humour managed to draw a light chuckle out of Sam. “Can’t say it’s my first choice of haircut.”

What little good humour they’d managed to scrape together in their dreary situation was suddenly swept away by a fresh wave of fear when the door opened and three men entered. The first was an elderly man, bald, wearing priestly attire that reminded Sam too much of the man who killed her parents. He had a massive gnarled scar on his head, three long lines that stretched from above his ear down through his left eye, leaving it milky and blind. It was clearly left there many years ago by a werewolf. The second man followed at the priest’s heels like a well-trained dog, carrying a coiled whip in his hand that made Sam’s heart lurch with horrible knowledge of what she was likely about to be subjected to. He was a mountain of stringy muscle and sinew, with a buzzed head and a hard, albeit blank expression. Sam would hedge a guess that he was the brawn to the priest’s brains, and probably did all of the heavy lifting that the first man was too old and frail to carry out himself. The third to enter was Chris, in all of his underwhelming glory. The prick.

The priest looked her over appraisingly and she resisted the urge to shiver in mixed fear and disgust, electing instead to bear her fangs and growl at him as he walked up.

“So we finally meet, Samantha Reed,” he said. His voice was light and airy, almost soft. It made Sam viscerally uncomfortable.

“Should I know you?” she responded with a bite in her voice.

He seemed to ponder on the idea. “No, I’d expect not. I am Father Superior, the head of the Sons of the Black Sun. I’ve been waiting a long time for this… reunion, shall we say. Over fifty years, in fact. I must say, you are the spitting image of another direwolf I met, long ago. His name was Rodney.”

He said the name like it was supposed to mean something to her, but she’d never met a Rodney in her life, so she just stared back blankly. He analysed her, and seemed to recognise her confusion.

“Hmm, I take it you never met him, then? I admit, I lost track of him after he clawed half of my face off. I suppose it’s not unbelievable that he passed before you were born.” The priest sighed. “He was the one who got away. I had to console myself with the knowledge that I was able to put his brother down, at the very least. One less vile beast to roam the earth.” Quite unnervingly, he reached up and gently gripped Sam’s chin. The only thing that stopped her from biting his fingers off was the knowledge of the punishment she’d likely face in response. Even then, it was a close thing. “But even with this cold comfort, I was never able to forget about Rodney. I had successfully hunted a direwolf, and as such was granted promotions beyond my wildest imagination, but I still couldn’t get his face out of my dreams every night. Every time I look in the mirror I am forced to remember that creature and what he did to me, and the fact that I will never have my revenge and finish my hunt. But then, I heard of your existence, and all of a sudden, everything fell into place. I must say, you have your grandfather’s features, Reed.”

…That’s what this was about? This asshole’s obsession with capturing her and all of this eclipse ritual shit was entirely fueled by petty revenge for a blood relative she’d never even met? And for a measly facial scar? As far as Sam was concerned, he could fucking get in line. If Roxy wanted to commit genocide over her facial scars, the human race wouldn’t stand a chance. Before she could say anything, Drew’s drawling voice cut through the tension like a butter knife through a brick. That is to say, not at all.

“Wait, so you’re saying that you couldn’t get this guy's face out of your dreams after he left his mark on you?” He scoffed. “I dunno, dude, that sounds a little gay to me.”

Sam barely even saw him move. One moment he was standing up close to her, her chin in his grip, and the next, he was turned to Drew, holding a knife that was buried hilt deep into Drew’s thigh. His scream made Sam’s ears ring and she let out a cry of alarm. Why would he say something like that?! At the very least, the shock made her realise she could feel Roxy now, trying to comfort her through the mark. She’d been absent before, and part of Sam had been worried, not knowing what had happened to her after they found Leif in the freezer.

Father Superior twisted the knife, and Drew screamed again, thrashing against the tape restraining him to the chair. “I’ve encountered your type before, Mr. Basterfield. Those who think that their feeble attempts at humour will somehow save them from the blade or the bullet. I feel I should remind you that the only reason you are still breathing is because you are more useful to us alive than dead, at least for now. I need you alive, but I do not need you intact. Speak out again, and I will have no qualms about stitching your mouth shut or cutting out your tongue.” He let go of the knife, leaving it in Drew’s leg and turning to Sam. “Consider this your warning as well, Reed. I will not tolerate impudence from animals, especially when we only really need one of you. You are more expendable than you think.”

Sam knew better than to respond to that, especially with the sound of Drew’s whimpery breathing still making her heart ache. Weirdly enough, she could see Chris flexing and unflexing his hand in the corner, as though he was agitated by something. Father Superior seemed to notice as well.

“Do you have something to say, Captain Langley?”

The man immediately straightened himself out. “No, sir. Just tired, is all. It’s been a long day, and I’m looking forward to turning in.”

The priest looked at him for a few seconds before huffing. “As you say. Your victory today cannot be overstated, but I understand it must have been taxing. Very well, we shall begin.”

He walked up to the muscly guy and took the whip out of his hands, inspecting it. “Thank you, Torran. Now, please make sure Mr. Basterfield stays in his seat. I expect things may be about to get… emotional, and I would rather he didn’t interrupt proceedings.”

Torran did as he was told, walking over and placing his hands on Drew’s shoulders from behind. Meanwhile, Father Superior went behind Sam, and she quietly braced herself for what was about to happen. Her mind went to that first day after Roxy had been kidnapped; the sharp, jolting bursts of pain she’d felt through the mark. The countless lines criss-crossing her back flashed through her head with alarming clarity. Well, at least they’d be matching now. She bit her lip and did her best not to cry at the thought.

“Repent for your sins, Samantha Reed, and be purified under the light of the Black Sun.”

Sam watched as Chris closed his eye and clenched his fists. She did the same.

SNAP

The pain hit. The world flickered. Sam cried.

—

Leif was not doing okay. She’d been sitting on the floor of the shower for so long that the water had gone cold and her fingers had wrinkled up. Even when the spray had been hot, she’d been unable to get her hands to stop shaking, and despite all of her scrubbing, she could still feel the memory of Clarissa’s blood on her cheek, spurting onto her as the woman’s neck was cut nearly all the way through. God, she just wanted to go home. She was sick of this place. The novelty had long since worn off, and now she longed for the comfort of a small town surrounded by trees, where she knew every street and pathway by heart, instead of an unfamiliar city where people could come out of nowhere and kidnap her and her friends, and tie them up, and force her to watch as-

Leif gasped as another flashback hit her, a wave of nausea rolling through her stomach. She wanted to hug her mom.

Eventually, she forced herself to her feet and turned the water off. No one was going to berate her for spending so much time locked in the bathroom by herself, especially not now, but she’d had enough. If she couldn’t hug her mom, she could at least find someone else to hug. Pedro was usually good at them, and Damien’s always had a paternal quality that made her feel very cared for, no doubt in part due to how long she’d known him for. Hopefully Roxy would be up for one, too, but Leif wasn’t holding out too much hope. After her freak-out once they learned that no one knew where the outpost was, she’d completely shut down. She barely even reacted when her knee was set back into place, and she’d been holed up in her room ever since they got back to the apartment, as far as Leif knew. To be fair, she herself had been holed up in the bathroom for a while, as well. But man, she would really like a Roxy hug right now.

She tried not to look at herself in the mirror as she dried off and got dressed. She was actually quite happy with how her body was progressing lately, so it wasn’t a case of the ol’ dysphoria. She just really didn’t want to know how awful she probably looked at the moment, eyes no-doubt sunken and bloodshot, skin blotchy and bruised, hair probably all tangled up because she just didn’t have the energy to brush it before she stumbled into the shower. That was the one benefit about keeping the side of her head shaven; it was less hair to worry about taking care of when things went to shit. Maybe she should follow in Roxy’s footsteps and hack it all off in response to the trauma. …Nah, she’d spent too much of her life with short hair already, and it was nice being able to run her fingers through the long strands over her shoulder when she was nervous. She had a feeling she was going to get a lot of use out of that, in the coming days.

Once she was dressed in one of Drew’s baggy t-shirts and a pair of sweatpants, she finally summed up the courage to leave the safety of the bathroom. As she’d suspected, Roxy’s door was still shut tight, and it seemed completely silent from within. Leif could only hope she’d fallen asleep. She should certainly be tired enough after everything that happened. She gave up on her hope for a Roxy hug and instead ambled out into the living room, where she was greeted by a depressing sight.

Pedro was crying. She didn’t think she’d ever seen him cry before, not aside from a few errant tears here and there. This time, he was full-on sobbing, his shoulders hitching up and down as he hid his face in Damien’s shoulder. Damien was holding him, his hand stroking up and down Pedro’s back. The sight made Leif want to start crying as well, but she’d used up all of her tears in the shower. The pain was still there; a cold and empty hole in the bottom of her gut, but it had receded to the back of her mind for now, no doubt biding its time for an opportune moment to hit her again.

“Leif?” Damien spoke gently, as if she was a wild animal he was trying not to spook off. He looked about as unwell as he did after Roxy was taken, with red-rimmed eyes and a sad expression. A friend- no, family member was dead, and two others were missing, one of whom was his daughter’s fiancée. It was no surprise that he would be taking this just as hard as the rest of them, after living in such close proximity these past few months. Leif just hadn’t considered it.

“Yeah?” she croaked in response, her voice rough from… the activities of the day.

“I… I hate to ask this of you, right now, but… Do you think you could check on Roxy for me, please? I tried earlier, but she… she was catatonic. I don’t think she wanted me there, either. She started growling when I got close. I-it’s just… I’m worried, and I felt like you might be able to get through to her a little better.”

…Oh, she must really not be doing okay, to turn down company from her dad. Roxy loved her dad, almost as much as she loved Sam, Leif suspected. If she didn’t want him around, what hope did Leif have? Maybe a little selfishly, Leif hoped that Roxy’s distress was from her own feelings, and not something being transmitted through the mark. If Sam was in pain, it meant Drew likely was, as well. She would much rather Roxy be upset than either of them be hurt, but she didn’t think her feelings would affect the outcome, considering who they were dealing with. Ideally, she would want none of them to be upset, or hurt, but that just wasn’t the reality of the situation. She would take what she could get.

She looked down, fidgeting with her fingers. “Yeah, I can do that.”

He nodded tiredly, focusing back on Pedro. Leif was glad he didn’t ask her how she was. The answer was obvious, and she didn’t want to think about herself right now. She wasn’t sure how much good she’d be able to do for Roxy, but dammit if she wasn’t gonna try. Besides, if she was being honest with herself, it might be nice to use her to get a sit-rep on how Sam and Drew are doing.

She walked up to her door and knocked gently. There wasn’t any reaction from within, but the door was unlocked, so Leif let herself inside. Sure enough, Roxy was there, sitting on the edge of her bed and staring at the wall with a blank expression. She was still wearing her ruined clothes from the fight, damp from the rain and ripped up from her stack on the road. She hadn’t reacted at all to Leif’s presence, so she moved a little closer, stepping into her line of sight and kneeling down in front of her, taking one of her hands. Once again, there was no reaction. Her skin was slightly sweaty, Leif noted, and her eyes were still glowing that golden-amber colour of her wolf. They’d been like that since she and Pedro had found her on the road, staring listlessly into the distance, much as she was now. She’d mostly unshifted from the almost more-wolf-than-human form she’d been in when they found her, but her claws and fangs were still there as well.

“Roxy? You okay?” Leif asked while gently squeezing her hand.

That finally got a reaction out of her. She blinked and sucked in a breath, seeming to come back to herself as her eyes darted around and ascertained where she was. They found Leif and her eyelids fluttered in apparent confusion. “L-Leif, what… When did you come in?”

Leif frowned worriedly and moved to sit next to her on the bed, keeping hold of her hand. “Maybe a minute ago. Are you doing okay? You’ve been in here for a while.”

Roxy looked at her blankly. “A- A while? We just… we just got back, didn’t we?”

Leif sighed, her concern growing exponentially. “Rox, we’ve been back for over an hour and a half. Have you… just been sitting here, all this time?”

Roxy seemed to shudder. “A-an hour? I- I feel like I just sat down.” She put a hand to her head. “S-something’s happening through the mark, I-I think. It… started on the car ride back, but… it only really hit me once I sat down. I feel really out of it. S-starting to wear off now, I think, but… Has it really been that long?”

Leif reluctantly nodded. “Do you… think they might have drugged Sam or something? Could that be it?”

Roxy bit her lip nervously. “Probably. When we… when we get drunk or high or whatever, I can usually feel it a little through the mark, as well, so that would explain why I was so…” She trailed off, before shaking her head and continuing. “No doubt it was something strong.”

“How are… how is she?”

Roxy’s throat bobbed up and down as she swallowed. “Um, scared. Still… figuring out her situation, I think.” She paused for a moment. “Relieved. A little bit of amusement.” A smile touched her lips. “Drew must be there. At least they’re together.”

It felt like a weight had been lifted off of Leif’s shoulders. It was an easy conclusion to come to. What other reason could Sam possibly have right now for feeling relieved and amused? Drew had to be with her, which meant that he was okay, at least for now.

Roxy got up and limped around the room, finally getting changed out of her ruined clothes as she monitored Sam’s situation, providing Leif with live updates. Much like Leif, she’d elected for the comfort of her girlfriend’s clothing, burying herself in a hoodie that was at least 3 sizes too big for her and smelled of pine.

Leif retook her hand once she sat back down on the bed. “Your dad was worried about you. Do you wanna go out and sit with him, or stay in here?”

Roxy’s face had dropped, and there was something behind her golden eyes that filled Leif with worry. Something was happening on the other end of the mark that Roxy wasn’t sharing. She grabbed her cane and stood up, silently choosing option one, and Leif followed along as she hobbled out of the room, favouring her left leg.

Pedro wasn’t crying anymore, which was a small relief to Leif’s thoroughly pummelled heart. He looked up to them as they made their way over, his eyes filled with a deep sadness. His left arm was in a cast up to the elbow, but the doctors said he should only need it for a few days, thanks to his Lunin-enhanced healing. He’d broken it getting out of his restraints after the hunters got the drop on him, apparently. Leif hoped it would be off in time for them to go rescue Sam and Drew.

“Hey, guys,” he said, his voice rough.

Roxy grunted in response, moving to sit in between Pedro and Damien. Before she could make it, however, she paused, her eyes going wide and her breathing speeding up.

“No…”

All of a sudden, she let out a yelp and collapsed. Pedro shot up to catch her, gently leading her to the couch as she continued to intermittently twitch and cry out. Leif knew exactly what was happening. She’d seen it from the other end of the mark after Roxy disappeared, although she hadn’t known what it was at the time.

Sam was being whipped.

Roxy started to sob, pleading with nobody under her breath. Pedro and Damien embraced her from both sides and she sank into it, burying her face against her dad’s chest. Leif sat on Pedro’s other side, and he shifted to put his arm around her. It was a little awkward with the cast, but she didn’t mind, savouring any physical affection she could get in the wake of the worst day of her life. She nestled into the crook of his shoulder and sighed, breathing in his familiar scent.

Things were gonna suck for a while, she knew, but they were gonna make it through this. They’d been through shit before, and this was no different. They were gonna lick their wounds, find the outpost, and save Sam and Drew before the day of the eclipse. The alternative… The alternative didn’t even warrant consideration, because it wasn’t going to happen. Everything was going to be fine.

It had to be.

—

Drew’s ears were ringing, his heart racing in his chest. That huge guy’s fingers were digging into his shoulders, and probably for good reason, too. Even with the knife in his leg, hearing Sam’s agonised screaming and whimpering every time the whip struck was too much for him to bear, and every inch of his soul reared to jump up and help her. Thankfully, it seemed like it was finally over, that priest asshole re-coiling the now-bloodied whip and stepping out from behind Sam, looking her over.

Her whole body was quivering like a leaf in the wind as she sobbed and gasped for air, blood still dripping down the backs of her legs and vomit staining her chin. It had been terrifying to watch, each crack of the whip and subsequent cry of pain solidifying the horrible knowledge in Drew’s head that he was next. He couldn’t even feel the knife in his leg anymore, he was so scared.

“Alright, take her down,” Father Superior ordered. His man obeyed, finally letting go of Drew’s shoulders to unlock the handcuffs that had been keeping Sam suspended. She let out a yelp as she crumpled to the floor, too dazed to even attempt to hold herself up. Drew felt her hand weakly close around his ankle and his heart ached for her, blindly searching out for any kind of comfort in her battered, delirious state. The mess of blood and bruising that was her back made him sick to his stomach. “Captain Langley, take her to be hosed down and show her to her new accommodations, if you would. After that, you are relieved for the night. Torran and I will deal with this one on our own.”

Chris let out a tiny sigh, imperceptible to the humans in the room, and did as he was told, walking over and grabbing Sam under her arms, lifting her back up to her feet. She let out a pained noise but otherwise didn’t protest, allowing herself to be manhandled and effectively dragged out of the room, barely keeping her shaking legs underneath herself. Just before she was swept out of sight, she turned back and made eye contact with Drew, her expression saying more than a thousand words ever could.

I’m so sorry for what’s about to happen.

He shot her a shaky smile in response and then she was gone, and he was alone with her torturers, no doubt soon to be his as well. Or, well, considering the fact that he still had a knife in his thigh, he guessed they already were his torturers. Semantics were very important when you were trying to distract yourself from the reality of a situation, he’d found.

Father Superior looked at him with mild disgust. “Now, for the backup. Let’s get started.”

The knife was removed from his thigh in one quick motion, and the pain almost made him throw up. He didn’t doubt that the contents of his stomach would be joining Sam’s on the floor underneath that suspension rack very soon. A piece of cloth was wrapped around his leg, applying an agonising amount of pressure and stemming the flow of blood that had started pouring after the knife was pulled out. He supposed he should be grateful that he wasn’t going to bleed out from the stab wound, but it was hard to be appreciative when he knew what was coming up.

He debated struggling for freedom as Torran ripped the duct tape from his wrists and ankles, forcefully pulling him to his feet, but after the reminder that the hunters only actually needed one of them, he wasn’t willing to test the limits of his value to them. Besides, Sam had already suffered through this horror show they called a penance; he didn’t want to undermine her sacrifice by escaping without her. He wouldn’t just leave her here, to face their tormentors alone. They were in it now, and they were in it together. To the end.

Things began blurring a little as he was strung up on that rack like a piece of butcher meat, his mind travelling to someplace far away, ignoring the fear as Father Superior slipped out of his line of sight, that whip back in his hand. He thought of his pack, of Leif. He hoped she was doing alright, after everything. He knew Pedro and Roxy would be taking care of her, if they were okay. When the whip first struck across his back, he closed his eyes and thought of home.

—

Sam resisted the urge to shiver on the cold concrete floor, knowing that the slightest movement would send another wave of agonising fire shooting across her ruined back. It was a hard-fought battle, her skin still dotted with water from what Father Superior had called a ‘hosing’ but thankfully in practise was a gentle, luke-warm shower. Sam suspected that might have just been due to Chris’s interference, though. He was being bizarrely gentle with her as he half-guided, half-carried her through the halls to a shower room, and Sam couldn’t for the life of her figure out why. She was under the impression that he hated her, and the rest of her species. He’d hunted her quite literally half-way across the world. Why would he let up now? Well, she wasn’t complaining, that was for sure. She’d take a gentle touch from an enemy over the alternative any day, even if she couldn’t really understand why.

He’d gently laid her down on a cool tile floor and brought the spout down closer to her so that the spray wasn’t too rough. It still stung her back like hell, but she imagined it would’ve been much worse had someone else been doing it. He didn’t physically wash her, which she appreciated, just letting the water rinse away the blood and vomit on her skin until he deemed her clean enough to be moved to her cell. Her back had bled a little more on the way back, unsurprisingly, but there wasn’t much they could do about that. Even with Chris being so gentle with her - against his superior’s wishes, Sam suspected - she doubted she would be getting any real medical treatment. It didn’t matter to them if her wounds got infected. They only needed her alive for less than a week, and it would take much longer than that for her to succumb to one. She could only pray it didn’t come to that.

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Chris had left her in her cell with a pair of pills, one for her and one for Drew, once he arrived. She could already hear his screams echoing through the halls at that point, and every concurrent whip-crack that reached her ears was enough to make her flinch horribly. It just made her feel that much worse for the treatment Roxy had undergone during her own kidnapping, now that she had a much clearer understanding of what she’d experienced.

Sam had been hesitant to take the pill that had been left for her, worried it was going to be similar to whatever she’d been injected with in the van, but once the adrenaline started wearing off and her back started screaming at her with every beat of her heart, she decided that she didn’t really care anymore, and downed the thing with a mouthful of water from the tap on the wall. It took a few minutes to kick in, but eventually the pain in her back died down a little, and she was able to actually settle down against the floor, still lying on her front, of course. She was sure she wouldn’t be getting to sleep at all, but at the very least she could relax a little, too exhausted to even question why Chris had given her a painkiller and instead focusing in on her mark, communicating with Roxy as best she could to pass the time.

Finally, after what felt like far too long, the noises from down the hall stopped. The pain from her back was slowly dimming, but the dried, crusty blood coating her skin still kept her from wanting to move too much, lest she accidentally restart the bleeding. She didn’t really have much incentive to move around anyway, what with how her head was still spinning every time she raised it off the ground. She settled for gently running her hand over her almost-bald scalp, taking slight pleasure in the sensation. Roxy had also fully shaved her head once, around April. She’d ended up regretting it, but it had grown back pretty quick on account of her steadily growing wolf side, and Sam had enjoyed the feeling of running her hands over it back then, as well.

Eventually, the sound of the door opening tore her out of her boredom. She spun around as gingerly as she could so as to not upset her back, squinting at the sudden influx of light in her dark little box. All she could make out was the silhouette of a man carrying something over his shoulder. Her nose was still clogged with blood, so unfortunately she couldn’t make anything out by scent, but that didn’t end up mattering for long. The man dumped his cargo into the room with very little care, and Sam only recognised the limp form as Drew at the last second, throwing herself forward to cushion his landing so that his head didn’t smash against the concrete. The action sent fire surging through her frayed nerves, but she ignored it. She would much rather have a sore back than let her friend get a brain injury.

“Poor baby couldn’t take it. Passed out halfway through,” the man in the doorway explained, punctuating it with a menacing chuckle. “Enjoy your stay, pups.”

With that, the door swung closed and Sam was left in darkness yet again. Drew was lying on his back, his head cradled in the crook of Sam’s elbow. She quickly flipped him over, so as to avoid his torn skin getting even more damaged. The sight of it made her feel sick, and the realisation that her own back no doubt looked just as bad made the feeling even worse. She tried to ignore it, focusing on him. She didn’t know whether to be grateful or worried that he was passed out. At least he was spared most of the pain, but what if this was something more serious? Maybe the whip had hit in a bad way and caused a problem? Well, not that it could hit in a good way, but still. Roxy had suffered for months from the muscle damage it had caused; Sam wouldn’t be surprised if an unsteady hand could cause even deeper damage were they not careful.

There was nothing she could do about it right now, though, so she just waited for him to wake up, holding him close and stroking a hand over his scalp in what she hoped would prove to be a comforting gesture. His body was damp and cold, much colder than she had been after her shower. She suspected that he hadn’t been as lucky as her, and was probably subjected to the ‘hosing’ that Father Superior had ordered after all. At least she still had that painkiller for him to take. That was a small mercy, but a mercy nonetheless.

It took a while, but eventually, Drew stirred with a pained groan. He curled in on himself with a whimper, but quickly seemed to regret it, as he slowly and carefully laid himself flat again. Sam just kept stroking his head, hoping to provide him some of the comfort that she was craving herself.

“Sam?” he whispered hoarsely.

“I’m here, Drew. I’ve got you.”

He let out a small sob that was quickly cut off. “Fuck. A-are you okay?”

“Back hurts.”

“...Right. Sorry.”

“You’re good.” She gently handed the pill to him. “Here, take this. It’s a painkiller. Doesn’t fix everything, but it’ll make the pain go from ‘excruciating’ to ‘almost bearable,’ at the very least.”

He didn’t hesitate, downing the thing completely dry. “Where’d you get it?”

“Chris, weirdly enough.”

Drew seemed to think on it, and then decided he was far too battered and tired to care, which was a pretty relatable stance, from Sam’s perspective. “...huh. Neat.”

He lifted his head a little and seemed to take in their little abode. It seemed to Sam exactly like Roxy’s from the Dewsbury outpost, only perhaps a little smaller. “I take it the bucket is where we do our business?”

“Presumably,” Sam said with a light sigh. “Don’t think they’d risk letting us out of the cell just to go to the bathroom.”

“Well… not looking forward to that. How’s Roxy doing? Everyone okay?”

The change of subject was appreciated. The longer Sam could go without thinking about their inevitable need to expel their waste, the better. “Hard to say. Roxy’s… mostly worried about me, so I guess everyone else must have made it out okay. She seems a little sore, though.”

“...Not everyone,” Drew replied.

Sam’s heart sank. “...Right.”

In all the chaos of everything that had happened, she’d somehow completely forgotten about Clarissa. Her friend, her mentor, and most recently, her packmate. The memory of finding her stung almost worse than her back did, throbbing violently in her chest and threatening her eyes with tears. What had become of the poor woman now? Was she still lying there, cold and lifeless? Or had someone found her, and taken her away to be autopsied? She deserved better than to be cut open on a slab, everything she ever was and did reduced to a dead pile of organs and meat. Had her family back in Canada even been notified yet? There were so many questions piling up in Sam’s head, each more painful than the last, but there would be no answers, not while she was stuck in this cell.

“Sam?” Drew eventually spoke up, breaking the mournful silence that had overtaken the cell.

“Yeah?”

“Do you think they’re gonna find us in time?”

Sam took a deep breath. “I hope so. They have almost a week, and a lot of Council resources at their disposal. They’ll find us.”

“How long did it take you to find Roxy, when she was taken?”

Something cold settled in Sam’s gut. “...Eleven days.”

Drew didn’t reply, but he didn’t need to. The point had been made. They couldn’t risk waiting for the pack to find them, too much was at stake. They needed to find some way to escape, or, failing that, make sure that the hunters wouldn’t be able to use them for their plan. There was one surefire way to do that, but… Sam wasn’t sure if she’d be able to go through with it, or how they’d even do it in the first place. Just the idea of doing that, of leaving Roxy and her pack, and accepting that she would never see them again, hurt too much to bear. She couldn’t keep holding back the tears that had been hiding behind her eyes any longer.

Drew held her close as she broke down into quiet sobbing, gently scratching her scalp. “It won’t come to that. We won’t let it come to that,” he whispered, as if he’d read her mind. He was probably thinking similar thoughts.

“I- I- I w-wanna go home!” she cried.

Drew let out a shuddering breath, and when he spoke, his voice was thick with tears. “Me too, Sam. Me too.”

—

Roxy didn’t get much sleep that night. Or any at all, really. She could make the argument that she at least tried to get to sleep, but that would be a lie. Instead, she spent the whole night with Leif wrapped around her from behind, communicating with Sam through the mark. She wasn’t sure she’d have been able to get to sleep even if she’d given it a proper shot. Sure, cuddling with Leif was nice, and were things normal, she would’ve been able to fall right to sleep with her, no problem, as they had done millions of times before. As it was, though, with such tension filling every fibre of her being, nothing would be able to compare to having Sam there. Even with her back turned to Leif, the difference was obvious. Leif was thinner, shorter, not as warm. It was the comfort of an old and dear friend, but not the one she truly needed. Well, judging from how much she shifted around throughout the night, she suspected Leif might be feeling a similar way, anyhow. Roxy knew she was no substitute for Drew, just as Leif was no substitute for Sam. At least they could still provide each other with some comfort, as imperfect as it was.

By the time the sun breached the horizon, Roxy was well and truly exhausted. She still refused to sleep, though, keeping a constant vigilance on Sam’s condition, even as it stayed roughly the same throughout the night. There was a little bit of activity at one point; where Sam’s fear and defiance spiked a little, but after about twenty minutes it calmed back down, thankfully without any new pain to go along with it.

That day, Roxy entirely subsisted on coffee and energy drinks, occasionally downing a glass of water or a slice of bread when her dad insisted. The search efforts had officially begun, though their pack wasn’t really allowed to participate, much to their chagrin. Vincent said they needed to focus on recovering, so that they were ready to go once the outpost was found, but the idleness was infuriating. Just because they were a little beat up didn’t mean they couldn’t help search!

Their process for searching was pretty simple. They knew that the hunters would need a Lunin Site in order to activate the ritual, so their outpost would likely be either close to or on top of one of the nearby sites. This counted out the ones that were deep in the wilderness, and the ones in and around suburbia could generally be checked off with a cursory inspection to ensure there weren’t any underground structures connected to the houses nearby. Basements were rarer in Australia than they were back in the US, so it wasn’t difficult to check. There were even a few in the city proper, but it was a lot harder to figure out whether or not the outpost was nearby in those cases. There was no guarantee that the outpost itself would be underground, potentially taking up residence in a building instead, fronting under false pretences like the Council building. Since the Council had no actual government authority, checking that each building within a certain radius of the Lunin Site was actually what it claimed to be was going to be difficult. Either way, the process of elimination would take a while, so there was nothing Roxy could do but wait, and try to ignore Vincent’s unsubtle jabs at them for ‘allowing’ this to happen. Like it was their fucking fault.

(Roxy knew that, in a way, it was, but she also knew that it would’ve been impossible to keep Sam and Drew home yesterday when they went to save Leif and Clarissa, and that if they had, she and Pedro would likely have suffered a similar fate to her mentor. Despite that knowledge, the guilt of letting them come along still ate at her, regardless.)

So, instead of spending her quickly fleeting wakefulness doing anything useful or productive to the search, she spent it sat in front of the TV, combing through channels out of a morbid sense of paranoia, looking to see if the news had reported on what happened yesterday at all, and if they were in any potential danger from the law.

Her fears turned out to be founded, at least in the sense that people had discovered the bodies they’d left behind. The matter of the law was still up in the air, though. She listened closely to the news report, as did the rest of the pack.

“Late last night, the bodies of three men and one woman were found in and around an empty construction site in an area of Carlisle that had been evacuated due to an alleged gas leak. The identities of the three men are unknown, but the woman has been identified as 39 year old Clarissa Newark, an American citizen, apparently visiting on holiday. She was found with a laceration in her neck, and abrasions on her wrists that indicate she may have been bound before her death. The other bodies were found with various wounds indicating both animal attack and attack with a bladed weapon. It is the police’s belief that Newark may have been a werewolf, though the results of the blood test are still pending. They go on to theorise that the men may be members of the Sons of the Black Sun, the infamous werewolf hunting group that has been the target of many controversies and accusations over the past few months. It is currently unclear if Newark killed the men before her death, or if she had companions that may have escaped the altercation. There are signs of struggle that indicate she may not have been the only werewolf present, but the identities of any other involved individuals are as of yet unknown.”

Pedro let out a long sigh from his spot next to Roxy, putting his shoes on and standing up.

“Where are you going?” she asked.

He turned back to her and shrugged. “The morgue, I guess. Where… wherever they’ve taken her. I want to make sure she gets back to her family okay.”

Roxy’s gut churned with grief. It still didn’t feel real. It still felt like she was just waiting for Clarissa to come back from the shops or the gym, or that she was just hiding away in her room. Leif had pretty much cried herself to sleep over it, yet Roxy still couldn’t bring herself to shed a single tear. It was just biding her time, she knew that. She knew that eventually it would all hit her and she would be inconsolable, but right now the only thing she could feel about it was numb. Sam was taking up too many of her thoughts to spare any on someone who wasn’t in danger anymore, who would never want for anything ever again, as heartless as that made her feel. She couldn’t afford to lose focus now, not when so much was at stake.

“Don’t you think that might be a little dangerous? You just saw that report. They’re searching for us.”

He shrugged again. “Maybe, but… I already left her once, the least I can do is make up for it.” He gave her a confident, if slightly sad grin. “Don’t worry, chica. I know my way around cops. I’ll be okay.”

“I hate to say it, but maybe she has a point, Pedro,” Leif said. “They clearly know who she is. They’ll send her home in due time. It might be better not to risk it.”

He looked like he was about to protest, but the words seemed to die on his tongue, and his face crumpled. He sighed. “Maybe… Maybe I just wanted the chance to see her one last time.”

That hit Roxy right in the chest, and from the way Leif shrunk in on herself, it had a similar effect on her, as well. It threatened to break the dam that was keeping her feelings on the matter at bay, but Roxy couldn’t let that happen, so she grit her teeth and steeled herself, forcing the tears that had formed in her eyes not to fall. The action had fur bristling up her arms and poking from her cheeks, but she couldn’t calm down enough to revert, so she just ignored it. She knew that her wolf had been at the surface all night, as much as no one had deigned to tell her. She could see the glow from her eyes reflecting on the TV screen. She suspected the fur would stick around for a bit, as well, unless she found some way to untense herself without spilling out everything she was trying to hold back in the process.

No one had any chance to reply to that. Their attention was all stolen away by the TV again when it suddenly crackled with static, the image flickering unsteadily. When it finally came back, the face of the reporter had been replaced by that of a bald elderly man, with a trio of large slash scars that stretched around his cranium, one intersecting his blind left eye. He was only visible from the neck up, but Roxy could see he was wearing a priest’s collar. Pedro swore under his breath. The man spoke.

“Greetings, citizens of the world. I apologise for interrupting your broadcasts, but I come bearing an important message for all of you. I am Father Superior, head of the organisation known as the Sons of the Black Sun. Recently, we have come into the public awareness under heavy scrutiny, due to many misunderstandings spread by our detractors. In this broadcast, I intend to clear up these misunderstandings, provide you with crucial evidence that our enemies have conveniently chosen not to share, and deliver a warning of the danger that is to come in the following days.

“First, the misunderstandings. For many of you, especially those of you residing in the United States, your first exposure to our organisation was likely due to an incident that occurred at one of our outposts. Namely, the kidnapping of Roxanne Kindley. At the tender age of 16, Kindley was taken off the streets by members of our organisation, under orders from their superior, Ken Harrison. She was subsequently beaten, mutilated, and tortured under the pretence of ‘preparing her’ to serve in our ranks. Believe me, viewer, when I tell you that this is not how our organisation operates. All of our recruits join up voluntarily, and we certainly do not accept anyone under the age of 18 in our dangerous line of work. This was a crime committed solely by the members of the Dewsbury outpost, and all perpetrators have since been reprimanded accordingly. We send our sincerest apologies to Roxanne and her family for the pain they have endured due to this fault in our management.”

Roxy clenched her fists so hard that her nails drew blood from her palms. “That lying sack of shit! Who could possibly believe this crap?!”

Despite her criticisms, the broadcast continued.

“Now, onto more important matters. As I am sure you all are aware, a few months ago, the existence of werewolves was revealed to the world. Men who are able to change their shape at will, turning into beasts, with inhuman strength, speed, and senses. Truly, they are the next step in human evolution, and are no danger to society whatsoever, or so they would have you believe. In reality, werewolves are vicious, unpredictable animals, perhaps appearing as harmless at first, but liable to fly off the handle at the slightest provocation, taking advantage of their physical superiority to maim and murder with impunity! I did not receive this accursed mark on my face by falling down the stairs, viewer. But of course, why should you believe my words? I am the head of an organisation that was formed to put a stop to their rampages, after all. For all you know, my accounts are clouded in bias. Worry not, for this is where the evidence I spoke of comes into play. Viewer discretion is advised, as the following video is quite… damning.”

The image changed to a grainy, shaky video of a forest at night, one that Roxy suspected she was intimately familiar with. The sound of heavy breathing could be heard, presumably from the person who was recording. It seemed to be from a body cam of some sort. They were holding a pistol in front of themselves, not aiming yet but ready in case something appeared out of the darkness. There was sporadic flashing visible through the trees, each one lining up with the crack of a gunshot. As the video went on, the gunfire became less and less frequent, until the recorder of the video was seemingly all alone. Even knowing that the men were hunters, the video was effective in its simple horror. Roxy dreaded to think what effect this was going to have on public opinion.

No, he wasn’t alone just yet. An armoured figure stumbled out of the trees in front of the camera, firing at something out of sight. Said something was flickering through the trees, too fast to make out, and much too fast for the person to keep track of with his gun. Eventually, whatever was in the trees decided to stop toying with the man and finally leapt into view, sinking its teeth into his throat in one fell swoop. Roxy’s stomach tightened with recognition of her girlfriend, more wolf than human, in a bloody, torn-up flannel and jeans. This was footage from the night she was stabbed, after she lost control from fighting against the silver in her system, and the absolute perfect thing to show to someone if you wanted to convince them that werewolves were as evil as the hunters said they were.

The cameraman started firing at her, but she darted away into the trees before he could line up the shot properly. He tried to track her, but she was moving too quickly, too erratically, for him to keep up with. Eventually, his gun clicked empty, and Sam took her chance. The video paused at the last possible second before she made contact; her wild, bloodied face on full display, eyes glowing red and mouth spread in an impossibly gleeful grin, lips peeled back to bare large, dangerous fangs. It remained on that frozen image for a few seconds before flickering back to the priest. Roxy’s whole body felt cold with dread. She knew exactly how people were going to react to what was just shown. Things were about to get a whole lot harder for werewolves, and that was only if they survived past the next week.

“This is what the werewolf government doesn’t want you to see. The true, vile nature of their species, in all its unholy glory. This footage was taken in June of last year, but it was only recovered early this year, as the werewolf went to great efforts to hide the bodies of her victims. Just one look at the last frame displays just how much joy the werewolf was in, committing these heinous acts. I understand it can be frightening, knowing that these creatures are walking among you, hiding their true selves from the world, but I can at the very least assure you that this specific werewolf, Samantha Reed, is no longer wreaking havoc on the streets. She is currently in our custody, where she will remain for the foreseeable future.”

A picture appeared in the corner of the screen, and Roxy’s heart very nearly stopped. It was some sort of mugshot of Sam; her scowling face in front of a white background. Probably the most shocking thing about it was that all of her hair was gone, nothing left but blonde fuzz, but Roxy was more worried about the massive purple bruise that spread out from the bridge of her nose, and the little hints of raised skin curling over the back of her shoulders that alluded to a much more devastating injury, the kind of which she was intimately familiar with. She felt a comforting hand on her shoulder, though she wasn’t sure whose. She was too focused on the screen to spare a second to consider anything else.

“Now, under normal circumstances, I would not have shared that information publicly. However, in this case, I feel it is pertinent to warn you of what is to come from this act of defiance against the werewolves’ reign of terror. You see, Samantha Reed is not any ordinary werewolf. She is a direwolf, a direct descendant of the progenitors of their species, and one of only two remaining, the other of which is also in our custody. Direwolves are revered among their people as royalty, and are even more dangerous than the average werewolf. The werewolves will not just sit idly by as their beloved prince and princess rot in jail for their crimes. They will strike back, and I fear it will be with more ferocity than we have ever seen from them before. The next full moon is in roughly five days, depending on your timezone. When it comes, I advise you all to lock your doors and stay inside. We cannot predict the extent of their attack, but the soldiers of the Black Sun will be waiting at the ready, the first line of defence against these beasts. Worry not, citizens of the world, for we will protect you from the darkness that is to come. I hope what I have said today has made some difference to you. Thank you for your time.”

The screen fizzled into static once again, the priest disappearing only for the newscaster to finally return. It didn’t matter though, as Pedro turned the TV off as soon as Father Superior was gone. He growled.

“Those evil bastards, bending the truth like that.” He rubbed his face exasperatedly. “They’re already covering their asses for the eclipse. Oh, this isn’t going to end well.”

“Th-that footage of Sam… She… was that real?” Damien asked.

Roxy sighed. “Yeah, but… Sam obviously wasn’t herself at the time. The hunters cornered her, stabbed her with a silver knife. Her wolf tried to fight back against the silver and she lost control, and… well, you saw what happened. She wasn’t even aware of what was happening. It wasn’t her fault, but now… now, she’s gonna be labelled as a monster by the entire world.”

“Even if we save them… things are gonna get a whole lot worse before they get better, aren’t they?” Leif asked.

Pedro grunted. “Welcome to werewolf existence. I can’t remember the last time something actually went well for us.”

—

Chris washed his hands, feeling a little bit sick, as he always did after feeding the direwolves. It had been three days since he’d brought them to the outpost, three days of sleepless nights and inexplicable guilt pooling in his gut every time he walked past their cell. He supposed he just felt bad for them; what right-minded person wouldn’t? Kidnapped and taken from their families, whipped for practically no reason, then thrown in a cell to rot for the better part of a week until their worth ran out. It just seemed inhumane to him. He understood why they needed to capture them, but couldn’t they be provided with mattresses, at the very least? If they were going to die in a few days, why not let their last days be spent in comfort?

Maybe he was just getting soft in his old age. He’d seen the way other soldiers around the outpost had reacted to their presence. Gearing themselves up and opening their cell door just to taunt and torment them, refusing to feed them anything other than dog kibble. Many of them knew people who had been killed by werewolves, and Chris was no exception to that, so maybe he could understand the urge a little, being presented with such a rare opportunity to take some sort of faux-revenge on a helpless werewolf. But, just the thought of it left such a bad taste in his mouth that he couldn’t stand to be around while it was happening. Yes, they were werewolves. They were killers, and if they got out, they’d probably kill again. He understood that. They were doing the world a favour. But, at the same time, they were just teenagers, too. Maybe it was a little hypocritical of him, considering the things he’d done in his life, the people he’d killed and tortured for information, but he just didn’t like the idea of abusing them for no reason.

Maybe that was why he was risking his position in the Sons by smuggling them actual food at any chance he got, whether by hiding it under their kibble or subtly slipping it into their cell through the slot in the door when he passed. Today he’d managed to hide a pair of sausages in their food bowl. He knew it wasn’t much, but it had to at least count for something, bring some small joy to a pair of otherwise hopeless faces. He knew if he was in their position, he would appreciate it.

But he wasn’t in their position, was he? He was out here, free, while they rotted away in that cell waiting to die, delirious from pain and ravenous from hunger, barely even past their adolescence.

He sighed, drying off his hands and exiting the bathroom. Out in the hall, people were rushing back and forth, scrambling to prepare for the night of the Bloodmoon. The air was thick with tension, heavy with the knowledge that many of them may not live to see the dawn after all was said and done. It was a dangerous game they were playing, and one wrong move, one minor miscalculation could spell carnage for the human race. Even letting one transformed werewolf run free would mean countless innocent deaths. Father Superior had meant it when he said the Sons were the first line of defence in that broadcast. They would lay down their lives to protect the innocent people of the world, to save them from a monster that they themselves had created.

Part of Chris was looking forward to it, if he was being honest with himself. Maybe, if he was lucky, he’d be struck down and killed, remembered forever as a hero who gave his life for humanity, and he would no longer have to weather the constant doubt that had been gnawing at the back of his mind for months and months. Finally, peace.

The werewolf Council had responded to their accusations, of course, rushing to patch up their reputation after Father Superior had shown the world exactly the type of violence a werewolf could commit. They threw out excuses of ‘Samantha Reed was defending herself’ and ‘she was injured and not in control,’ and Chris didn’t really know what to make of it all, because he knew that it was at least partially true. She really had been defending herself, as far as he knew, just as Damien had claimed all those months ago. That didn’t account for her obvious enjoyment of the murders, but if her animal side had really taken over, he supposed he could understand it somewhat. It still begged the question of if werewolves were really safe if they could lose control like that, which was what a lot of the public were running with. Things were still up in the air, so soon after everything came out, but public opinion was now a lot more divided on the matter of the Sons than it had been before Father Superior went public. The Council still hadn’t responded to the accusation of their upcoming ‘attack,’ but Chris was interested to see how that would play out, considering that the Sons themselves were going to be the cause of it in the first place.

He mindlessly wandered through hallways as he thought, pondering on all of his nagging doubts. This outpost wasn’t the biggest, originally just a training ground for new recruits and a barracks for existing ones, it was only a few floors tall, hidden in an unremarkable building labelling itself as a nondescript office. The only reason they were all set up here is because it just so happened that the outpost fell right on top of something Father Superior had called a Lunin Site, which was apparently needed for the eclipse ritual to work. Everything for the ritual was set up on the top floor, as far away from any entrance as possible to prevent the possibility of someone breaking in at the last second to put a stop to things. The cells were on the second floor with the officer’s quarters, and the barracks were on the bottom, where soldiers could be deployed quickly from all exits once the chaos began. Hell, there was even an entrance to the sewer in the locker room so that they could get across the city without running into any raging wolves along the way. The perfect spot to incite the end of the world, Chris thought.

His wandering, as it so often did, led him back to that hallway of mostly empty cells. He liked to check up frequently, to ensure no one was doing anything profoundly stupid in their torment of the direwolves. The last thing he wanted was for a soldier to get caught up in his anger and accidentally kill them, or give them an opportunity to escape. He’d already seen a few take things a step too far and had been forced to intervene. Ideally, he would prefer that people just left the poor wolves alone, but he knew that was unrealistic, so he just settled for not letting them leave anything worse than a nasty bruise.

Unexpectedly, the corridor was not empty. Lieutenant Watson was standing at the door of the cell, with an unparsable expression on her face. Her hand hung frozen between herself and the handle, as if paralyzed by indecisiveness. A part of him cringed in disappointment. He had thought his lieutenant to be better than that. He had not expected her to be one to take out her anger on the wolves like so many of their coworkers, especially after their talk the other night. Evidently, he was wrong.

“What are you doing, Watson?”

She flinched with her entire body, her face an open book of shock when she turned to him. “S-sir! I… I just…”

It was unlike her to be so shaken up. He raised an eyebrow. “What’s the matter? I assume you were going to knock them around a bit, work some energy off?”

Something flashed across her expression for a split second, and if Chris wasn’t mistaken, he thought it might have been fury. It was quickly covered by a practised mask of indifference as she straightened herself out. “Of course not, sir. I have no need for such things, and I would not seek them in such a cruel way if I did. I thought you knew that.”

He relaxed, his stern expression dropping into a slight smile as pride filled his chest. “Good. I had hoped that wasn’t the case. I just wasn’t sure what else to think, seeing you here.”

There it was again, that slight falter. “I was just… thinking about changing their waste bucket,” she explained, although to Chris it seemed a little bit like an excuse. “I don’t think anyone else has in the past few days, and it seemed a bit inhumane to just… leave it in there with them. I was trying to figure out the logistics of ensuring they don’t try anything while I do.”

An imperceptible shudder shot through him. He hadn’t even considered that, and now that the thought was in his head, he felt horrible for not realising it up until this moment. As if their living conditions could have gotten any worse. “That’s a good idea. I’ll help you out.”

She nodded and he drew his gun as she opened the door. A foul smell washed over them and Chris resisted the urge to gag. This really should have been done days ago. Watson stepped into the cell and Chris walked in behind her, taking in its pitiful inhabitants. Instead of the defiance he’d been expecting, they were cowering in the corner, holding each other and hiding away from the light. Reed was still glaring at them, growling weakly while holding her companion closely, hiding his face against her chest. Chris thought he could hear the sound of sobbing and a small part of his heart cracked and weakened.

“Why can’t you people just leave us alone?!” Reed screamed at them, her voice rough with either disuse or something Chris didn’t want to think about. He looked over the two of them, huddled together as they were, and felt slightly sick to his stomach. They looked worse than he would have thought, bruised and scraped all over, distinct boot-prints of dirt visible on their skin. Reed’s ring and pinky fingers on her left hand were purple and swollen, bent in a slightly awkward way, and from the little he could see of his head, it looked like Basterfield’s ear was torn and bleeding. Evidently, his attempts to keep people from being too rough with them hadn’t amounted to much. He couldn’t account for people going after them when he wasn’t around, and clearly, they’d had a visitor pretty recently.

Seeing as Watson hadn’t deigned to reply to Reed’s question, and was currently busy picking up the foul-smelling bucket, Chris decided to give the wolf some peace of mind.

“Relax, we’re just changing your bucket. I’m just here to ensure you don’t get any ideas.” He leaned against the wall furthest from them and made sure they could see the pistol in his hand.

The wolf didn’t reply, watching him warily as Watson left the room to go dispose of the contents of the bucket. He didn’t mind being watched. He could understand it, and he preferred it to trying to make conversation with his prisoner. He wasn’t sure his doubt-addled mind would be able to handle it, the way things were going.

Eventually, she seemed to decide that he wasn’t going to beat either of them up, and turned back to her companion, whispering things that Chris couldn’t make out and didn’t want to, anyway. Part of him thought it was strange how entangled they were, considering their nudity and what he knew of their proclivities, but he supposed it made sense that they would seek out any comfort they could get in such a harsh environment, naked or not. Werewolf packs also seemed to be a lot closer with each other than in an ordinary friendship. From what he’d observed while spying in Dewsbury, physical affection seemed to be the norm for them, regardless of relationship status. He’d seen Townsend and Kindley wrapped around each other just as much as Reed and Kindley in his time there.

It didn’t take long for Watson to return with a fresh bucket and an extra roll of toilet paper, setting them down in the opposite corner to the one the wolves were huddling in. What little Chris managed to catch of her expression as she ducked in and out of the room left him with a cold feeling in his gut. She was angry, furious in a way he’d never seen her before. He didn’t have long to think on it as she settled outside the room, her face once again schooled and neutral, a mask so perfect he wondered if the anger had ever existed in the first place. He didn’t keep her waiting, and followed her out. Just as he was closing the door, he could have sworn that he heard Reed mutter a quiet thanks, and he ignored the horrible feeling that washed over him in response.

He walked silently with Watson back to his quarters, pondering the many questions he had been presented with. It didn’t take long for him to come up with an answer. Just as they had reached his door and Watson turned to leave, he reached out to her.

“Watson, can I ask a favour of you?”

She turned back to him, still silent, but clearly open to hearing what he had to say.

“Could you keep an eye on those two for me? At least, when I am unable to myself. Don’t put yourself in harm’s way to stop someone from roughing them up, lest you make an enemy out of the infantry, but… make sure things don’t go too far, or visitors come too frequently. Let the soldiers know that an officer is watching. Just… those kids need a break.”

Something softened behind her eyes, and she gave him her first smile of the day.

“Can do, sir.”

She left him and he breathed a sigh of relief. That was one less thing to worry about. Now all he needed to do was figure out why he still felt so horribly guilty.