The First Bitten

I was slowing waking from my dreamless sleep when I felt a warm liquid hit my face. I tried to move my face out of its way but the stream of liquid followed. Startled by this I tried wiping it away with my hands only to have more hit my face and enter my mouth. I gaged on the sour acidic taste that coated my tongue. I moved to lean my head over my dirty cot, now soaked in the warm mystery liquid. My body expelled what little biles and stomach juices were left onto the dark grimy concrete floor that my cell was made of. The foul yellowish liquid slowly made its way to the rusted metal drain at the center of my six by six cell.

I winced at the pain the movement caused my back. A few weeks ago I received deep lashings on my back that still haven't properly scabbed over. At least I think it was a few weeks ago, time passes differently when you have no access to the sun. I was finally able to pry open my eye, rapidly trying to clear the sleepiness and confusion, when I heard a chuckle.

"Looks like you enjoy the flavor of my piss," a deep voice said.

He continued to chuckle as I dry heaved. After a good two minutes of my body trying to empty itself. I turned my head to face the jail cell door taking heaving breaths, glaring the best I could with my one remaining eye.

Standing near the barred door was a tall man, at least six foot tall, wearing black clothing. He was fiddling with his pants. I recognized him, he was the guard I nicknamed Meatball because his round shaped face, shortly shaved head and clumsy demeanor. After finishing with his pants he turned and started his trek down the long hallway.

I nicknamed all of my guards now, I wouldn't ask for names anymore, not after what happened last time...

The memories flashed through my head, a tortured scream and then blood. So much blood... The crunch of bones and the smell of burnt skin. More of the memories tried pushing to the front of my mind. I scrunched closed my eye willing the vivid imagery away. A small breath escaped me as I fought to slam the door in my mind that would keep the memories at bay.

I don't know how long it took but when I was finished my body was slick with sweat or maybe that was Meatball's urine, ewe. I needed to get up before I was sick again.

I slowly moved to seated position careful not to agitate the wounds on my back. The metal of the bed tray was cold on my legs as I slid them over to put my feet on the floor. As I put my feet down I inspected the wounds on them.

I was missing my pinky toe on my right foot, a rough blister had formed but still had not healed fully after my interrogator, Kedron, decided that he wanted to play 'this little piggy went to the market'. That day was one of my worst days down here, but still didn't top the day he gouged out my eye.

The day he removed the pinky toe on my right foot with a short serrated knife, he took his time, slowly raking the blade back and forth. I have sounds of the event permanently scarred in my head. The blade ripping and tearing my flesh, the visceral sound of the knife sawing at the bone, and my screams that never seem to escape the prison I'm caged in.

After refusing to answer his questions he heated the end of a fire poker and pressed it to my wound. Then he decided in the spur of the moment that my right hand needed to match. I shook my head refusing to replay the rest of the event in my mind and went back to inspecting my wounds.

The only source of light in this dark place was the flickering yellowed bulbs dangling from the ceiling in the hallway. Using the dim light I was able to determine that the wounds on my hand and foot didn't seem infected, but they were painful to the touch and were oozing a clear liquid where the blister was thinning. These wounds should be scabbed over and starting the scarring process.

Maybe I was broken. Werewolves in my experience tend to heal faster than your typical human and have more keen senses when in our two legged form, but we weren't invincible. Maybe I'm not healing because I haven't shifted or felt the overwhelming need too since ... well, I don't know. This is starting to worry me. I need to get out of here.

Usually, when I wasn't in this hellhole, the longest I held off a shift was a month, but that was with tutoring and dangerously high levels of concentration. It's definitely been longer than that and I haven't even felt the smallest prickly sensation across my body that signaled the shift.

I glanced over at the far wall of my cell. It was full of tally marks I carved there using a small rock. I tried to use the guards' shift changes to estimate when days passed, but honesty I don't even know if it's night or day anymore. They would constantly change the length of their work hours after seeing that I had started carving the tally marks, but I still continue to estimate the passing days. Maybe this is one of their tactics they use to drive people crazy.

Maybe I am already crazy, I thought letting out a soft snicker.

Using my estimation skills, which I would say were just as good as any human or werewolf, I think I've been here for at least five years give or take a month or two. I was around sixteen when they kidnapped me, so that would make me twenty one now. That means its been about 1826 and a quarter days since I've seen the sky or taken a breath of fresh air, but I think its been closer to 150 days since Kedron removed my digits and maybe ten days since the lashings on my back. My left eye has been gone for at least four years. Wait... the incident was pretty early on in my stay here so maybe four and a half years.

"Yeah, four and a half sounds right." I murmured lifting my hand to the empty space that was only partially covered by a mangled eyelid where my brown eye was once held.

I've grown accustomed to the way they treat me here, which is like shit. I guess, anyone forced to live in a small concrete box being starved and tortured in almost every way imaginable would find ways to cope.

I stood, limping over to the far corner of the cell where I liked to sit and talk with my rough rock etching of Akar, my adoptive father. When he was alive he had dark short hair that complimented his oval face shape. His dark eyes were constantly squinted and had chronic crows feet because he smiled and laughed all the time, he was a jokester. He had a athletic build that was at least a foot taller than my 5'1". In his shifted form his wolf's pelt matched his dark hair, his build and weight also followed over. When compared to an average wolf he dwarfed them in height, mass and strength.

He taught me to accept myself for what I was. He would always have me repeat this mantra, 'I am my wolf and my wolf is me.' Unlike some books would have you think we do not have a second being in our heads. It's just me, myself and I.

I tended to stay in my shifted form before Akar found me and took me in at an estimated seven years old. I was abandoned, feral, and starving, living off trash and small rodents. He was able to capture me and encouraged me to shift to my human form.

Akar was the one who taught me how to truly be a werewolf. It was us against the world, anything was possible ... before I was taken.

The smile that had creeped onto my face vanished. He was, it's he was and not he is all of those things because he's dead. He died the day I was taken. Akar tried to fight off my kidnappers, but he was no match against the werewolves that entered our home. He fought as hard as he could. I know this because my kidnappers were torn up and bloody when they got to me. I still remember the smell of his iron rich blood coating my nostrils as they dragged me out of our small cabin and into a blacked out van.

"You tried Dad, look at me now I'm still going. I'll get out of here, eventually," I whispered blinking back tears.

I reached up brushing my hand down the wall trying not to cry. I wiped my face, closing my eye trying to think of all of my happy memories with my Dad. After some time my mind decided to wander...

~~~~~

13 Years Ago (8)- A Hunt

"We're goin on a wolf hunt. We're gonna catch a big one," Akar's singsong voice came from behind me. I looked back but only caught his shadow. I continued skipping down the forest trail joining in. "We're not scared!"

Ahead there was rustling, a loud crack and then thump. A large decaying pine tree lay in our path.

"Oh no, a tree!" I heard Akar's voice echo around the woods. I giggled, and continued the song. "We can't go around it. We can't go through it. We'll have to go over it!"

Running over the to massive and rotting pine I grabbed hold of a couple broken branches and made my way over it. "Climb, climb, climb," I chanted. Once on the other side I continued down the trail.

I didn't see or hear Akar in the surrounding forest but I knew he wouldn't leave me, or would he? "He wouldn't," I mumbled and then raised my voice as I found my next obstacle.

"We're goin on a wolf hunt. We're gonna catch a big one. We're not scared! Oh no, mud! We can't go over it. We can't go under it. We'll have to go through it!" I excitedly trudged through the mud my concern of being left forgotten, "Plop, plop, plop!"

My boots now heavy with mud slowed me, but I caught Akar's sent on the slight breeze and carried on.

"We're goin on a wolf hunt. We're gonna catch a big one. We're not scared! Oh no, grass ! We can't go over it. We can't go under it. We'll have to go through it!"

"Swish, swish...." I paused in the tall grass that just barely reached my eyes. I had heard something and now that I was really listening there was something big moving in the grass.

I could see the grass parting ahead of me. "Akar?" I called out weakly. A deep guttural growl responded.

My heart jumped as I turned and ran, my boots weighing me down. Still, I pushed myself to move, the grass whipping my face. The chase was cut short as I tripped on a rock hidden in the grass.

"Ooff," my breath escaped my lungs leaving me with nothing to scream. I quickly turned around to face the threat as a dark furred behemoth pounced.

Claws as long as my hand, teeth as sharp as a hunting knife, eyes as dark as the coals from a cold dead fire, filled my vision.

And I laughed...

I squealed as he licked my face and nipped at the hood of my jacket as I stood.

"I see a shiny nose and two big eyes. IT'S A WOLF! RUN!" I shouted as I tried to get away. Akar yipped and came bounding after me in his wolf form...

~~~~~

Present

The memory faded and I was back in my cell smiling. "We're not scared, right Akar?"... Does talking to a wall make me crazy I thought? No, I'll believe I'm crazy when I see Akar walk into this concrete cage with a smile on his face. I was interrupted as Meatball returned to my cell door holding a small bowl and cup.

Food, something I haven't had in awhile. My malnourishment was apparent. The fingers I had left were practically just bone and skin. My arms and legs had long ago lost their defined muscle leaving me weak and easily tired. I sighed as I watched as he attempted to push a wooden bowl through the bars spilling some of its contents in the process.

"Hey, Meatball I thought it was your day with the brain cell, what happened?" I asked while using the rough potato sack they gave me as clothes to try and wipe up the urine on my face and hair. Not that would make much of a difference, my once healthy long dark auburn brown hair was grossly damaged and I imagined it looked like a rat had decided to make its home in it.

Meatball didn't respond to me and continued to push the bowl until it crashed onto the floor on my side of the cell. He then more easily slid a small wooden cup through.

"Eat up princess, boss is coming in soon and he has plans for you," he said, turning to walk down the faintly lit hallway.

I jumped up moving towards the cell door wincing in pain, "Wait, why does the boss want to see me now?" I asked worried.

Why would the boss of this operation, a man that I have never met in all my time being held captive here, want to see me now? My mind started to race to any and all possible reasons. Maybe he figured out my secret, or is selling me to someone else, or is he ... My rambling mind was interrupted when Meatball responded in his deep gravelly voice.

"I guess he wants a turn with the one eyed she wolf. Or maybe he wants to have a hand in your death," he turned continuing down the hallway whistling a happy tune that echoed off the walls.

I stood and listened as his whistling and footsteps slowly faded away, leaving me with my thoughts, the rhythmic sound of dripping water and the eerie noises that seemed to fill this prison, my cage.

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Thanks for reading the first chapter of The First Bitten. Please leave comments if there are any errors that I missed and let me know what you think about this chapter. -Groundsquril