Feral For Her Freedom

I had to applaud Myrin for his determination. He refused to let me win as much as I refused to lose. If I was him, I’d have lost patience and killed me already but Myrin was too stubborn to let me win. He was trying something new today, the torture and mercury not working like he expected it too.

The mercury was becoming ineffective on me, my poisoned body becoming used to the mutations and slightly different strands he’d injected me with. I still pretended, let him think they hurt me and immobilized me. One day I’d be at my full strength, strong enough to kill him. Until that day I’d have to play this game.

Some days were worse than others, my blood would always burn but sometimes I’d slip in and out of delirium or it would hurt to move anything. The worst was when I’d vomit. It was my body’s reaction to expel the mercury and my stomach would heave until it hurt. I’d cough so much it was hard to breathe and my skull would erupt into a splitting headache.

Luckily today was not one of those days. It was a special day, the first day in nearly five months that I’d be able to leave this place. Granted, what Myrin had planned for me outside of these walls was nothing good.

I was cuffed down to the metal table, powerless to fight him as he came at me with a collar. It was a red rubber like texture with metal prongs lining the inside. He clasped the metal band around my throat, the small studs digging into my neck as he tightened it one too many notches.

“Snug fit Beastie?” he asked while unclamping the metal rings keeping me pinned to the table.

I slowly sat up, wincing at the pain in my hips. He had left a fracture in my left hip yesterday and I was still a ways from being healed. “If your goal is to suffocate me before we arrive at your destination you may be on to something,” I croaked.

He smiled at me, pulling my legs off the table. The sudden movement caused me to lose my balance and I fell backwards my head banging on the metal table sending stars dancing before my eyes. He pulled me into an upright position, so I was sitting on the edge of the table.

He uncapped the syringe in his hand and flicked at the glass, little bubbles sailing to the top. Grabbing my arm, he flashed my wrist up so he could access the main vein there. In less than a second he was finished. There was a slight tingling at first, nothing abnormal. It didn’t even emit the dull throb all of his others did.

Was I finally immune? Hope blossomed in my chest and it was hard to disguise my smile with a grimace of faked pain. I slid off the table onto my feet, Myrin backed away to give me space.

The moment my feet hit the ground blinding pain shot up my legs. I cried out and fell against the table. I sucked in deep breaths trying to dissipate the pain. The bottom of my feet felt like they were on fire. Any weight I put on them resulted in agonizing pain. I gritted through the pain, the muscles of my arms flexing as I grasped the metal torture table tightly.

“You like that Beastie?” Myrin cooed, grinning broadly. “I designed this one special for today. It only hurts your feet.”

I glared up at him, my chest rising up and down as I breathed heavily through the pain.

“If you crawl, you won’t feel the pain. Of course, it’s your choice as always to submit.”

“Kill yourself,” I hissed getting to my feet.

Myrin lost his grin and grabbed me by the collar, yanking me towards him. I stumbled a few steps, each one inflicting a sharp pain through my feet and up my legs. “You may want to by the end of today,” he snarled drawing out a leather loop from his back pocket.

He clipped the leash to my collar and towed me from the room.

…

Utter humiliation and degradation was his end game.

My tormentor brought me to the western gathering for all Ones and Twos residing in the Western Province.

They had all apparently wanted to see the infamous feral from this year’s Finding.

I was forced to kneel, my hands pulled behind me and shackled to the floor. Two chains on opposite sides of my collar forced my head into a bowed position. I was presented in the ultimate form of submission and I wanted to kill all of them for it.

They just sat there at the round table, looking down at me with interest and aversion. I was chained in the middle of the table where it created a donut hole. The top of my head was level with the top of the table in my kneeling position.

I glared at every One and Two, sneered at every territory insignia that circled the room behind their bearers. Many of them I recognized, having been in their territories at one point or another. I hated how proud they looked, uniformed and crisp on their flags. They feigned honor and strength but the males who stood in front them lack both. They were tyrants and cowards with fake bravado.

I strained against the collar, craning my neck to look up and meet every set of eyes, willed them to see I was not broken. That I’d never conform.

They took one look at the brand across my stomach, the swelling and deep bruises all over my body and then the fire still in my eyes and decided that I exceeded their expectations. I was presented like a circus animal to be gawked and stared at.

There was nothing hidden. I was stark naked save for the bindings keeping me from being able to harm anyone. My hair wasn’t long enough to cover my breasts but at this point in my life, modesty was the last thing on my mind.

“You marked her?” One of the males questioned, eyeing the multiple scars that lined my neck and shoulder. “If I recall you were opposed to marking your own consort and only did it for legal reasons.”

I remembered this male. I’d always remember his mocking tone the way he treated me as a joke to antagonize another One. I couldn’t remember his name, but I’d committed his golden hair and arrogant amber eyes to memory.

“She continually needs reminders of who she belongs too,” Myrin brushed it off, drumming his fingers on the table. He had positioned me so that I faced him, so he could revel in the fact that I was forced to kneel at his feet.

“The brand on her stomach does not suffice?” another male remarked in a dull drawl.

“I’m beginning to believe she suffers from short term memory loss.” Myrin answered earning a few chuckles from his peers.

I longed to draw a claw across his throat and watch him drown in his own blood. I wanted him covered head to toe in the very same shade of his crimson colored hair.

“Do you have a problem with my methods, Ramiel?” Myrin lost all humor in his tone but did not straighten from his lazy slouched position.

Ramiel, the one who inadvertently called me ugly at The Finding as I now recalled, did not step up to Myrin’s challenge. “It’s unusual is all,” he conceded, not voicing his blatant disgust of Myrin’s actions.

Myrin looked around the table, noting every alpha and beta present. “Where is Sarakiel?” he demanded, looking at the only two empty seats that I assumed both the One and Two of that territory were supposed to occupy.

“He said he had other things to do,” one of the males eventually muttered.

I did not miss the darkening of Myrin’s eyes as he slowly sat up, tapping a finger on the table.

“How odd that he still seems so busy considering he’s been absent for the last three western gatherings for the same reason.” None of the Ones spoke out, they all looked at the table or flipped through their papers, paging through their binders.

My interest was piqued. Myrin was obviously the most powerful of the Ones here but it seemed as though this Sarakiel was of equal caliber.

“He does occupy territory in both the western and northern provinces, so perhaps he’s at the northern gathering?” Ramiel’s voice cut through the building tension.

Myrin’s eyes snapped to the One. My captor understood the jab as well as I did. Ramiel was hinting that Myrin was beneath Sarakiel because he did not own territory in two provinces.

“Well, if you see Sarakiel pass on a friendly reminder that if he misses one more gathering it is grounds to have a full investigation conducted while he is temporarily relieved from his duties as the One of his territory on the suspicion of mutiny and the preparation of war for the title of Paramount.”

Interesting indeed, I mused.

What Myrin said was only truth. The council didn’t want to lose their power to a Paramount so laws had been set in place so that any Ones suspected of readying for war or domination would be removed from the head of his territory and if found guilty would be executed for treason.

During my travels around the Provinces, I had heard many whisperings of war. It was no secret that many Ones were growing restless and wished for the title of Wight King. However, this meeting had revealed that some Ones already knew they were out of the running and who it was that would fight for the title. Myrin seemed to be the prime candidate of the Western Province with only this Sarakiel as a competitor. Of course, there was bound to be others within the other three provinces.

It filled me with joy to see Myrin so irked by this Sarakiel. He didn’t like having competition it seemed, something I knew well enough.

“Are you accusing Sarakiel of treason?” Ramiel baited him, trying to trick him into an accusation.

Myrin tapped the pen he’d picked up on the table. “On the contrary I’m trying to help him avoid the whole ordeal that would occur if he simply missed a meeting he could have attended.”

“Who do you think you’re fooling?” I spoke up, my head rising from its ducked position. The chains rattled as I moved drawing all attention to me.

“Excuse me?” Myrin growled, his fingers curling into a fist around the pen in his hand.

I scoffed, shaking my head, causing the strands of white hair to fall in my face that had been tucked behind my ear. “I find it tiring to listen to your veiled words. It’s no secret that the Ones are gearing for war. I’ve been in almost every territory. I know those who want to claim the title Paramount and then advance to Ultimate. You all sit here pretending to be allies but you’re all just waiting for someone else to make the first move.” All of the males looked at me, shocked that a female could have guessed such a thing.

I curled my lip at them. Didn’t they know that they were so easy to see through, that their minds were so mechanical and predictable they were boring? Females were the ones with sharp and calculating minds. We were brutal and vindictive with secrets and rumors, but we put those skills into the wrong things.

We used it to attack each other to fight for males when we should be using those skills to fight against the males not for them. I would show these males that females were not brainless like they tried to make us, that I knew things as well as they did, that I understood things. I would show them I could easily outmatch them. So, I recited a poem that every One was required to memorize before being sworn in as head of their territories. The poem was written during the ascendance of the second Paramount. It was to serve as a reminder of what a war would entail and the cost it would demand.

“Tick tock around the clock,” I enunciated every word slowly, “time’s running out for those who doubt.” My eyes met every set of eyes that dared to look into my poisoned silver ones. “The storms of war will rage once more.” By now almost every male had gone rigid as they realized what I was reciting. “Many will fight with all their might,” I bored my gaze into Myrin, and met those infuriated green eyes head on. “Tears of loss will be the cost,” my voice held an eerie tone to it as I continued, “as blood and gore wash your shores. Victors shall laugh as you are split in half. As your kingdoms and towns turn to dust on the ground.” I finished the poem, raising my chin as much as I could with the chains around my throat not giving me much slack.

It was dead silent around me save for the audible crack of the pen in Myrin’s hand.

“Who would have thought that your pet was such a well-versed speaker?” Ramiel smirked, looking all too happy that I had just humiliated Myrin.