The Last Spirit Wolf (Elena Norwood)

-Vera-

The first thing I notice as the fog of unconsciousness starts lifting off of me, is that I'm excruciatingly sore.

I try to open my eyes, but they're too heavy. I try lifting my fingers and moving my toes, but this simple task seems monumental. I try to grunt, but my throat is too dry; I don't even have saliva to swallow. I must be dehydrated.

I try to focus on my other senses since I can't yet open my eyes to see my surroundings. I know that whatever I'm lying on is hard and cold, like stone. Wherever I'm at has to be some type of cave or somewhere underground where there isn't any ventilation; there is an intense smell of must and no air flow. I can feel my hair sticking to my forehead, which also means that it's quite humid.

Once again, I try to move my fingers.

"Mistress, she seems to be waking up," I hear a voice.

I freeze.

This is a voice I recognize.

Harriet.

"Is that so?" I hear a deep, elegant voice in the distance.

"I mean, she could just be twitchy, she could be having a nightmare," I hear another feminine, but childish voice. Someone else chuckles.

"When she wakes up, she's going to wish that nightmare was real," someone else says, a man, sounding cheery.

I remain still, not giving away that I've regained consciousness as I'm unsure if I'd even be able to stand up by myself at this point, much less fight these people off.

A million scenarios are running through my head, but the one I fear the most is the one I'm probably in judging by the ringing in my ears.

Harriet had said 'Mistress,' and I'm almost certain she means the Witch Mother; after all, Mehra had also called her 'Mistress' all those months ago.

My heartbeat becomes slightly elevated as adrenaline starts pumping into it. If I had more energy. this would be a fight or flight situation, but I'm not in any condition to do either.

I try to reach my wolf to check on her, but she's nowhere to be found. She must also be hurt somehow.

Slowly, memories of what happened start coming to me. The slashing of the trees, me trying to save the guys by making the ground collapse beneath them, passing out and someone taking me... I now can safely assume it was Harriet; I didn't recognize it then, but I smelled her back in the forest right before I became unconscious.

My senses become sharper the more I regain consciousness; the problem is, to actually know where I am and how many people are here with me, I'll have to open my eyes. If I do it now, it will undoubtedly give me away.

After what feels like an eternity, the elegant voice at the end of the room finally speaks again.

"Well, it seems like we had no luck today either. If she doesn't wake up by tomorrow, we'll have to use more extreme measures."

Slowly, I hear the shuffling of feet and the shutting of what seems to be a large, metal door as it frictions against stone.

Did she say 'today either"? How long have I been out?

When I'm sure I'm alone, I finally open my eyes.

I do my best to gauge my surroundings. I'm now sure that I'm in some form of stone cell. It's cold, it's humid, and I'm also dressed in some form of thin robe. Turning my head to a side, I can now see the outside of my cell. I start shivering, and not because I'm cold.

From what little I can see, this looks like the same place that I saw in my vision of the Witch Mother; that horrendous place where she tried for decades to create Spirit Wolves. Visit Job n i b .co m to read the complete chapters for free. There's a large, black caldron in the middle with a live flame right beneath it. There are also several gruesome hooks hanging for the ceiling.Belonging © NôvelDram/a.Org.

I take a long look at the heavy, metal bars that guard my cell. They seem old and heavy; all in all, impenetrable.

If I'm going to escape, I'm going to have to do it once they take me out of the cell, if they even do. My eyes wander to my next obstacle though; that huge, metal door at the exit of the room.

Not only will I have to outrun these people in my state, it'll also have to be when that door is wide open. And even then, I have no idea what I'll be met with outside. Guards? Warriors? A maze? I try to gulp, but I can't. I'm parched.

Once again, I try to reach my wolf. The only other alternative to that impossible escape plan, is to fight the Witch Mother and everyone else here. Again, however, she's nowhere to be found.

Slowly, I again try to move my limbs. It takes me some time, but after a while, I can finally move my fingers. Then, my feet. Taking my time, I try to incorporate myself to a sitting position. As my strength returns, so too, does my mobility.

Now that I'm in a sitting position, I take my time to really take in everything around me. The space is quite large now that I'm looking at it. There are several cells just like mine, but I seem to be the only prisoner.

Looking up at the walls, floor, and cells, I realize that I am in fact in the Witch Mother's Castle; this is the same place from my vision, if only Goddess knows how many centuries older and run down.

I feel a tiny surge of hope, knowing that if I do manage to get through those doors, I may be able to make my way outside.

Suddenly, my wolf comes just to the surface. I close my eyes and look at her.

*Hey, girl, I tell her, putting my hand on her cheek, "how are you holding up?*

She simply stares at me, her gaze unreadable.

I frown.

We have never really automatically understood each other, but she has always at least tried to communicate with me. This time, she just keeps staring at me. "What's wrong?* I ask her, letting go of her face.

I take a few steps back, trying to decipher her stare and stance. The hairs on her nape are raised and she seems afraid.

Then, her gaze lowers to my stomach.

My frown deepens, not understanding what she's doing at all or what she means.

When her eyes meet mine again, however, I gasp.

"There's no way." I whisper.

She walks the few steps that I put between us and gently lowers her snout to my belly.

When I open my eyes again, my hand flies to my stomach protectively as I look at it. My heart starts beating faster; dread settling in my gut.

If she's right, it's not only me I have to worry about now.