Sam
Cold air teased Sam’s bare feet, so sharp it was as if icicles caressed his skin. It had hardened the sickly yellow liquid against his shirt, flaking off with every movement. He wasn’t sure how much time had passed, waking up in a daze to find his father and the man who had passed out gone, only for a woman to stand in the entrance, large eyes staring.
He tried his best to not make any sudden movements, sensing her fear. Yet she stood there as still as a statue as he slowly moved around the room, pulling apart the bed until it was nothing but a bunch of metal poles. He’d already shoved the remains of the mattress into the corner, finding nothing inside that could be of any help. The room was essentially bare, the walls made from a mixture of concrete and dirt with cinderblocks stacked for support. There were no windows, nothing but the single doorway in which the woman watched.
Taking a second, he closed his eyes, the sudden dizziness almost forcing him to his knees as he reached for the wall to steady himself.
“Is there a bathroom?” he asked, voice rough, as if he’d spent the last few hours screaming. “I need to –” Hands touched his forehead, the sudden warmth helping with the nausea. Sam tried to relax his body, the woman trembling from being so close. “Thank you,” he said quietly, meeting her gaze for the briefest second before her eyes skirted away. She was dominant, strong. She shouldn’t have had the need to look away.
Her hands pulled back, and with her head she gestured to the doorway.
“Through there?” he asked, going first while she remained where she was. The lights above buzzed, the wires crudely attached to the ceiling in what must have been an electrician’s nightmare. The concrete beneath his feet gave way to sodden earth, squelching with every step. He quickly found a set of rickety wooden stairs, the door above open to reveal a slash of light. Taking each step slowly, he carefully pushed the door open, and three sets of eyes stopped what they were doing to turn.
Sam hesitated at the top, the man on the left standing frozen besides a large pot of boiling stew, while the other two held knives in tight fists, one cutting potatoes and another carrots.
“Bathroom?” Sam asked, and after a beat the man by the pot pointed to the right.
Nodding his thanks, Sam continued, the floor turning to creaky rotten wood and a mixture of overlapping threadbare rugs. He passed several closed doors, the windows outside pitch black and covered in a silver mesh. The double front door was locked from the inside, a large chunk of wood closing it tight.
The woman carefully passed him, conscious to not touch as she stopped at the bathroom, the door removed with only the broken hinges remaining.
Avocado green tiles covered the entire room from floor to ceiling, a matching bathtub full of black sludge sat to the left with a shower-head dripping from above. The sink was just as dirty, but the water clean when Sam turned the tap, the mirror above shattered. Pulling the shirt from his chest, the hardened yellow liquid cracked, and Sam yanked the entire thing off to hold beneath the freezing water. Cold rattled his spine, the ends of his fingers blue as he wrung out the fabric.
Sam sensed his father seconds before he felt the grip at the back of his neck, his face forced into the mirror with a crash. Pressure on his shoulders, enough weight to be more than one person as he fought the hold. But his movements were weak, sluggish.
“Enough!” Lips against his ear, a rush of heat that prickled against his skin. “The only reason you’re not dead right now is because I need you,” his father growled, adding pressure until blood dripped from Sam’s sliced cheek. “Remember who’s Alpha, or you’ll go straight back in that cage.”
The mention of the cage stopped all of Sam’s fight. He opened his mouth slightly, his breaths coming in short pants as he tasted the surrounding aggression, his leopard close to the surface. He’d closed his eyes on impact, protecting them from the sharp shards as he slowly peeled open the one that wasn’t crushed to the mirror.
His father had pulled back enough that Sam could see his smirk, the other set of arms gone from his shoulders. With a last push Conor stepped back, and Sam slowly followed. “Clean yourself up and meet me in the living room in five.”
Sam waited a beat, his father disappearing around the corner before he reached up and pulled the shards from his skin, placing each one carefully on the side of the sink.
A tap on his shoulder, gentle compared to the heavy pressure before. Having already scented one of the men from the kitchen, Sam turned, only to find a piece of paper pushed towards his face.
‘It takes few times to get used to,’it read.‘The first time the worst, then iteuphoricfeel good. Make you strong. You’ll like it here, like us. Food, mist, and a roof.’
Sam remembered the mist, the pain in his lungs before his leopard exploded violently from his skin. Dropping his t-shirt, he touched where he was bitten before brushing his fingertips down his chest and arms. Each wound had healed entirely, not even a red mark remaining. He hadn’t shifted just the once, but past the first initial pain he remembered nothing.
Thwack… Thwack... Thwack.
The man flinched, blinking several times before he turned to the doorway where the woman appeared with a t-shirt. Flipping the page on his notepad he scribbled another note.
‘It cold. Need newteetop or may freeze. We huddle for warmth.’The man frowned, pulling the paper back before adding more.‘I Travis.’He tapped beneath his name several times with his pen before continuing.‘That Rachael.’
Thwack… Thwack... Thwack, the sounds echoing down the corridor.
Both Rachael and Travis winced once more, eyes widening as they nervously moved from one foot to the other.
Accepting the t-shirt, Sam slipped it on quickly. It was thin, with holes down the side, but it was better than his old wet one that had fallen to the tiles in the scuffle.
“Hi Travis,” he said before acknowledging the woman. “Racheal. I’m Sam.”
‘Meet Alpha before he get angry.’Travis underlined ‘angry’ several times.‘Go now or won’t get mist.’
It didn’t take Sam long to find the living room, ignoring the L-shaped stairs that curled into high ceilings. More rugs lined the wooden floors, the walls papered in yellow and beige stripes, the paintings depicting fox hunts with hounds. Except the foxes were larger than normal, shifters running for their lives from horse mounted humans with shotguns.
Thwack… Thwack... Thwack.
