It had been a few days since I had met Blasius. He included himself in the group of friends I had just met and although neither Silva nor Menas objected, I did feel the tension between the two men. On the other hand, I didn't mind him, but I did keep in mind Menas's feelings. Menas was too kind to dislike someone for no reason at all.
The first few days of being in the dungeon weren't so bad. Processing the whole situation had taken up almost all of my brain capacity and there was barely anything left for any further thought. However, now I had accepted and was aware of what had happened to me and there wasn't anything new to think about. With so much for free time to ponder, I was beyond bored. In fact, it felt like I was going to go crazy. Although I didn't wish for more excitement, because anything the King had planned would surely be bad, I wanted to be busy. I wanted my time to somehow be taken up.
When Silva woke up, we walked out into the main room and I felt as if my feet were dragging on the concrete floor beneath me. During breakfast, I didn't feel hungry. I felt empty, but not hungry. Surely, if time carried on like this, it would be the death of me.
✯ ✯ ✯
"So," Blasius joined us at our table after networking around the room. He seemed to be very well-liked among the general population which made me even more confused about Menas's judgement. "What do you think we're here for?"
"What do you mean?" Silva questioned.
"I'm sure they're not going to keep us locked up forever, that's a waste of their space, time, and resources."
"Isn't it obvious?" Menas asked, sounding slightly annoyed. "They're going to kill us."
Blasius raised his eyebrows, clearly not enthused about the tone Menas had used with him. I'm sure as an alpha he wasn't used to any form of disrespect, even something as slight as that, but in here everyone was equal. Whatever it was they were going to do to us, which I did not want to think about, they weren't going to spare a single one of us. It was only a matter of time.
"Wylde, Rainmayr," a voice behind me spoke, breaking me away from my thoughts. Without turning around, I recognized it as one of the guards' voices. I got off of the bench on which I was seated and stood in front of the guard that spoke. He grabbed me tightly, making sure I couldn't go anywhere.
Behind me, Blasius sat still. Another guard rounded the table to get him. Although he was ordered to stand, he continued to stay seated with his arms crossed. The guard that held me huffed, "Do you need a hand?"
"No," the other groaned, trying to lift Blasius. Without warning, Blasius quickly stood from the table and growled at the guard. Both him and I, unprepared, jumped back a little. After watching the guard's reaction, Blasius smirked and chuckled.
Blasius seemed amused, but since I had first met Blasius, I had never seen that side of him. Surely, it was all fun and games to him, but the slight violence had scared me a little, I wouldn't lie. When the guards started leading us out of the dungeon, he looked at me and squinted.
"What is it?" Blasius asked.
"What is what?"
"What's wrong?" He questioned further.
"I ... don't know."
He exhaled through his nose and raised his left eyebrow. "My assumption is you've never met a werewolf?"
I shook my head. I had lived in Rotherhithe my whole life and it was rare that they ever invaded the human's land. Not all of us were like the King, however most of the races were segregated due to the preference of being surrounded by their own kind. In all truthfulness, I haven't seen most of the other creatures that roamed the land just outside of the 405 square miles that was known as the village I lived in. I was slightly embarrassed to be so ignorant about the world around me, but that's just how I grew up.
"I'm sure anything you've read in school textbooks certainly didn't do justice either," Blasius said annoyedly, speaking more to himself than me. I didn't reply.
When we reached the small room I had seen before, the guard holding Blasius stayed outside. I was given a grey jumpsuit, presumably one-size-fits-all as the sleeves and pant legs hung several inches over my hands and feet, to put on before anything else. The guard continued to stand in the room with watchful eyes. After hesitating for a moment, I determined he wasn't going to leave, so I turned my back to him while I undressed.
When I turned back around, feeling awkward and embarrassed, he pulled me out of the room so Blasius could enter. Blasius had his jaw clenched and he was giving the guard who held me an awfully brutal stare. He also gave me a quick once-over before the door was closed behind him.
Turning my head back toward the hallway the guard was pulling me down, I walked for a short while before I was dragged into another room. The first thing that struck me about the room was the buzzing sound. As I took a closer look, I saw there were three other prisoners in there, all sitting on a wooden bench against the wall across from me. They had their legs cuffed to the metal bars that kept the bench standing and a single arm tied down to a table, palm up. Suddenly, I realized what the buzzing sound was. I was in here to be tattooed.
"Next," one of the humans holding the tattoo gun called lazily. By that time, Blasius had been brought in the room with me, but the man who seemed to always have something to say was eerily silent.
It was my turn so I walked over, or rather, was forcefully shoved, towards the tattooist. I didn't put up much of a fight but they trapped me in with the metal cuffs and rope, not trusting me to not lash out. I listened as the gun started, but refused to look as it made its way to my wrist. The only moment I turned my head was when the needle first made contact with my skin. My eyes widened and I let out a shaky breath. It hurt, but it was manageable.
Blasius kept his eyes on me as he came to sit beside me on the bench before one of the other tattooists. Before the guard could pull his arm back, he reached for me and gave my shoulder a slight squeeze, a comforting gesture. In return, I gave him a smile with my mouth, but not bothering to let it reach my eyes.
Although it was quick, his touch was warm and entrancing. It was sharp, a sensation running down my arm. But it was nothing like the needle going into my skin. He felt good and right and nice. But how could I be saying something like that? We just met. So I pushed the thought away.
Just wishing the burning, stinging feeling would go away soon, I closed my eyes and leaned my head against the cement wall behind me. Even with my eyes closed, I watched the needle being dragged across my skin. 863.