-November-
It must be nighttime. Although there were no windows or cracks to let in natural light and the food schedule was too sporadic to use as a timeline, the damp dark cell was becoming colder. Lyra shivered as the chill creeped toward her bones. Looking through the cell doors, there was another row of cages just like hers. Six in total. The one directly across from hers had recently become vacant. She didn't want to know how since she was likely to share his end eventually.
The entire room was stone and cement with floor to ceiling bars dividing the prisoners. The prison cells were completely bare. No bed, blanket or bucket to pee in. As expected, the stench was unbearable, more-so for the supernatural senses of those living there. Lyra sometimes felt as though the foul odor was burning her sinuses, and that she may end up with permanent damage to her nose. Not that it mattered if she couldn't get out of there alive. The only light seeping into the dreary room was an old dull light in the staircase. It often flickered and wasn't bright enough for human eyes to distinguish anything.
Lyra peered through rows of cell bars on her side of the room. At the far end, Ruben was leaning against the cement wall with his chin tucked to his chest, his right hand lightly gripping his left side. His hair, so filthy the color was hard to identify the dirty blonde color, draped over his eyes and nose in greasy waves. Lyra couldn't help but notice how much weight he had lost since he arrived. His skin was ashen with over half of it painted with various shades of purple, green, brown and red. A blatant representation of all stages for bruises and wounds. His breathing was more labored than usual. The hunters had dragged him out and returned him after several hours. He endured god-knows-what during that much time. There was no use in asking. They would all have their turns in whatever twisted excruciation those assholes concocted next. After all the years Lyra was held captive, there were always new experiments and sick games. The variety and imagination of the torture was almost impressive.
Lyra's wolf was very fond of Ruben. Out of all the remaining prisoners, he had been there the longest, after Lyra, that is. He was kind but firm with enough social intelligence to know the proper response. He had an adaptable sense of humor which really took the edge off of their miserable situation. At this point, he was family to her. Neither had any blood relations left living anyway. But even if they did, the bond they formed in this grim underground enclosure was deeper than any relationship or family in the free world. Due to her experience, Lyra always tried not to get too attached to the other cellmates. It was gut wrenching every time a cell would become empty again. In the end, that was an unrealistic boundary to enforce. Since there was nothing in their tiny, lifeless world except for each other. Maybe it was due to the longer time together, or maybe it was his charismatic personality, Ruben was more. Lyra wasn't sure if she could continue breathing if one day his cell turned up empty. His sentiment was likely the same for her.
Just before she could ask the obvious about his condition, the newest prisoner, Dana, suddenly shot up. Her knees were slightly bent in an awkward stance, as if she was about to run or fight. She had black shoulder length pin straight hair with bow shaped bangs just above her eyebrows. Amazingly, it was still smooth and shiny, draping over her head like silk. That perfect, satin, raven hair was swaying from her sudden movement while her body remained frozen in place. Her expression was a mix of excitement and worry, contorting and flinching on her cute features. Just as quickly, she slammed back down to the floor with her eyes fixed on her hands, as if nothing had happened. To the human eye, she glitched out of place for a few seconds. But to a sensitive and trained eye, she was very different now. Her breathing was more erratic and she couldn't keep her face still. Her eyes were darting all over while she forced her head to face the floor. Trembling fingers started rubbing together anxiously.
Dana whispered, barely audible, to the little group, "My mate is here! I can feel him nearby. Oh god, I hope…"
She didn't finish. She didn't need to. The other four prisoners shared her hope that he was with a rescue team rather than arriving as a fresh addition. Dana could sense her mate's proximity, but she had no way of knowing how close he was or what he was doing. There was a chance he was stealthily moving through the base camp or doing reconnaissance outside of the grounds. So, no one moved a muscle. They didn't want any odd behavior to tip off the guards who were monitoring them over the night vision cameras. It wasn't hard since there was nothing to do and they didn't have the health or motivation to be physically active. They often talked, but with the monitoring, that was difficult to maintain. No way they were going to give out free information on their kind, even if it was something as simple as social interactions.
Lifelessly and silently they waited. Really, it wasn't anything out of the norm, except that internally each and every prisoner felt on edge. Hope was long since crushed for those that had been there the longest. Their worry was more for the impending pain Dana would experience as her hope was brutally demolished. Either her mate would never show and she experienced abandonment or she would feel his death as her soul ripped from her body. Dana fidgeted microscopically while the others agonizingly witnessed the first interesting thing to happen in months. Time always seemed to flow at a snail's pace in such a dismal place, but the anticipation added to the next several hours feeling like days.