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.
In the years Lyra was kept in this underground prison, there were many other werewolves to become prisoners and most did not last long. However, there had never been a wolf with a mate's mark. The hunters of the Sanctified Guardian Society, or more often known as the SGS, knew well enough that the mark's bond amplified their senses and ability to find each other. So in order to keep their operation base hidden from the pack wolves, they would only capture unmated werewolves, the rest were to be killed on sight. As much as they wished to increase their intel on mate bonds, it was far too risky to even find subjects. Their attempts to force mating bonds between the captured prisoners was always unsuccessful since that was a connection that formed between souls. It couldn't be created on demand, especially in such an environment.
A mate's mark was a pink, bite-shaped, raised scar on the back or side of the neck. Usually it was close to the shoulder or nape. Dana thought it was due to the height gap between her and her mate, but no matter the reason, her mark was right at the edge of her hairline. Almost invisible. She joked about how she demanded him to mark her again, that way she could proudly display her mate's mark. But her mate insisted that the second mark would hold no value. Werewolves were typically possessive of their mates, so more often than not, the mark had a placement for optimal visibility. As in, above a shirt collar and more side than back for those with long hair. The fact that Dana's mate allowed his mate to appear mateless showed his confidence in their relationship. Lyra found it oddly endearing.
On another note, if he had gone along with her whims, this day would have never come. Her mark would have been seen by the SGS hunters and she would have died the day they found her. The jury was still out if that was a blessing or curse. Such a horrendous place indubitably defined the difference between alive and living.
A thunderous boom echoed from above ground followed by an obnoxious, pulsing alarm. And with it, a spark of hope drifted into the prisoners' hearts. This was a rescue. It didn't matter that they were all in ghastly condition. Malnourished, bruised and broken, their inner wolves were still itching to run, to be free. Whatever the situation would end up as, so long as they were able to pass through the bars, they could face it all head on.
After another half hour of anxiously keeping their eyes locked on the corridor, they heard the heavy metal door at the top of the stairs burst open. A wave of sounds flooded the underground room. Without the thick barrier of the door, their sensitive hearing could accurately pick up the crashing, banging and howling of the bloody battle underway throughout the entire compound. Hurried, heavy footsteps came running down the long staircase with rhythmic thuds.
Dana leaped toward her cell door, she lifted her nose with a grin. She could smell her mate, he was close. But to her dismay, it was an SGS guard that emerged from the staircase corridor, not her beloved, with a machine gun in hand. He had crimson splattered all over his body and there were claw-like rips on his pants and jacket. Leaving a messy trail behind him, his tactical boots were dripping with sticky mud and blood.
He screamed, "Filthy monsters! There ain't no way I'm going down alone!"
He looked frantic. It would seem that the rescue team was effectively taking out the hunters and this guy knew his end was near.
'Thomas.' Lyra identified him immediately. The military cut and green uniform were standard, his portly frame, knurled nose and beady, blue eyes were not. Even without her enhanced vision, she could always recognize his particular smell. Although mostly, it was a normal, human male smell, there was an undertone of cruelty. Instinct played a part in recognizing his love for violence, but it also emitted a bitter and foul odor. There was not a hunter in this facility that had compassion for the supernatural, however this man's hatred was stronger than the others. His disdain for wolves was so deep, it was basically a core personality trait. He never coughed up some tear jerking sob story to justify himself, nor were they interested in his reasons. He likely didn't associate himself with the origin of his hate anymore, it was simply his lifestyle now.
The SGS's ultimate goal was extermination for all things supernatural. The experiments conducted at the base were, on the surface, in effort to discover methods to effectively track, weaken and kill these beings that were superhuman. But in actuality, they were more often an outlet for the sadistic imaginations of their captors. Their existence was reduced to abused, caged and crippled animals. Thus, even though they were technically live prisoners, not a single one truly felt alive. Many would rather they join their fallen brothers than endure such an arduous fate. Well, most were granted that wish too. Thomas claimed to enjoy the initial hunt. Capture or slaughter, it was the source of pride for any hunter. But it didn't take a very observant person to see that his true entertainment was torturing the weakened and restrained wolves. He never shied away from devising new, bloody games to break their spirits and will to live.
{We need to stall for time!} Lyra's wolf, Loba, communicated to her within her mind.
Currently, Thomas was angrily hitting the switches in an attempt to gain some reliable lighting. Without the enhancement of wolf vision, he was having a hard time distinguishing the shadows. The residual slowly flashing red lights emitted from the stairs were likely to be doing more harm than good for his adjustment in the darkness. He had the upper hand with his weapon which was undoubtedly loaded with silver bullets. He wasn't dumb enough to shoot blindly, the ricochet within this fortified prison could backfire on himself. Even still, his flustered actions meant that he wasn't thinking clearly. Tactically, they could use this to their advantage and hopefully keep him from firing before help arrived. With the amount of animalistic growls and snarls, there was still a fighting chance.