The Last Pack

Fidella lifted the sheet as the two pups snuggled into the bed. After incessant pleas and promises, that couldn’t be kept, Fidella relented and with hushed whispers and cautious glances towards the cell door, she began the forbidden story. ‘Long ago the Gods created humans and were fascinated by their lives, they were envious of their mortality and the beautiful brevity of their existence. During this age the Moon goddess fell in love with a mortal man, such a union was forbidden and the goddess Selene grieved for the life she could never have. Tortured by images of an unobtainable future, the deity’s apparitions had pernicious consequences on earth.                Horrified by the danger her sorrow had placed her beloved human in, she gifted man-kind a protector species. Inspired by the fictitious children that haunted her dreams.  She imagined the children that would have been produced by the Moon and the human she adored, she created the werewolf and placed these children on earth. The werewolves fought the monsters created by Selene’s miseries and vowed to protect the humans against all threat and harm.                 Overtime, humans became more secular and believed they were the greatest species. Selene was forgotten by man and in return the Gods forgot about the humans. Although the wolves wished to live in peace, the arrogance of mankind imperceptibly transformed into cruelty. The werewolves were enslaved and forced to serve, rather than protect. Despite the God’s apathy towards the plight of the former protectors, a story of hope was given by the Moon goddess that one day a great Alpha would rise up and lead us all to freedom.                Glancing down at the flickering eyelids of the pups, Fidella whispered to them the last thing her own Alpha had whispered to her, “Tell this story to all our kind, so that hope will bloom in the hearts of the last pack,” He had used his last breaths to give this command. Leaving the cell she gently closed the door, sliding the dead lock in place and crinkling her nose in disgust at the padlock clicking, decimating any illusion of a childhood. Briskly walking to the main house Fidella counted up the remaining tasks she had to complete before she could sleep in her own cot. The house had a modest number of slaves all of which were she-wolves. The Dominus’ business was in textiles, meaning thankfully, unlike other houses she has seen in the markets his slaves were always covered in fine, modest material. She had been a house slave since she was captured, but recently she had been entrusted to care for the pups and she liked doing this and sharing the stories from her own childhood that were forbidden to be told. Unfortunately, the Domina had realised that rather than continuously buying slaves at the market they could breed the she-wolves that were of childbearing age and save a considerable amount of money. This was one of the many reasons that Fidella concealed her true age from all who had bought her. Many of the pups were orphans, because often the mistress would sell the she-wolves once they had given birth, she soon realised that the mothers would become too protective over their pups and the only way to keep control was to separate them. This meant that the pups often became attached to Fidella and it wasn’t in her nature to be cruel, in fact, she tried to preserve their childhood as long as possible with bedtime stories, apple skins before dinner, the cream off the top of the milk. She couldn’t be their mum, but she would be the best sister possible. Deeply preoccupied with her thoughts, she didn’t notice the Dominus and Domina of the house until she stumbled into their conversation. “We will give you four of our slaves for your discretion in this matter, which is p*****t enough!” Argued the aggrieved Dominus. The hollow, painful emptiness in the pit of Fidella’s stomach, ironically felt heavy like satchel of ever expanding dread. The emblem of the slaver was as graphic as it was unnecessary, only horror awaited those in their custody, this was known by the survivor stories, without the symbolic depiction of cruelty as an extra visual representation. Smirking at the owners of the house the slaver revealed his jagged teeth with a sneer. “I will accept these terms, but I shall pick the four and you shall not dispute my choice. Line up your slaves,” The slaver commanded.                As if this slaver were the master of the entire household, the slaves stood before him in less than ten minutes. Since removing his coat Fidella had a clearer view of his appearance. He was of average height for a human, short by werewolf standards, he had fairly muscular shoulders as if he were used to heavy lifting. Framing his face was red hair, although this was thinning around the crown of his head. Most horrifyingly of all, was the emblem that universally cemented fear tattooed upon his neck. Fidella stared at the blank inking of a bird who’s head was wrapped in bandages exposing only its beak as if it were suffocating, the bondage continued to wrap around the body of the bird reforming into thick chains as it pinned the wings down, cutting into the feathers: the strangulation of freedom. Grey eyes assessed the offering before him; he turned up his nose. His expression was one of indifference teetering on disgust towards the plethora of wolves at his mercy. Totally absorbed in the details of his inky crest, Fidella failed to lower her gaze in time before the slaver was in front of her.                Leighton, the slaver, had always had a perchance for slaves who wouldn’t submit, he saw it as his personal mission to make them worthy for the next house to buy them, therefore he was finally interested when the beautiful she-wolf defiantly held his eye contact. “She will do,” Commanded Leighton to no-body in particular. Pulling out a set of handcuffs a malevolent grin stretched across Leighton’s face. Fidella whimpered as the silver bit into her wrist, the slow burn foreshadowing the pain yet to come on her journey. She has been told that silver was dangerous and painful to werewolves, however this was the first experience she had with it, because scarred she-wolves were worth less. She compared this new pain to a metal thistle and tried to imagine that the blistered welts were caused by an irritating weeds, rather than the repugnant man that continued to assess her reactions.                Leighton gripped the cuffs and unscrupulously dragged them down to scrape across the slaves skin, he found himself both disappointed and excited when she displayed a demeanour of detachment. He knew she was in pain. Lifting her into the cage, he drove towards the market to dispose of his other cargo.                Fidella had ground her teeth together when the silver had burned her already raw skin. She knew that there was silver in the metal cage, she felt energy ebbing away from her. Taking a deep breath she tried to understand the direction they were heading towards when her olfactory system was overwhelmed. Despite the silver restricting her abilities, the scent of hundreds of wolves waiting to be auctioned to the highest bidder barraged her nose.