Mated With My Father

Mated With My Father: 2

The walls around me are cold and empty. Even after eighteen years I can't bring myself to become used to this cage. I was forcefully put here on the day I was born. It seems my crime was my sole existence itself.

I could hear the footsteps of one of the guards. They belong to the one named- number 27. He is the one that brings me food every day. After being locked for eighteen years, I could distinguish every footstep from each guard individually. I can hear him closing the distance to my cell. He placed the tray on the ground and kicked it in my direction. While doing so, some of the food fell from the plate on the cold stinky ground. He laughed.

"What are you laughing at, slave?" I pierced him with my cold stern.

Even though he was one of the larics himself, to me he was merely a slave. I don't know my exact origins and who exactly my parents are, but each wolf is gifted with a natural instinct of knowing their own rank and the rank of the other wolves. This laric is unmistakably from a lower rank than myself. He knew it as well.

He stopped laughing and looked in my direction as if he knew exactly where I was standing. Which was creepy since he was blind. All of the larics that were assigned to come down here and tend to my needs were blind. Precisely there are five of them who are chosen to keep me alive and all five of them have had their eyes ripped out of them.

The Original Werewolf didn't want any male to have a look at me. Weirdly, it made sense. With their scarily good smell and hearing, they didn't need to look at me. They always knew where I was and what I was doing. However, I knew they didn't blame their master for being ripped out of their sight. They blamed me.

"I am not the one who is being held prisoner." He actually thought that saying something I was painfully aware of, for the last eighteen years, could actually hurt me. I ignored him.

"Kneel and eat the food you spilled. The one on the ground." I ordered with a natural arrogance I possessed.

I knew I couldn't force him to obey me, but I wanted to show him the audacity I had. Even after all those years, they didn't break me. He was suprised by the disrespect I showed but kept his face straight.

"The greater insult than being locked in here is being forced to communicate with someone who's only purpose of being born- is to serve me."

I sighed and waved my hand in a dismissing way. Even without a sight, I knew that the message had come across. Larics were sensitive even to the smallest vibrations and waving with my hand must have felt like a hurricane to him.

I could feel his presence for a few more moments. He was probably debating with himself whether he should say something or ignore me. Eventually, he walked away. He must have felt great discomfort being treated this way. Larics had higher testosterone levels than all alphas combined, but still the amount of restraint they showed was on another level. One could say it was almost human-like. But one can also never forget that, after the Original Werewolf, larics held the greatest power.

This made me wonder- who the heck I was? How did I grant myself permission to speak to them in this disrespectful manner? I was not physically as strong, but that didn't matter to me. Maybe years of being locked in here did its job. I just didn't care anymore. Hatred is all I could feel.

And the Original Werewolf. I hated him the most. He was the reason for my suffering and I have never even seen him. If I was ever to meet him, I would rip his throat out. A smile formed on my lips. Probably I wouldn't even manage to approach him, but the idea itself made my heart race with joy.

I could hear other footsteps approaching the cell. This one belonged to number 30. He was yet another blind Laric whose company was at least bearable.

"Sarai, how are you?" He asked with a genuine smile.

"Don't address me as if I was your homie. Never forget your place when in my presence." I hissed. He looked slightly taken aback by my tone.

"You are so much like him," he stated. I assumed he meant "so much like my master," Jaroslav Tacin. The Original Werewolf.

"But unlike me, he sleeps on soft pillows in a warm bed," I said, and there was a trace of a slight jealousy in my words. I hope this dog didn't pick up on it.

For a moment he looked confused as he was debating with himself, whether he should tell me something or not. "Actually, no, he lives in a cell much worse than this one. We all do."

This got my attention. "What do you mean?"

"The whole place is built the same way as this room you are inside. Every room, from the kitchen to the bathroom and living room is in the same condition as this cell, if not worse."

He abruptly paused. He seemed worried about sharing all of this information with me, as if it could get him in trouble. But I was shocked and wasn't about to stop asking even more questions.

"Why? Money issues?" I mocked. No one knew exactly how wealthy the original werewolf was, but having a decent home was not outside of his budget. I assume nothing is.

"Even before you were born we lived this way. No electricity, no hot water, no pillows. Any kind of comfort would only soften and weaken us. Therefore, nothing in this fortress is any different or larger than this cell you are living in." He paused yet again.

"But after you were born, master became even more strict. No colors were allowed. No music and no laugher. Not even whispers. He made very clear that no one is allowed to have anything more than what you have. If you sleep in a bed, we all sleep on the floor."

I didn't believe him a word. There is no way this was possible. According to him, I was even privileged. Maybe I should send a thank you note.

"And since I eat this dog food... tell me Laric- what do you eat? Dog sh*t?" I smiled at my own sarcasm.

He didn't smile back. I guess he didn't find it as funny as I did.

"Every day we have so-called "Bread Games". It is a competition for a meal between every warrior in this pack. Only the winner is allowed to eat ... whatever leftovers you left for that day."

The first time in my lifetime I was shocked.

"If I understood this correctly- only once per day is one of you allowed to eat and it can only be the Laric who won that day in a so-called -competition-" I repeated and he nodded.

"And the winner eats my leftovers? That is the prize?" I asked, more in disgust than disbelief.

Now he looked irritated. "Not a prize. It is the only food we get. It is life." He humbly corrected me.

I couldn't help but laugh. "And what if there are no leftovers?" This was getting better by a second.

"Then there is nothing to fight for."

"And what if someone never wins? How can that person survive?" I asked in disbelief.

"He doesn't."

I frowned at his response.

"Larics can endure a long time without food, but if someone doesn't win in a period of a few months- he dies." He explained as if I was dumb and needed further assistance in understanding the basic math.

"Has someone died yet?" I asked, curiosity getting the better of me.

"Yes."

The answer came from a different laric and I immediately recognized number 26's voice. Another annoying blind laric.

I looked behind number 30 in the direction of laric number 26 and, as always, his strict posture didn't display any of his emotions. He was the most reserved laric I had encountered. Not that I knew all thirty of them. Till today, I have only met five.

"Is this why I haven't seen number 29 in such a long time?" I cruelly smiled. He was one of the five larics that were assigned to bring medical supplies when I needed them.

"Did he die trying to win my leftovers?" I smirked.

Number 26 chose to ignore my words and instead focused on the laric number 30.

His next words were harsh. "You came to her without permission from the master."

He paused for a moment. "She can be visited only three times a day. For food, clean clothes and for other supplies. Today, you were not scheduled for any of those."

He paused for what seemed like a decade. "You know that 30! You fuc**ing know that!" He roared and it was terrifying to hear it.

"Does he know?" Number 30 asked somehow, already knowing the answer.

"Yes, he knows."

The color on number 30's face faded away with those words.

"Why did you even come down here? You know what happens next." Number 26 said with a stern voice, trying to hide the hurt of loss he was not ready to suffer. Maybe they were closest to what humans would consider friends.

"What happens next?" I intervened with my question. But number 26 just angrily snapped his head in my direction.

"That yet one more has to die while the other one, that will take his place, has to be blinded. Because of you." He responded.

I guess this means this is the last time I get to see number 30.

"Bad luck" I wasn't hiding amusement in my voice.

Number 26 looked at me, and even though he couldn't actually see me, he seemed like he wanted to choke life out of me. But I knew they were all forbidden from touching me. It was the highest command and they all followed their commends like faithful dogs they were.

I didn't feel bad for number 30 though. Yes, it wasn't his fault that I was locked in here, but he also did nothing to help me escape this prison. What kind of life am I living here?

"Don't sulk. Based on his number, out of all thirty of them, he is the lowest ranking one. It's not such a pity."

I knew I was crossing my line here but I couldn't help it. There was so much hate in me- for all of them.

"Maybe you are born dumb or maybe it is all those years of brain deprivation but you are in the presence of two larics and it takes only one to whipe the whole werewolf pack out of its existence. We are warriors, each one of us, not some fuc*ing babysiters. But still, we come, to feed and clothe you every day for the last eighteen years. What we have to fight for you get for free. Show some respect."

I sneered. "I am not forcing you to come down here. If you have a problem with this, with me, you should talk to Jaroslav."

"You know what I think?" Number 26 smiled as though he was about to throw a punch in my face.

"If you didn't have us to talk to, you would have gone mad years ago. But guess what? It was our mercy to engage you. We are ordered to bring you stuff, not entertain you. I will make sure, no one ever speaks a word to you. Let's see how long you will last."

Number 26 exclaimed, and I could smell hate radiating off of him.

"And Sarai, not even you get to call our master by his first name. Know your fuc*ing place."

---------------------------------------------------------

- She doesn't care about your words