Page 25 of Pack Kasen: Part 1

Ever since the basement.

I don’t remember if she was with me then. It feels like she’s always been there, irritating me at times but a presence that has become as necessary to me as the air I breathe. Like an invisible friend who lived inside my head. It sounds crazy, but when you have no one, you learn to appreciate everything you do have.

At first, her presence was alien and strange, and I’d jump at her sudden growls. Within a week, I was used to her.

Now I have something else that is slowly driving me crazy.

Ever since I picked myself up from the floor of a cage that makes my stomach twist when I think of touching it, I have not heard a peep from my wolf.

The chain, at least, was gone when I woke, but they put it on me before and I have no doubt they’ll put it on me again.

It’s not a big space. About 8x8 feet of floor space with standing room, at the back of what must be a cabin from the wooden walls and ceilings outside of my metal bars.

A door opposite me has stayed resolutely closed and I’ve not heard anyone moving around outside.

There are no windows. Nothing but me in a metal cage in a silent cabin with a strip of light across the ceiling.

And a bucket.

I’ve been trying to ignore the bucket tucked up in the corner of my cell, so I’ve kept my back to it after my brief exploration of my prison.

I’m examining the metal bars, working myself up to forcing the lock, when I jump as the door across from me slams open and in stalks the Viking with a plate of food that instantly makes my stomach grumble.

He seems surprised to find me standing.

“My beta said you were meditating.”

Hisbeta? Am I supposed to know what that means?

“It only takes ten minutes,” I tell the Viking. “You should try it sometime. It’s very relaxing.”

That’s a lie.

All of it.

Playing it cool when, not that long ago, I made use of the ‘facilities’ isn’t easy. And I use the term facilities lightly.

I woke on the cold hard floor and squatted over a black bucket in the corner of my cell. This cabin isn’t big and there are no windows in it. If I can smell my pee, then this Viking sure as hell can.

I think these two men are werewolves, as were the men who chased me under the bleachers and kidnapped me, which means I’m not the only werewolf like I always thought I was.

The Viking leans against the wall beside my cage, studying me curiously as he eats from his plate.

This is nothing less than an examination, and I feel like a bug under a microscope with the intensity of his golden stare.

I can’t remember the last time I ate, but my grumbling stomach is keen to remind me that the steak, potato salad, and pasta salad looks like the best thing ever.

“So, what’s your story?” he asks between bites.

I blink at him. “What’s mystory?”

“Given you’re not behaving like most of the ferals I’ve caught, I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt and ask, one time, before you go the same way as the rest.”

“What way is that?” As if I need to ask.

The first thing he did when I woke in that room with the chandelier and stone throne was threaten to cut off my legs. I imagine he wouldn’t hesitate to cut off much more than that. Like my head.

People don’t kidnap you, ask you a couple of questions and then let you go. I know where things are headed.

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