Chapter 6 : Shimmer of Light

The bottom slit of the basement door was illuminated with the faintest beam, and through that sliver of brightness, I knew I was staring at another person; a young man. What had taken me aback was his appearance.

I didn't have all the experience in the world when it came to men, but as the tiny source of light flickered over his face, I realized I was staring at one of the most handsome faces I'd ever seen. For a moment, I lost my breath.

He was strikingly gorgeous yet pale, perhaps an indication of how long he'd been down here. Feet from upstairs passed by, blocking the shaft of light causing a slow-motion strobe effect. The shimmer cast the brightness in different lengths over his body's sitting frame. It didn't take long for me to realize he was in specialized chains the rogues had designed, forcing him to remain down here.

"What happened to you?" I whispered, unable to withhold my words. It was clear that he was in pain, but I wasn't sure why until I examined him more closely. The chains under which he was constrained had some external power, keeping him weakened and unable to fend off his captors.

When my nose caught a whiff of the scent, I recognized the herb immediately. It instantly brought me back to scenes where I'd seen my father with a pummel stone grinding it to dust. After, he would mix it into a lotion, using it to punish members of the pack who he felt needed discipline. This plant rendered werewolves feeble and in agony, virtually unable to move at all.

I winced as I pondered my father and his methods. I didn't question it then, but now, I could only associate it with a man who enjoyed inflicting damage on others. As such, while I continued to study this handsome man who was clearly in anguish, I felt even more empathy for him, leading me to believe that only bad people punished werewolves in this way. We’d both experienced that type of person.

It was nearly silent in the dingy basement, so whenever there was a sound, I perceived it as extra loud. Occasionally, I could hear the young man adjusting his position. There were the intermittent sounds of the material from his shirt being slightly torn as he wriggled against the bricks. It wasn't as if he was trying to escape but more like he was trying anything to lessen the crushing discomfort for even a second.

Cautiously, I approached him once more, trying my best not to be too overt or cause him to think I was a threat. It appeared that there was little he could do if I chose to attack him anyway, but never in a million years would I. It didn't make sense to have animosity toward the only other person in the same prison as me.

"H-Hello?" I whispered. He didn't answer me. Instead, he coughed once more and scratched at his neck and wrists, then stared at me coldly. "What's your name?" I finally asked. Even though he sent a shiver down my spine, I was desperate to commiserate.

I could tell he wasn't feeling in the mood to talk, both from the discomfort and his inching away from me as far as he could into the corner. The more I observed him, the more I was aware he was in far worse shape than I initially realized. Now I could tell there was dried blood on his shirt and wounds on his neck.

"My name is Juliana," I whispered carefully.

Even though my voice was purposely meek and frail sounding, the young man was still wary of me, once more backing up as much as his body would allow. I could only imagine the excruciating agony he was enduring by the expression on his face. Every once in a while, he would wince or frown, then slump his shoulders as if he had a thousand-pound weight holding him down.

Maybe he couldn’t talk due to exhaustion, but I still had to try.

"Obviously, we're both victims trapped down here. These guys killed everyone I was traveling with and, for some reason, spared me only to toss me in this basement," I said woefully, staring at the wet ground. I noticed the basement was a cross between a dirt and stone floor. "Can you tell me what happened to you? How did you get here? What are they going to do to me?” I could feel my heart race with fear as I waited to hear his stories of torture.

He didn't respond at first; he only regarded me with a cold stare and flat affect on his face. Then he said, "Stay away from me, impostor."

I dropped my mouth open and was startled after hearing his voice break the silence. He caught me off guard both from the fact that he spoke and his sudden accusation. Was he delirious from the herb and isolation? Who did he think I was?

"’Impostor’? What do you mean? Everything I've told you is the truth. What reason would I have to lie?"

I heard him weakly exhale a wry scoff, indicating skepticism.

"You don't fool me," he said in a quiet, deep and cutting tone. "You're just another rogue woman sent here to toy with me."

I wondered where he had come from. This wasn't the type of person without a pack. His diction and deliberate pronunciation of each syllable indicated a cultured past.

While the tiny shafts of light rippled over his body once more, I noticed his torn and stained clothing was made of high-quality material. It could be a dress shirt or perhaps a business suit. Where did he come from?

"I'm neither of those things. I'm captured just like you," I said. "If you don't want me to come closer, I understand, but let's at least pass the time by talking."

I could tell he was trying with all his might to refrain from being anywhere near me, as if our skin touched, he'd become impure or infected. Though he seemed to loathe my presence, he kept his amber-gold eyes on me, watching my every move.

It felt like he was waiting for me to make a move to attack. I had to find a way to make him understand I wasn't there to deceive or hurt him, but maybe that was impossible.

"Well, I'm going to talk even if you won't because I think it will help untie the constant knot in my stomach," I began. "Again, my name is Juliana, and I'm eighteen years old." He didn't budge or seem moved by what I said. "I come from the Gold Valley Pack. My father is Alpha Anderson."

The young man's body and face relaxed as he glanced at me. Something I said made him at ease as if it rang true to him. My heart raced from our hint of connection. Did he recognize me or know my father's name? It was like I had a little bit of magic in my words. Instantly, his hostility was taken down a notch.

"My name is Chasel," he said quietly. I held my chest in relief. He was finally talking to me, albeit cold and indifferent. I doubted he wanted to continue, but this was progress. There was no way I would make it down here without someone else.

I’d lose my mind.

As he tried stretching his arms out into a better position, I again noticed how attractive he was. The chains rattled, making a distinct clanking sound as they hit the stones he was sitting on, but I could tell his body was firm. This time, when the light fell upon him, I had an even better view of his body, and he was incredibly wounded.

I gasped when I saw just how awfully he had been abused and hurt.

Some of the slashes were new, freshly sliced into the skin with jagged edges and dried blood, but others were in different states of healing. Older injuries had even begun to scar over, which made me feel sad for him. Just how long had he been held here?

That's when I noticed all the bruises. Just like the dagger cuts had been inflicted over time, repeatedly, so had the contusions. Some had a yellow tinge to them, indicating they were almost finished healing, while others were cherry red, and dark as indigo. I could tell his right eye, and cheek had been punched or struck with an object of massive force.

The black circle underneath was enough proof of that.

"You're so hurt," I said quietly, tears coming to my eyes again. "Please, let me help you." Instinctively and without the ability to hold back, I reached out toward him, hoping he'd show me his wounds in more detail so I could bandage them somehow.

He only recoiled, retreating from me, not just in fear, but I thought I saw a titch of stubborn pride. That was a good sign if he still felt something as luxurious as obstinacy in this bleak position. I hoped I wasn’t imagining that. For now, however, I gave up.

Time passed, and even though we didn't speak, his presence became enough to comfort me. Periodically, I could hear his metered breathing, sometimes more labored, most likely from the pain, and then it would become rhythmic once more.

I worried less when he sounded calmer.

The chains would rattle lightly with the minuscule shifting of his body he made, attempting to adjust or relieve the constant ache for a fleeting moment. He was clearly in misery but remained in an upright sitting position. I wondered how he had the strength.

Though I was glad to have this pseudo-confidant, his silent indifference toward me was an indication that I wasn't going to receive his help from these freaks. My father and ex-boyfriend were not searching for me. I knew I was on my own if I wanted to escape.

Glancing around, I hoped to see something… anything I could use to wedge against the door lock or hit them with—but it was too dim for me to dare explore. Besides, the likelihood of anything that resembled a weapon being down here was slim. Still, my heart repeatedly screamed that this wasn't my fate, so I refused to lose hope.

Upstairs, there was a sudden sound of heavy and uncoordinated footsteps. Whipping my head in the direction of the sound, my chest tightened in panic. Someone flung the door open and began clomping down the rickety stairs. As my eyes adjusted to the blinding light, I identified him. It was Alston.

Once he neared me, the strong aroma of alcohol hung heavy in the air, and I could tell his coordination was off as he couldn't walk in a straight line. Instinctively, I feared for my safety when he stumbled over to me, staring at me like I was a prize he'd won.

“I can't stop thinking about you down here, helpless, at the mercy of my will. You might have one of the prettiest faces I've ever seen," he said in a gruff tone. "And here you are. What should I do with you first?”

My heart jumped in my throat in panic.

I could tell he was about to advance, so I tried to react in time to block him. Though I began to stand, I wasn't fast enough, and he took control, shoving me against the uneven bricks. From the ceiling hung chains, and despite his state of inebriation, he expertly clasped my wrists, constraining me.

When he had me in chains with nowhere to go, he rifled with the material of my shirt, ripping my blouse open, obviously wanting to expose my upper body. I shuddered from his hedonistic touch. I knew where this was going, and I couldn’t do a thing to stop it.

At a loss, I felt helpless as desperate tears fell onto my cheeks.