Chapter 1: Cell
The heavy metal door shut after scraping the stone floor noisily. I closed my weary eyes as the blood from the abrasions on my wrists dripped down my arm towards my body. He had been angry when he put the wrist chains on me.
I hung there, suspended by my wrists, forced to stand with my naked body against the cold, wet wall. A grim chuckle rose in my throat as I thought about my surprising situation. This was the first time I had ever disliked being naked.
Not that I mean anything naughty by that, it's just my nature. Being a shifter, clothes have always been unnesscsary for me. I wasn't bound by human ideals or customs, even though I may occasionally look human on the outside. Besides, clothes were bulky and troublesome, and I'd lose them anyway when I transformed. It's simple. Cats are naked and therefore, so am I.
But right then, I wished for clothes. Anything. Even pants would do. I didn't like this nakedness because it was not a nakedness I chose. This was forced upon me by my "owner", to put it in human termanology. It's a complicated situation that will unravel itself eventually, so it would be a waste of time to explain it here when there are much more pressing matters to attened to than a mere lack of comfort.
I had to stay awake and listen. Listen for other signs of life down here. I knew they were here, I had seen them before. It was just a matter of time before they were brought down here too.
I waited.
Finally I heard soft footsteps down the corridor. They were approaching my cell. I forced my eyes open and tried to stay awake. The bruises on my body ached anew, and I could still taste some blood in my mouth. Damn him, I thought as he came closer. My heightened hearing could discern he was dragging someone heavy. I hoped silently that it was the werewolf. Those who disobeyed the "owner" were beaten, and he received a thrashing almost as often as I did. The werewolf was number 10, maybe 11. I was number 9. I only knew that because of the huge, gothic looking 9 tatooed on my right arm, branded on me the day I was brought to my cell.
The hairs on the back of my neck prickled up as I smelled the "owner" approach. I despised him. He must have been in his human form, of at least mostly human, because when he is fully transformed, he cannot walk. At leat I had never seen him walk in demon form.
Yes. The "owner" was a demon. And anyone with knowledge of demon lore could discern that he was a demon of greed.
The steps halted. I heard a barlock slide open, across the hall. He had not passed me before stopping, meaning that he was opening cell 8. I cursed everything in my mind.
If it wasn't the werewolf, then who was it?
And would they listen to me?
I heard the clink of chains being locked, followed by the heavy grating of the cell door closing. I felt my body relax as the demon walked away. I tried to smell for the scent of the person in cell 8, but all I could make out was the stench of iron, damp stone, and my own blood. I couldn't trust my eyes to do any good either. It was too dark for even me to see anything except where the flickering torchlight cast a glow from beneath the door. I had seen that light many times. It seemed to always be barely lit, as if the very atmosphere of this place drained the life from it.
I wondered when it would die.
