Waking up in a dark room and not being able to breathe was almost relaxing. Almost relaxing in a way that it made me think back to when I'd wake up in the middle of the night not being able to breathe. Or when I'd run too fast down the stairs and have to stop to catch my breath while leaning up against the stairs, or when is rush too quickly to class and have to rest my head on the desk for a few minutes because the room was spinning in front of me, or when I passed out after Coach tried to get me to run just two laps around the gym freshman year.
It seemed calming, like I was back to my normal life where my lungs told me what and what I couldn't do, when my life was dictated by doctor's appointments and assuming that my constant shortness of breath was an allergic reaction to something or that I just had really bad asthma.
But it wasn't. It wasn't relaxing, it wasn't calming, it wasn't even peaceful in the slightest. It was agony. It was nothing close to not being able to breathe, it was like someone was setting off firecrackers in my lungs, like it was the Fourth of July or something. My throat burned, but the sensation in my lungs was nothing compared to my throat. With every breath a new wave of unimaginable pain spread through my lungs like wildfire; I was surprised I hadn't passed out from the pain alone, but I think it was my body trying to keep me alive. Trying to fight whatever was attacking my lungs.
I was gagging. Coughing, wheezing, gasping, sucking in short breaths even though it hurt like hell. I had to stay awake, I had to keep breathing, I had to keep fighting. But with each gasp, cough, wheeze, and gag, my body shook violently, pulling and tugging against ropes that tied me to a chair. And it burned. It burned like someone was rubbing hot coals against my wrists and ankles.
Suddenly I started coughing more violently than before, something of the "I just swallowed copious amounts of sea water and now my nose and throat are burning and I'm pretty sure I have enough water in my lungs to kill me" variety. I leaned forward in the chair and felt something warm and wet cover my bottom lip. It was blood, I knew right away without even having to see it. I could smell it, and it didn't just smell like metal; it smelled like death, too. Another coughing feet seized me and more blood made its way into my lip, and soon enough it was dripping, hitting my leg. I was going to die. I was going to die and there was nothing I could do about it.
If I could see, I would assume black spots would be dancing across my vision, telling me I needed to breath and get some oxygen into my brain. I knew that and I was trying, but doing so was like trying to trying to escape a black hole: impossible.
For several more minutes I sat there, coughing and more blood dripping from my mouth onto my lap. Then there was a clicking noise, and the door swung open. Light was flooding from behind whoever was standing in the doorway and my suspicions were confirmed, black spots were definitely scattered throughout my vision, and everything was blurry. There was the distinct click of a light switch and I was momentarily blinded by the sudden change in brightness. I squeezed my eyes shut, not liking how my vision was being messed with.
Someone walked to my chair, gently lifting my head up from where it was looking towards my lap. My chin and mouth were wiped off, and a voice said, "you're going to have to breathe." Then something was pressed over my nose and mouth, and I started panicking. I thrashed against the ropes and tried to pull my head away from whatever was covering my airways, but it was useless. Eventually I had to give in and (attempt) to breathe, doing what the voice said. After I did the thing that was pressed to my face disappeared, along with the hand that had been holding the back of my head. I started coughing again, keeling over to spit out the blood (or rather, let it drip) from my mouth. The pain in my lungs started to subside and I could actually kind of breathe again without wildfire spreading through my airways with every breath until it was gone completely. I leaned back in the chair, closing my eyes and letting my head rest on the top of it.
I wasn't going to die, but I was afraid of what was to come, because this had "that alpha who won't take no for an answer because he's no longer borderline psychotic, he is psychotic" written all over it.
When I opened my eyes, I could actually see. And by see, I mean squint because I was staring up at the fluorescent lights the lined the ceiling. I pulled my head up from the back of the chair to see Ms. Baker - the guidance counselor - crouched in front of me. What the hell? Why the hell was she - I stopped questioning why she would be here when I saw a strip of gauze wrapped around her right arm.
"You're his emissary," I croaked out, my voice hoarse from coughing and whatever the hell she made me breathe in however long ago in the bowling alley bathroom. The bowling alley. Shit. Holy shit. I was kidnapped. I was kidnapped and Scott probably has no idea where I am. No - no, this couldn't be happening, I couldn't - I can't - this wouldn't -
"Natalie, you need to calm down," Ms. Baker said, grabbing ahold of my shoulders. I hadn't noticed, but my claw and fangs were out, and now I could practically feel my eyes glowing. I tried to pull out of her grip, shake her hands off my shoulders. This can't, I - I - this isn't happening, I'm dreaming and this is a nightmare. I'll wake up any minute now with Scott shaking my shoulders and we'll talk out what happened and he'll tell me that none of it was real and we'll go and sleep in his bed and I'll wake up and Scott will be there, and I'll just cuddle further into his chest and go back to sleep - "Natalie, breathe. You need to breathe." But I couldn't breathe, not when I was in this place. I had to get out, I had to get out and find Scott and he'd tell me that everything is okay, and I'd actually be able to breathe and it wouldn't feel like someone was squeezing the air out of my lungs and like I was being punched in the gut and like I was going to throw up. I could breathe when I wasn't stuck in this small room tied to a chair. "Natalie, I don't want to do this, but I'm going to have to -"
I snarled. I snarled at her, because I couldn't control myself. If I could breathe, I'd be hyperventilating. If I could show any other emotion than being fucking terrified, I'd be bawling my eyes out. If I could think, I'd stop what I was doing because panicking was irrational. But I can't stop panicking, because Scott's not here. Scott's my anchor, and he helped me through more than enough panic attacks to help me get through this one. But he wasn't here, and I was acting like a manic tied to a chair.
Suddenly, there was pain spreading across my cheek in four thin lines. I gasped, snapping out of my panic attack. If my hands weren't bound, I would have reached up and touched the wounds; but they were so I didn't, only looking up to see who had scratched me.
"WHAT THE FUCKING HELL IS WRONG WITH YOU, YOU PSYCHO?" I yelled as soon as the asshat came into my field of vision. He was leaning forward so that he was eye-level with me; a smile spread across his face that made me sick to my stomach.
"Get control of yourself," Mason lightly grabbed my chin, wiping some of the blood from under my lip with his thumb. My instant reaction was to jerk away from him, but I couldn't go that far when I was tied to a chair. Once he did a once-over with his thumb, he dropped his hand and went to lean on the edge of the arm of my chair. "I mean, really. I expected better from you."
"Why?" I asked him. Why did you expect better from me? Why did you kidnap me? Why did you not take no for an answer, why did you attack my pack, why did you take me from my alpha? All valid questions, asked with one word.
"Because you didn't agree. I did give you a warning, so I'd say this was fair."
"Fair?" I spat out. "Kidnapping me was fair?"
"Well, I was hoping it wouldn't have to come to this," he said, picking at his fingernails nonchalantly as if he was just listening to a friend tell a story, not like he was talking to his kidnappee. He sighed. "But it did and here we are."
He stood back up from his leaning position, beginning to walk circles around the chair like he was a buzzard and I was a piece of spoiled meat. After three laps he stopped in front of me, placing a hand near my head on the top of the chair and leaning his head into the crook of my neck. I tried to pull away, but I couldn't go very far. After a few seconds he pulled his head back and wrinkled his nose, a look of annoyance and disgust flashing across his face. "You smell like him." Suddenly, he quirked up his eyebrows like something clicked in his brain and an almost humorous smile formed on his lips. "He's been scent-marking you," he stated, sounding slightly amused. Yeah, okay, scent-marking was normal. It was hugging and brushing up against people and even kissing to extent; marking your territory and outlining your pack. A lot of werewolves did it not on purpose, but on instinct. I didn't see how doing that was amusing to Mason. "He's been marking you as his mate, not just as pack. Well, trying to, anyways. Trying being the key word here."
"I am his," I growled at him, before I could stop and think about what Mason had really said. Mate. It took me a second, but I realized what Mason was saying, and that shit was serious. Serious as in "I might want to spend my the rest of my life with you and procreate with you". But I was serious. I was serious that I might want to spend the rest of my life with Scott and procreate with him and have little were-children (however distressing it might be, just think about having little werewolves running around your house chewing up furniture because they're teething). Dixie Chicks serious.
"Oh, we'll see about that," Mason said, bringing his hand up to caress my cheek as he spoke, smirking lightly. He dropped his hand from my face a second later and stood up straight, placing his hands behind his back, looking to Ms. Baker. "We'll start after the full moon." He glanced back to me and smiled, which made me want to punch him in the face more than I already did. "But first, get her cleaned up, and rid the smell of him from her. Bring June if you need to." He turned on his heel and left the room, leaving me alone with Ms. Baker.
"If I untie you, are you going to attack me?" Ms. Baker asked, sounding more like a statement than a question.
I thought on it for a second before sighing, "no."
She wasn't the one I wanted to attack; I was saving that for Mason. And since tomorrow (at least I think it is tomorrow, not knowing how long I was unconscious really threw of my internal time clock) was the full moon, I could wish that he was the same room as me as the moon rose, so I could maul him as much as I wanted. That wouldn't be likely though, but a girl could dream.
Ms. Baker untied (or cut, I really couldn't tell) the ropes from my wrists first. I pulled my arms around and rested my hands in my lap, hunching over and rolling my shoulders before I rubbed my wrists. They looked a little red, but that'd be gone in a few minutes, if not seconds. Who's idea was it to tie me to a chair in the first place? She untied my ankles next and I stood up as soon as they were free, arching my back and stretching my arms over my head.
X
I was shoved back into the room I had been earlier after I cleaned myself. They'd taken my clothes and given me a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants (and a bra and underwear), leaving me sockless and shoeless, which was a little cruel since the floor of my "room" was concrete, and therefore a cold. The room had no other doors and no windows, which I didn't find surprising at all. There was a bed - well, a mattress, a blanket, and a pillow - in the corner of the room that hadn't been there before. I guess someone had brought it in while I was in the cleaning myself. I walked over to it and warily sat down, checking under the pillow and blanket. For what, I don't know, but I had the right to be suspicious. I'd been kidnapped after all. I didn't even bother trying with the door, because I had accidentally brushed the doorframe on my way out of the room and it flared like I was told something made of mountain ash would do. The door was probably made of it too, so there was no way in hell I could break that down. I groaned, putting my hands on my face and falling back against the mattress.
How in the hell was I going to get out of this?
A/N: wow Mason's an asshat amiright
