18 – Join the Cage

Lydia:

I couldn't decide whether I was thankful to still be alive or wishing that I met a different fate back in that forest. They'd dragged me back to their little camp, dumped me back in the large cage and gone silent. The celebrations from before had been replaced with the three lackeys slumped around the fire and pacing up and down.

The fourth, she'd assumed, was sleeping off to one side. Their leader hovering over him while he lay unconscious, he was still in his wolf form, sleeping off my scream from before.

I thought it better not to poke the bear, so I'd kept quiet, watching tentatively at each of their movements. But it was clear I wasn't their main focus. I huddled up into the furthest corner, holding me knees so tightly against my chest they were going white. I closed my eyes, focused on my breathing, feeling my heart pounding away in my chest. It was more comforting than listening to the buzzing of flies and crackling of fire.

With a thud, my eyes flicked open. It wasn't until they'd adjusted that I realised I'd fallen asleep, daylight having broken, and the fire was dead. My attention turned to the gate that had been opened, watching the lifeless body they threw in. I held my breath, expecting some remark from the masked man, but he simply stared at me. Moving away after he'd locked the gate again, disappearing off into the woods as they so often did.

After the area was clear of life I crawled over to the body, worried as to whether this was their friend. Too useless to be in the pack so they put him in the game? Maybe. But as I closed in those thoughts left my head as I an overwhelming feeling of familiarity came over me.

My crawl turned into a quick scuttle as I reached the body's side, pulling it over, his head in my lap as I recognise Stiles face. Then feel the oozing liquid on his shoulder, my fingers unintendedly sliding into the holes that shaped a wolf muzzle. A gasp slipped from my lips as I gently slapped his face in the hopes of bringing him out of it.

"Stiles." I whispered, my voice hoarse from being so unused. With a gulp I tried again, louder. "Stiles!" It didn't seem to be having an impact, but perhaps a harsher slap would do the trick.

And as predicted, the harsh slap woke him up with a startle, his body swinging up and then instantly regretting it as the pain of his shoulder hit. Visibly wincing as he tried to apply pressure. After a few seconds I place a hand on his healthy shoulder and he spins around in a panic, then his eyes lighting up when he sees it's me.

"Lydia!" He said, wrapping his arms around for a hug, then pulling away as his shoulder rejected that idea. With a smile and tears in my eyes, I gently hug him back, so he doesn't have to strain it. "I'm sorry we are meeting under such poorly planned circumstances."

"I was hoping this wasn't your plan." I smirked, pulling away and then around to see if the wolves were close.

"Does this seem like a rescue plan of mine?"

"Well I wouldn't deny it crossed my mind."

"Well you'll happy to know this wasn't the plan…. but that means, I don't have a plan." He muttered, looking around, obviously worried at my lack of eye contact. "Where are the captors?"

"They don't tend to stay around during the day, they come at night. To play their game."

"Game?" He asked, looking at me with concern. Clearly bringing back bad memories, but there was no other way to word it.

"Yeah. They take people, then tell them to run towards the road beyond the forest. If you make it, supposedly you live."

"Oh they sound lovely. But where do they go during the day?"

"I don't know. I just know that they are werewolves. At least I think, some kind of wolf, shapeshifter. And that I hurt one."

"You hurt one?" He said, invested in those three words as though it was an actual achievement, though it sure didn't feel like it.

"I did my banshee scream, and it hurt one. Defiantly knocked some emotions, seeing as none of them seem very cheery now."

"Well, that's good, right?"

"No, because I don't know what they intend to do, and I don't have super hearing. Any ideas?"

"We wait for Scott to get here…" He says with a smile so fake he couldn't even hold it for a minute. "Okay, when did they last do this game, what were the requirements?"

"Five people to run, they'd chase."

"Five people, and we're two. So, we've got some time to think of a plan, right?" He said a little too confidently. While I wasn't doubting he'd think of something, or that our friends wouldn't find us in time. I was doubting our enemies to let us do it easily, that was for sure.

A few hours later

Night was coming around now, and as always. The wolves had returned, lit up their fire and just like the previous night, they just sat there. Occasionally the one who'd brought Stiles in would turn and look at us from his little seat.

Stiles was leaning against the door, the bags under his eyes growing as he'd given up holding his shoulder. Half his shirt was soaked in blood, but it seemed to have stopped for the time being, thankfully, the boy looks like he's about to pass out any second. I was keeping my eye on the three around the fire, trying to figure out which character was which. One was a female, the only identifiable one from everyone's figure, though she was just as muscular as the boys. We knew one had a German accent and one a rusty deep voice, thus two boys. Then the one I screamed at, whose body had miraculously not re-emerged, but neither had the boss.

I looked to Stiles, whose head was turned to the side, resting his temple against the bar as he stared at the ground. I wanted to speak but I noticed his hand, hidden from the wolves' sight, holding his index finger up as though the shush me. So, I kept quiet, instead looking over at the wolves, watching them just sit there for a few moments before getting up. Two of them just leaving and walking off into the forest, the third throwing a bottle onto the fire igniting a minor explosion before it settle again. Then with one last glance at us, he left too. I looked back to Stiles, who wearily looked at me, opening his mouth to speak.

"We're not running." He said, grabbing his wounded arm, and almost looking ready to cry as he bit his lip.

"What do mean we're not running?" I ask, now on the verge of panicking. Though I knew that would be the case, I was hoping that perhaps they'd just make me run again but without a head start or make an example or something.

"It looks like you hurt their packmate pretty good, they're real pissed." He wheezed, his pale skin growing white like that of a ghost.

"Stiles, what do you mean we're not running?" I repeated, hoping he would stop avoiding the question. He slowly made eye contact, pausing and fighting against his own body just to speak. With tears in his eyes he just says;

"Because they gave the bite, and on the full moon I'll turn and kill you."