Rolling onto my good shoulder I peek up at the clock. Four in the morning. Despite the permanent darkness of the underground and the very little amount of sleep I got, I'm in surprisingly bright spirits. I feel light. Almost pleased with myself.
After sneaking in a quick shower — thankfully there are no cameras in the women's shower rooms — I manage to wash, dry, iron, and change into my uniform with twenty minutes to spare until breakfast.
I'm the first to arrive in the dining hall, which seems to be more suited to a viking's home than a modern one. A long wooden table stretches out across the room's entire length, with chairs placed down either aisle, and a single, large chair that resembles a throne at the very top. It doesn't take a genius to work out who that's for.
"Isabella."
Speak of the devil. I whip around in the chair I picked at random and put on my best fake smile.
"Good morning," I chirp. If I can get away without using the word Master then I will.
"You are early," Edward drawls as he makes his way to the throne-like chair. "In the future, don't be. It means you've wasted time better spent working."
He gestures to the seat closest to his. "Come. Sit."
Like a well-trained dog I stand to obey the commands and take a seat at his right side.
"And you have not fixed your uniform yet. It sits on you like an unappealing sack."
I glance down at myself. The uniform is fine really, unless I want to show off my shape.
"No, Master." Okay, maybe a few small instances of the word won't hurt. "I haven't had the time to find someone to help."
He grunts his disapproval. "If you won't learn how to stitch, leave it on your bed after breakfast. I'll have someone come fix it for you."
"Thank you. I'd appreciate that."
Just as he's about to say something, the large doors creaks open at the end of the hall to interrupt him. Six o'clock exactly.
I resist the urge to sigh in relief when I see a large group of people saunter in to fill the vacant room. Most give a slight bow to Edward before taking a seat as far away from him as possible. They have the right idea.
Considering none of the others even come close to Edward's chair at the end of the table I give him my best attempt at a sitting bow and move to stand as well. Clearly the help doesn't associate with faux royalty.
"Where do you think you're going?" he asks, with one perfectly sculptured eyebrow raised.
I vaguely gesture towards the others. "I didn't think the servants were allowed to sit so close to you."
He smiles that nasty, predatory smile of his. "No, not normally. I will, however, make an exception for you. Please, sit."
Somewhat clumsily, I retake my seat at his side and cast a helpless look at the workers. I spot Alice at the far end who's bringing forward dishes of food. She shrugs her shoulders helplessly when our eyes meet.
"How did you find your accommodations last night?"
"Wonderful," I say, trying to keep eye contact. It's much harder than it seems. His eyes are so penetrating and intense that for a wild second I wonder if he's a mind-reader. "You're very generous for what you've provided me."
"Yes, I am." He motions for Alice to serve me food first and she does so without hesitation. "You must be famished considering you decided to skip dinner last night."
Forced to skip it, you mean.
"A little." I nod a thank you to Alice when she finishes but wait until she's served Edward before I do anything.
"Then please," he says. "Do eat."
"Haggis," Alice says gently, noting the confusion on my face as I look down at the food.
I delicately lift my fork to pick up a lump of whatever this Haggis is — lentils, maybe? — but don't bring it to my mouth. Edward's watching me like a hawk, curious as to what I'll do.
It wouldn't be poisoned, would it?
"Thank you, Alice. What is haggis though?"
She loads up Edward's plate as she states, "It's a pudding made of sheep's heart and lungs. A delicacy, I believe, in its country of origin."
Manners be damned, I drop the fork in revulsion before my brain can stop me.
Alice looks mortified and tries to subtly shake her head and me, her eyes darting frantically back and forth between me and the disgusting lump of heart and lung pudding.
Just eat it, she mouths slowly.
"You are not fond of sheep?" Edward asks coolly. With calculated precision he picks at his own food and takes a large bite, never taking his eyes off me.
"Oh, no, I love sheep. I just don't want to eat them," I whisper, unsure about how to proceed. If I eat and get sick — which is the most likely result — they might want to have me see a doctor.
There are a few pieces of fruit and a bread roll that accompanied the haggis, so I begin to pick at those instead. "I'm so sorry for the trouble, Alice."
"It's no trouble," she says, clearing the balloon-shaped food off my plate.
After a minute or so of slowly eating the fruit and bread, the noise in the hall begins to pick up as everyone else begins to get their own food. The entertainment of watching the maid in her unflattering uniform fumble her way through this new world is over.
"Is there a particular reason you do not eat sheep?" Edward inquires after a brief moment of silence. "Do not tell me it's merely because you're fond of them. Utilising other species, whether it's their fur, tusks, or meat, has been the backbone of human evolution, and to use them in such a cultured and refined way as this really does set us apart from beasts."
"Of course."
He watches me unblinking. "Then why would you not eat what is on your plate?"
If I say it's purely because of physical reasons he'll might want to check me out. If I say it's for ethical reasons he might rightly assume I'm a sympathiser.
"I find animals to be… innocent," I say, stumbling over the right words to use. "Vulnerable. I grew up with all sorts, even sheep, so I've formed a few close bonds with them."
"I see. Is that how you feel about the ferals I've assigned to your care?"
"Master?" I ask in confusion.
"Do you find those animals to be innocent? Vulnerable? You seemed shocked when I presented them to you. Do you feel sympathy for those creatures as well?"
"No!" I backtrack. "No, absolutely not. If I feel any sympathy it's simply because I don't see them as anything other than wild animals — no different to a pig, or goat that's been locked away."
"Then you would work with them the way one would work with farm animals?"
"Yes," I sigh in relief. "Just like farm animals."
"I envy your naivety, Isabella. How simple your mind must be if you think you can treat those creatures in the same manner a farmer treats the lowly cattle."
Edward stands and in less than a second the hall has quietened. Everyone drops their cutlery and seems to wait with baited breath for his command.
"Bastion and Margo," he says, curling his fingers in a come hither gesture before sitting back down.
Instantly, two burly blondes with buzz cuts, a man and a woman, stand to rush over and join us at the far end of the table. Although there's a little difference in their height and muscle mass, they look so similar that it's clear they must be twins.
They raise their arms to their chest in a military greeting and call, "Sir!". As Edward doesn't reprimand them I can only assume they're allowed to drop the 'master' title.
"Isabella, these are the feral trainers, Bastion and Margo Smithson. Trainers, this is Isabella Swan, the new domestic assistant assigned to clean and feed the ferals after we lost the other two."
The two give a curt nod in my direction.
Unsure whether or not to nod back I settle for a quiet, "Hello".
"Bastion," Edward starts. "Tell Isabella about what it is you and Margo do here."
The man turns to me, his face a mask of complete neutrality with his mouth set in a grim line.
"Ma'am. We oversee the combat training for the Homo fera males three times a week. Sergeant Smithson trains the potential recruits in weaponry and armed combat, while I train the recruits for hand-to-hand combat. Once a month we also train them in their alternative form."
"Would you say these recruits would make fine soldiers if they lived long enough to become one, Sergeant?" Edward asks.
"Yes sir."
"Would you say they make better soldiers than a farm animal?"
"Yes sir."
Edward leans back in his throne-like chair, one hand massaging a spot under his chin as if in deep contemplation. He tilts his head to me and with a flick of his wrist says, "You will accompany Bastion and Margo to their training session this afternoon. I had thought you might have a soft heart when it came to the ferals, thinking they are as human as you or I, but I see now I must disillusion you of entirely other notions. We will see how vulnerable these farm animals seem after today."
I swallow hard and nod.
The two beefed up soldiers remain in a stiff position, arms straight at their side for the remainder of breakfast. I try not to continue glancing at them as I poke my food miserably around my plate but their still bodies are so unnerving it's hard to keep my eyes off them.
The minutes drag on and from the lack of plates and cutlery noises I'm guessing everyone's finished eating. However, no-one makes a move to stand.
Edward slowly continues to take small bites of his remaining meal, dragging out the feast for as long as possible it seems. After every bite he delicately wipes his mouth, glances at the workers — who in turn are trying their hardest not to stare — and takes another bite. When he finally finishes, fifteen minutes after everyone else, he stands and waves his hand out dismissively.
"Back to work," he says without a care.
Everyone instantly scrambles to their feet at the same time and rushes as fast as they can without actually running towards the exit. The beefy twins right behind them, marching out in stride. The large dining hall is empty within seconds, leaving a mess of dirty plates and a few spilled drinks in their wake.
Cue stage left.
I nod briefly to Edward and stand a little more gracefully than the others.
"Where are you going?" he asks and wipes his mouth again.
"I would like to get started on my work as soon as possible, Master. I don't want to burden you with the cost of my living here without contributing."
"I like you, Isabella," he says suddenly as he stands.
My heart picks up fast at his words. It picks up even faster when he pushes his chair back and moves around to stand far too close at my side.
"You have a work ethic I don't see often with new recruits. You wish to please me, don't you." His words are definitely not a question but I nod submissively anyway.
"Yes, and I see you want to succeed at your job. There's not much that happens under my roof that I do not know about," he says as he wipes something from the corner of my mouth.
From the quick glance I take down at his thumb I can see there's no smudge or food on it.
Creep.
"You were enquiring about my whereabouts yesterday," he says softly. "Why?"
I swallow harshly with the very little saliva left in my dry mouth. "I was wondering if I could call my dad and tell him I'm okay. I haven't been away from home before and I know he'll be worrying non-stop until he hears from me."
Edward gives a brief smile that for once looks kind and not predatory, smoothing out the bitter lines in his face and returning warmth into his handsome face. "A daddy's girl? Very well, a single call will be acceptable this once, just to let him know you are well taken care of. You may use my private landline. Follow me."
With that he practically glides out of the room, with me right on his heels. As we exit, we pass the two soldiers who are standing guard outside the hall. They raise their arms in a military gesture again when Edward passes, who quietly chuckles at their actions.
Without a word Edward begins a path back up to his study on the second floor. He occasionally glances back to make sure I'm following and I'm sure to keep my eyes firmly on the ground at my feet. When we make it to his workroom I curb the impulse to avoid him with a wide sidestep as I enter.
My signed confidentiality agreement is still laying on the study desk, its obscenely large bulk making it the centerpiece in the otherwise cozy room. Ignoring it, I clasp my hands together in front of me and bow my head, waiting for his instructions.
Edward takes a seat at his desk and gestures to the very old looking telephone sitting on its corner.
"You may use this to call out. It will be monitored both by me and by a recording device through transit. Be quick, its expenses are deducted from your pay."
I step quickly over to the old, glossy black phone and pick up its handset with one hand. It's heavier than I expected, and much, much older. I glance down at the little box and notice the numbers are arranged in a circular pattern with holes on top rather than buttons to press.
Unwilling to embarrass myself by telling Edward I don't know how to use his phone I press my finger into the hole for the number nine: the first digit of Charlie's number. There's nothing to press though as it's not a button. Gently I take my finger out and peek up at Edward who's watching me with amusement.
He reaches forward and grabs my index finger, placing it back into the hole in a way that feels vaguely dirty and obscene.
"You move it around," he breathes as he drags my finger around the phone dials until it clicks. "Then release."
The second he releases my finger I hurry to punch in the other numbers, not giving a moment of hesitation for Edward to touch me again. Thankfully it seems I know what I'm doing because after I release the last digit I can hear the tone of a call going out.
It won't be seven yet, I think nervously as the seconds tick by. Charlie should be home.
I fiddle with the phone's cord while I wait.
Pick up. Pick up.
"Hello?" a groggy voice speaks into my ear.
"Dad!" I cry. Oh, it's so good to hear his voice. It hasn't been a day and I already miss it like crazy. "Dad, it's me."
"Bella?" His voice is much more alert and I can hear the struggle he makes to get up and out of bed. "That you? I was up nearly all night waiting to hear from you. Worried sick I was."
"Dad—" I rush to get out before he can begin talking. "Before you start, do not ask me anything about whether there's cute boys here I have a crush on. They monitor my calls and I don't want rumours to spread." I try to laugh it off but from the intake of Charlie's breath the impact and meaning of my words has hit.
"Sure. Are you… okay? Do I need to come get you?"
I can feel Edward's gaze on me and I put on my best, fake smile just for him. "No, Dad. Actually I'm great. It's amazing here, so much more than what I was expecting. I'm living in a castle. Can you believe it?"
"A castle?" Charlie asks with a hint of confusion.
I know he's trying to read between the lines of my words in case I'm trying to send him a secret S-O-S message but I won't do that. I'll happily let Charlie live the rest of his life thinking I'm safe, well taken care of, and happy.
"Yeah! Well, it's big enough to be one. I've already met some really nice people."
"But are you happy? Why would they… need to monitor your calls?"
I blink back tears as the familiar lie falls out of my mouth. "I'm very happy, Dad. I think they monitor calls for security reasons because, like I said, this place is so big and amazing. The owner must have a lot of jealous people wanting to ruin him and his business."
Charlie laughs in relief and I squeeze my eyes tight at the sound. "I'm so happy to hear that, Bella. God, you have no idea. No idea."
I try to laugh in reply but it comes out much too forced. "I do have some bad news, though."
"What?" he says, sobering up instantly. I glance over at Edward who cocks his eyebrow at me.
"I don't think I can call you as often as I promised. I have to ask permission to use the phones and I don't think they're to be used for personal calls."
There's silence for a few tense seconds before Charlie lets out a quiet, disappointed, "Oh."
"But I'll still see you for the holidays," I quickly add, desperate to remove that disappointment from his tone. "Those are always happening."
"Yeah," he replies. "Yeah, you're right, kiddo. I can't wait to see you."
"Are you eating regularly? Did you make yourself dinner last night? I'm worried you might stop eating now that I'm not there to feed you."
"Aren't we the pair," Charlie chuckles down the line. "Worrying about the other. I'll be fine, Bella. I'm an adult man, I can't rely on my own daughter to feed me. I want to talk about you. If you're living in a castle your boss must be famous. Who is he; was Edward Cullen an alias? Can I even ask?"
"I was exaggerating just a little bit. I don't think it's really a castle, it's more like a very big mansion, and no I don't think so. Sorry."
"Well, it would make a good movie," he says and I can hear the smile in his voice. He must be so relieved; I wish I could say the same. "How long are you able to talk? I don't have to be in to the station for a while."
I want to say hours but I already feel I've passed Edward's patience levels. "I think I may have to go now, actually. It takes a lot of work to clean this place."
"Work? I thought there's a week long adjustment period to let you settle in."
"Dad," I force a laugh. "You're so old, that idea was scrapped ages ago. I don't mind though, I enjoy the work. It keeps my mind sharp and my hands busy."
"I'm proud of you."
My bottom lip starts to tremble and I reach up to my necklace and grab it tight. It's definitely time to close that chapter of my life, at least for now. "I have to go, Dad. I'll try to contact you if I can but please don't lose any sleep if I don't. This place is great."
"Okay," he says softly. "I love you."
"I love you, too. Bye."
I place the handset back down to its original position and run a finger under my eye.
"Wasn't that sweet," Edward all but coos from his desk. "A touching moment between father and daughter."
There's something in his voice that I can't place but I don't take any chances with his temper. I return to my submissive pose, with arms entwined at the front of my short apron and head bowed.
"Thank you for letting me use your phone."
"No, no." Edward stands and moves in front of me to unclasp my hands. "Don't do that. Talk to me as if I was your father."
What?
My mouth bobs open and closed in surprise. Surely this grown man doesn't expect me to begin calling him 'Daddy'. But his face is stony in seriousness and as my silence drags on any trace of mirth is replaced by an ugly darkness.
His hands come up to rest lightly against my cheeks, and with a feather touch he strokes one of them with the back of his hand. "Such beauty. How is it you are so willing to please and yet so disobedient at the same time?"
Like lightning his other hand shoots out and his bare knuckles connect brutally with the side of my face in a backhanded slap. Pain instantly radiates and my body falls to the ground in the direction of his heavy swing. My own hand flies up to cup my burning cheek in disbelief.
His pointy-toed leather shoes come into my sight from my huddled position on the ground and he kneels down to look me over carefully. I try to let my head fall forward, allowing my long hair to shield me from his gaze.
My cheek is throbbing and the shock of it thankfully keeps my eyes dry.
"That was for the food," he whispers. There's not a hint of remorse in his voice for his actions, but there is a deep, quiet anger. "I'm not a cartoon villain, Bella. I don't do bad things for no reason and what did I say? I said I liked order. That you were to respect my decisions. If I tell you that you cannot eat, then you do not eat. Do. You. Understand? And you most especially do not, ever, steal from me. You're lucky I'm letting you off so lightly."
I don't reply, which only seems to anger him further. A small whimper involuntarily leaves my throat.
"I do enjoy breaking my toys, Isabella. So please, continue with your petty acts of resistance instead of standing up like a grown woman."
When I continue to remain silent on the floor he leans forward, and through the strands of my hair I see his arm reach out as if to grab my head again. I quickly flinch away from the invading limb and he pulls back just as fast.
"If you can't be sensible then get out," he whispers, staring down at me. I slowly get to my knees to stand. "Get out! Get OUT!"
I'm on my feet and racing out the door as fast as humanly possible, my hair whipping up in a frenzy behind me.
There are no casual nods or glances as I sprint passed everyone on my way to the elevator.
"Hey, new girl, are you okay?" someone calls out.
"Fine," I snap, harder than I intended as I slam my palm repeatedly on the elevator call button. "Come on. Come on."
I just want to be with the others like me right now. The animals I understand, whose actions make sense, instead of these animals who strike with their fists.
The bitter chill of the underground level helps ease the stinging in my cheek and I release my relief in a smoky, shaking breath. It's gotten colder since I left the warmth of my bed this morning.
When my racing heart begins to beat at a reasonable pace again I head to my rooms and strip off my uniform to be collected and altered as per master's request. I change into some loose pants and a basic tee that I brought with me from home. It still has the smell of my old room lingering on its fabric and I inhale it just for a second. If I close my eyes, I can almost pretend I'm there, sitting on my bed, a cold chill coming from an open window. The tightness around my cheek and eye socket shatters that illusion though and with a tentative touch I can tell it's already begun swelling.
"It's your own fault, stupid girl," I mumble to myself. "Cameras everywhere and you just had to waltz around taking things like a brazen thief. Just follow the damn rules."
And now there'll be no fresh food for the men. I'm such a moron.
I head to the storage rooms that are supposed to hold their food, and sure enough a large, black plastic bag is lying crumpled up underneath a metal looking chute in the ceiling.
Breakfast, the writing on a white sticker reads along with yesterday's date. Physically the bag is very light and even without any upper body strength I easily carry it with one hand towards the men.
"Good morning," I say softly as I enter their steel prison.
Nothing has changed since the last time I was here. The light is still flickering like a bad horror movie and they're all either sitting or curled up in the same spot as when I left them. That is except for possibly Jacob who I can't see in the shadows, as hard as I try, and Paul, who's doing some very impressive one-armed push ups.
"Don't you want to conserve your energy, Paul?" I ask, hoping I remembered the name right. There's so many men in here it's hard to keep track, but before I went to sleep last night I spent a while memorising the layouts and the names of the men and their positions around the room.
I simply will not call them by their cage numbers.
"It's Monday, ain't it?" he asks, barely panting.
"Yeah."
"Then we have training today. I feel in the mood for a good fight and don't want to blow it on cold muscles."
I get caught up in his movements and watch the sweat beads dripping off his arms onto the floor. It's a wonder they even have muscles with the lack of room to move and little food they must get. Maybe mental strength factors into it because—
"What's in the bag?" Jacob's sharp voice breaks my trance and I shake my head to clear my thoughts.
"The bag. Right." I bring the plastic bag into the middle of the room. "It's labelled breakfast so I think it's your meals."
Groans echo out from the majority as well as some fake gagging noises.
"I change my mind," Evan says. "I'll eat the gross meat, Jacob."
"You'll eat whatever you have to to survive," Jacob says firmly, leaving no room for argument. "Bring me the bag, Bella."
My name on his lips sets off a spark of butterflies in my stomach.
He's using my name, hopefully I've been promoted from the little human girl.
My feet automatically take me in his direction and I press the bag forward through his cage bars and into his waiting hands. He takes it and a second later I hear it land and roll somewhere in the back of his area.
"What the fuck," he says, as his now free hands come up to my cheek. I flinch away at the small contact but he takes hold of my arm to keep me in place. "Who did this?"
I shrug a little and turn my head away to hide what must be my already bruising face.
"Your mast— your boss, do this?" he asks softly. He uses his left hand tilt my face towards his.
I try to shrug again but it's a lot weaker. "He found out I stole food yesterday but don't worry, he thinks it was just for me. It just means I can't get you any more apples or fresh meat from the kitchens. I'm really sorry."
"We don't give a damn about fresh food, little girl," he snarls and whips me around to present me to the others. With a careful hand he turns my cheek and pushes my hair off my face. "Look. This is what humans are. This is what they do. Even to the weakest, gentler runt of their pack they will attack when the mood strikes them. Anyone who still feels they can reason with the humans should take a good look because they are not like us."
"Hey, not all humans are bad!" I exclaim and push away from him. I'm not going to get started on the 'weak runt' comment. "Technically I stole from my employer, so I'm not too surprised this happened."
"You claim not all humans are bad but you believe physical punishment is an appropriate consequence for eating?"
"For stealing."
"You would attack another for stealing from you?"
"No, I wouldn't, but I'm not a violent person. Doesn't mean I don't know others are."
He scoffs and grips his bars. "All humans are violent."
"My father's not." I cross my arms defiantly. "My mother's not."
"I'm sure they would become violent if someone threatened you."
"So would anyone!" I cry. "That's not fair. You would be the exact same if someone hurt one of your pack. A momma bear protecting her cub wouldn't hesitate to lash out, either. We're not so different from each other."
He's silent for a long moment but he doesn't move back into the shelter of the darkness. "We're different enough, in ways you will never understand, and you can be damned sure my kind doesn't prey on the weak the way yours does."
My lips purse in annoyance and his eyes instantly snap to them. An expression I can't decipher passes over his face for the briefest of moments before it's gone.
"I should get to work," I say. "It mustn't be very nice to sleep with this smell. I might be the weakest runt but I know how to clean."
"Don't worry too much about it," Embry says before Jacob can respond. "I sleep next to Paul and the old blood helps masks his stench."
Paul grumbles good naturedly and I force a smile at Embry, thankful for his attempts to lighten up the mood, but there's not much point. The mood in here shouldn't be lightened up — the reality is far too grim to gloss over with a smile.
"I'll clean your area last then."
I feel compelled to speak to Jacob and I tilt my head towards him so I don't have to meet his dark eyes. "I'm not sure how I'm going to be able to clean yours without any much light. If you could guide me while I'm in there I'd appreciate it."
"You're not coming in here."
"Oh?"
Well, I'm definitely not going to force myself into their space. Breach their boundaries and their trust? It's a sure-fire way to turn them against me within moments.
"Okay, I can respect that. Let me know if you change your mind because the others might not like the lingering smells when you're the only one left."
"The others will put up with the smell."
With that I go to my trusty supply of cleaning tools I stashed in the corner. I take the metal basin and sit in on the ground before lugging the awful hose from the locker back up onto my shoulder, ignoring the painful spasms it brings.
"Does anyone know how to turn this on without hurting themselves?"
They glance at each other until Sam speaks up. "I'll do it."
"No," I tell him gently. "You're too—" I curb my tongue before I can say weak. "—injured. You just work on getting better."
"I'm fine."
"Give it to me," Embry says.
I drag it over to him and despite the rigidness of the hose itself I manage to pass it through the bars. He reaches a hand out and takes it from my shoulder. Flipping it between his hands a couple times to get a feel for the weight he quickly aims it at my face.
"Bam!" he yells with a laugh.
I scream and throw my hands up in surprise, instinctively crouching down out of the way of the imaginary water jet.
"Embry!" Jacob snarls out in fury. "Stop fucking around and just do it."
Smile gone, Embry aims the hose out and away from the others. "Like this."
The hose roars to life and shoots out like a torrent over the bucket to hit the wall behind it. The bucket-basin quickly fills from the splash off bouncing back from the force of the stream. When it's enough I mummer a thank you and take the hose back from him.
"You know that hose probably has enough power to strip some of the blood right from the walls, don't you? Jacob's done it once before but it leaves too much water at our feet and beds."
"It probably has the power," I say as I shove the thing back into its locker and snap it shut. "But I don't want to get hurt again. I'm fine to scrub with my hands."
He falls silent and I start my cleaning routine: dip the washcloth, pour harsh smelling cleaning liquid onto a blood stain, scrub until it hurts, and repeat. I start on Evan's side of the room and unsurprisingly don't get very far until my arms begin to burn and tire.
At some point Jacob must've passed the plastic bag of food around because I can hear the grumbles and gags of men forced to swallow whatever's inside.
I scrub for what feels like hours on my hands and knees. My back aches and sweat beads along my forehead. My respect for labour workers has increased tenfold from this short session alone. Everytime I feel my hands chaff or muscles spasm, I simply think about the males watching me — I feel it so intently — and I scrub even harder.
"You should take a break," Evan says after I finish the inside of his cage. "If you push yourself too hard too fast you'll permanently injure yourself. That's what my mum used to tell me anyway."
"She shouldn't have," Seth laughs. "Otherwise you might not have such squeezable cheeks."
"Squeezable che— I'm not fat."
"I didn't say you were."
"You said I—"
"Both of you stop," Jacob commands forcefully. "It feels like I am babysitting pups with the way you two are acting. And Bella, Evan is right. Take a breather or I'll just end up fixing your shoulder again."
The thought is tempting. "I will when I finish this one off. I promise."
I round the front of the cage and begin the process all over. Rinse, pour, scrub. The blood begins to fade under my hard work and the metal starts to take on a bright shine. There are other dried liquids and clumps of matter attached to some parts of the cage, but I whisk them away with barely a grimace, not wanting to dwell on any of the possibilities of what they might be.
I'm almost finished with my first section, with just a few bars left to clean when the main door opens. A wolf whistle sounds out behind me.
"Mm-mm girl. Rub that pole a little faster, would ya?"
The deep laughter from the armed guards entering the room has me flushing in embarrassment, and I drop my cloth. I try to get to my feet but I've been scrubbing in the same position for so long my knees buckle slightly under the movement.
"On your knees for too long, honey?" one of them laughs and the others cackle along with him. "She can't hardly stand."
The Feras are quiet as the guards approach. We'll all too aware that any of them can press the little button on their doors and have them electrocuted on a moment's notice.
"What are you doing here?" I ask as a guard passes me by.
He holds out a hand that's clenched around half a dozen dog-collars. They have name tags and spikes on them as though they really were meant for pets.
"Training time." He throws a few of the collars into the older, stronger males' area and a couple into the left cage. "C'mon, be good boys and put these on."
I clench my fists in anger as I watch each of them fix the collars around their own necks. Even Jacob's stepped as close to the light as possible to show he too has obeyed their rules. Seeing the alpha collared is more than I can stomach.
The guards release the cage doors and usher the men out.
"Get into a single line. Hurry up, hurry up," he says impatiently. He turns to point at me. "You girl. You're to come with us, too. Cullen's orders."
I already knew this was happening so it's no surprise to me but it does make Jacob's eyebrows raise in question. I shrug in reply.
The guards prod the men out and back towards the elevator, and none of the collared men make a sound. Most of them are taller than the guards — Jacob especially so — and some are more bulky, and yet they let themselves be handled like beasts. Collared and rounded up.
Have they ever tried to knock out the guards and make a break for it? I wonder as we reach the lift. I can only assume not considering they're still alive. Those collars are probably wired with the same technology as their rooms, one wrong move and they're zapped. Incapacitated or dead.
When we reach the elevator the guards split the men up into two groups. One ferocious looking guard yanks Sam into line and when he stumbles the guard slams the butt of his gun into Sam's head.
"Hey!" I yell out and press forward to put myself between Sam and the guard.
"What do you think you're doing?" the guard spits at me, raising his gun again as if to strike me.
"Me? What do you think you're doing?" I retort. I don't know where this sudden courage has come from but I plan on taking every advantage before it disappears. "He's already injured and the Master wants me here to see what they're capable of. I can't do that if you knock him unconscious."
"Oh, yeah? Just what are you going to do about it? Run off tattlin' to your master?"
"Yes, I will," I hiss low. "And I will let him know exactly who it was that did it."
The guard goes pale with fear and tries to shake it off with a snarl. "Whatever, bitch."
He directs Sam's group into the elevator first, with Jacob and a few others staying behind, and although I don't want to be around him I step into the cramped space with them make sure he doesn't "accidentally" break Sam's skull.
I see Jacob's head tilt in a nod before the elevator doors shut on his face.
We begin to descend.
Another level down? I prepare myself for a cold rivaling the Arctic but when the doors slide open it's surprisingly warm. Hot, even. Heat is radiating from the lights above that appear to mimic the Sun's warmth.
Since I don't know this level's layout at all I stick close by Sam's side.
"You okay?" I whisper to him.
He nods faintly and motions for me to be quiet, using his eyes to gesture to the mean guard.
We walk in silence, but not for very long. Two minutes later the guard swipes his card through another door and hustles us through. I instantly know we've reached our destination the moment we step into the room because racks and racks of weapons line the walls, numerous obstacle equipment is strategically placed here and there, and what looks like a professional boxing ring is centred in the very middle.
All in all it's very much the stereotypical training room that I'd expect to see for future soldiers in training.
The blonde soldier twins, Bastion and Margo, are already in workout gear, practicing their hits on each other in the middle of the room.
They're good. They're really good, I note, watching as they take jabs at each other. As if in a dance they flow around the other, striking out and spinning back. Bastion fakes a left and fluidly kicks up high, stopping an inch away from the woman's neck.
"If I had my spiked boots on you'd be dead. Stick to your guns, Margo," he laughs and pushes her back.
"Ferals are here!" the guard next to me yells. Bastion and Margo turn in unison.
"Hey!" Margo calls out when she spots us. She leaps up over the meter high rope barrier of the ring and jogs up to me. I barely contain a yelp as she pulls me into a stiff, military embrace that I suppose is meant to be a hug. "Hey new girl, you ready to watch some animals get a whoopin'?"
"Uh…" I reply as she lets me go. "I guess so."
"Don't sound too enthusiastic." She turns to the collared men. "C'mon lads, you know the drill. Pair up. Number two, you can start your one-on-one with Bast. God knows you need it."
Two. That's his cage number.
Nicholas, one of the quieter shifters who I haven't spoken with yet, breaks away from the group and slowly approaches the center ring.
Like a well-oiled machine the other men separate into pairs and scatter around the training room to begin delivering soft kicks and punches, not at all concerned about what's going on in the middle of the room.
"How do you like the hellhole so far?" Margo asks as we watch Nicholas try to land a hit on Bastion. He's failing miserably and receives several hard punches for his efforts that make me wince. Bastion mutters something about his stance, giving him a moment to correct it.
"Hellhole? This place? I like it," I lie.
"Sure you do," she says with a smile. "As long as you lick that loser Cullen's arse you'll be fine."
I gasp and whisper low, "Don't say that. He probably has microphones in here."
"I don't think so, we play pretty rough ball in here sometimes. Even if he does so what? He knows he's a loser. That's why he tries so hard to get everyone to call him 'the Master'". She makes little bunny ears. "It's pathetic. We play by his rules so we don't end up with our throats slit. Bet he gave you that nice shiner on your eye, too."
Her intense scrutiny has me nodding for a moment. "But you call him sir."
"Old habit from my military days. Cullen likes his women weak," she gestures to me, "so he's not going to do anything to make me call him master, but I like my head where it is so I still take orders."
"How'd you go from being in the military to working here?"
"Cullen put a request in for personnel who've worked closely with the Feras. My brother and I were squad leaders for four of them, so we were recommended." She pauses before gesturing angrily at Nicholas. "Your opponent isn't a small child, you idiot! Get up!"
I turn from her and watch as Nicholas attempts to crouch and kick his leg out, as if to throw Bastion off balance. Bastion merely sidesteps the pitiful kick and brings his knee directly into his opponent's face and with a heavy crunch Nicolas goes down. Blood splatters on the ring floor from his bleeding nose and mouth.
"Oh, God." I cover my mouth.
"Bah!" Margo spits. "He's too soft. A year we've been working them and he's still as useless as ever. Spineless worm."
"He's not a worm," I reprimand, having to stop myself from rushing to his side to help.
"No, it's true. He's a worm. He actually turns into some type of worm — that's his form. It's disgusting. We stopped bothering with him during the monthly alt-form training sessions, because I mean really, what are we supposed to do with a tiny worm? Train it to attack? We kept almost stepping on him. Now where is..." she looks around for a moment. "Where is number nine?"
As if called by her question Jacob saunters into the room with the others who were separated at the elevator, followed by angry looking guards.
"There you are. You're late," Margo exclaims with what I would describe as a flirty grin. Jacob curls his lip in distaste at her — or perhaps me — and moves towards the ring where Nicholas is trying to get up off his knees.
"Big bastard was causing us some trouble, but they're here now," a guard pipes up behind Jacob's massive frame.
"I bet his was. Don't worry, we'll take good care of him from here."
Jacob jumps into the sparring ring and gently lifts Nicolas up and out, propping him up safely against the outer ring. He runs the back of his hand over Nicholas' bleeding mouth.
I'm about to run over to help when Margo stops me with an arm.
"Don't bother. He's fine," she whispers before yelling out, "It's not your turn Number Nine — the Worm needs more practice at hand-to-hand."
"He's done here."
Margo smirks and inclines her head mockingly. "All right then. Let's see what you have."
"Ever see a real fight?" she whispers to me.
"No." I don't particularly want to either.
Jacob gets into position opposite Bastion. He rolls his shoulders forward and back, and I can hear the cracks that echo out. He cracks his knuckles and bares his teeth at Bastion as he stretches his jaw. The blonde soldier looks like a boy in comparison to the mammoth in front of him.
Maybe Jacob actually is a mammoth.
"Then you're in for a treat," Margo whispers back. "My brother likes to show off to the ladies."
Bastion starts to circle Jacob's still form, hopping in and quickly back out of what might be an area of attack. Jacob does nothing but watch his opponent with a careful eye, who's dancing around him. Bastion fakes a jab and Jacob doesn't even blink.
He's making Bastion look like an amateur without even trying.
"Come on, Nine," the blond taunts. "I'll let you have the first one for free."
Bastion fakes another left, then a right, and when it gets him nowhere he dodges behind Jacob to try a cowardly attack from the back. Within seconds Bastion is on the ground, Jacob poised over him with the man's wrist bent at a ninety-degree angle in one hand and his neck in the other.
"Dead," Jacob snarls and releases the wrist to get back into his starting position.
Bastion rolls over and up to his feet. His face is red and he spares a quick glance my way, scowling heavily when he sees me watching. He pretends to wipe some dirt of his top before whirling around with a sucker punch aimed at Jacob. Jacob sidesteps the punch and kicks his foot out, connecting briefly with Bastion's knee causing him to topple to the ground with a cry of both anger and frustration.
"Dead." Jacob goes back to neutral. He cracks his neck once more.
Bastion gets to one knee, growls out a harsh expletive, and attacks again in a flurry of leaping high kicks, side kicks, and upper punches, each one effortlessly avoided. At one point Jacob almost smiles in my direction as he's dodging a jab.
I don't realise my mouth is wide open in awe until Margo presses a finger under my jaw and pushes it back up to my mouth.
"Good, isn't he. Bastion must be off his game though because it's usually a more even match than this."
"Dead," Jacob calls out again.
Bastion's getting more furious and sloppy with his attacks; his embarrassment in failing to land a single hit spurring on his fury while Jacob's beginning to become more feral in his amusement. He's even stopped trying to sidestep the attacks that come to him, instead just countering them directly as they appear.
Once, twice, three times Bastion's on his back with either Jacob's foot or hand at his throat. "Dead."
Jacob hasn't broken a sweat but the soldier is panting heavily, flushed, and wet with his own perspiration.
"He's incredible," I breathe in awe.
"He really is. Look at that movement, those muscles," she says as she pretends to fan herself. "This is what the animal-men should be training for their whole lives, but of course everyone prioritises research or gambling over their military. It's not like we do anything important except keep them all safe and free."
I mumble out a noise of agreement, too distracted by the fight to pay much attention.
"We might even get a Hunter death this year. He's almost the perfect fighter and he's barely had any training. Who knows what he'd be like if we could've worked on him longer than a few months."
I don't take my eyes of Jacob but I tilt my head in Margo's direction. "A few months? The Hunt's coming up soon. He hasn't been training for a year? When was he caught?"
She looks down at me from her taller-than-average height and seems positively gleeful. "You don't know?"
"Know what?"
"He's only been here for three months. Number nine turned himself in."
"Seriously? Why?"
Bastion's on his knees again screaming his rage at his defeat for what must be the tenth time. I can't help but release a giggle full of nervous energy, shock, and bewilderment at what's happening. It's too far-fetched.
Jacob turned himself in? What's he playing at?
"You!" Bastion screams at me from his position under Jacob's feet. "You're laughing at me?! You?"
"No," I call out weakly.
"Now you've done it," Margo chuckles. "My brother can not take a defeat gracefully. He has to save his pride."
"You think you can do better than me?" he yells from the ring.
My hands come up in a universal sign of surrender and I try to take a step back. "Of course not, I wasn't laughing at you."
Jacob steps forward, as if to intervene in case Bastion decides to go crazy and start wreaking havoc.
Everyone's stopped what they're doing. The other shapeshifting males look nervously towards the guards and a few tug on their collars. Hopefully if things start getting messy they're not the ones caught in the crossfire.
"Yes you were. I heard you. I saw you. If you think it's so funny then get up here. See if you can do better than me."
Margo laughs hard at my side and pushes me forward, closer to the ring. I press back against Margo's hands in fright.
"I wasn't laughing at him."
"It doesn't matter. Go. This will be entertaining," she says. "I want to see this, and don't worry — Nine isn't allowed to draw any blood. Worst case is he'll make your face symmetrical again with another nice shiner for the other eye."
I glance around and catch Paul's eye but he's also nodding in encouragement. Probably happy to watch the human girl get knocked flat on her rear.
Bastion walks over, pulls me in between the sparring ring ropes and pushes me towards Jacob. "You think fighting's so funny. You think it's so easy. You do it."
"Bast, you're such a child!" Margo laughs. "I can't believe how petty you are. You weren't this bad at the academy."
Bastion scrambles out of the ring to stand by his sister's side. "It's bullshit, Marge. If I was able to kill him I would've won those fights. You know I would've. I'm sick of his shit every damn week."
"You are able to kill them, you sore loser. It's them who aren't allowed to hurt you."
I stand in the middle of the ring unsure about what I'm supposed to be doing.
"Up for this, pretty maid? Want a chance to beat up a feral?"
"You know I don't," I roll my eyes as the corner of Jacob's lips twitch up into a fleeting smile. "I don't know the first thing about fighting. Why am I doing this?"
"Because human males need time to cool off after they're beaten by animals. Will you need time to cool off when I beat you?"
"If you beat me," I correct with a smile.
His smile in return, a genuine, full smile, makes my heart skip a beat.