“See that hunky, tattooed, lumberjack guy over there?” He described almost every male in the bar to me with a tilt of his head. “I’m taking him home tonight. I bet he likes bottom.”
“Gods, Jack, don’t even try! He’s been hitting on that tiny she-wolf all night.” I had no idea who he was talking about, but call it a hunch.
“Biiiiitch,” he slurred, “that she-wolf has nothing on my big, horse d-” I slapped my hand over his mouth. I did not want any more images swimming around my head and ruining the tipsy state that I’d spent so much money on tonight. I needed like six more shots before I might be able to forget what he was about to say.
Jack and I weaved our way back to the bar, abandoning our table so we could really get the night going. I downed a couple more shots while searching for the bartender again. When he popped back in from his smoke break I requested tequila in a clean glass, with ice that was - hopefully - from a clean ice machine. Okay, let’s get real. It was all dirty. I knew it was. I’d just have to suck it up and take some antibiotics when I got home.
Problem solved.
Just kidding.
Kinda.
“You have fun with that. I’m going to go play darts with those guys over there. They look pretty good, but I wonder if they like to gamble.” I smirked at him as I eased away from the bar with my drink.
They saw me coming from across the room. With eyes locked on me, they stalked me like the predators they were, not sensing me as the bigger predator. Yet. That’s cute. They didn’t know they were my prey.
I threw a few hundred dollar bills on the table where they had their drinks and began flirting in my most sultry voice. “You boys up for a little fun? I’ve got a bill for each male that can beat me.” Take the bait boys, take the bait.
I made eye contact with each one, smirk still held firmly in place, and waited for them to make a decision. They all bobbed their heads and the leader of their little pack stepped up. “Do you know how to play, or are we just gonna be taking your daddy’s money? Not that I mind. This bar is no place for a prissy little rich cunt or that faggot you came in with.” Ha. Ha. Jack would eat them alive.
I smiled brightly and let my canines elongate. They’d underestimate me if they thought I was just a shifter female. Without missing a beat, the condescending reply slipped beyond my full lips in a velvety voice, “Oh, Daddy, show me how to lose, and then maybe you can teach me to submit.” I pouted a little for that extra effect. They didn’t notice my attitude at all.
I wanted to pat myself on the back for hustling them so effortlessly. I lost the first game on purpose, then dominated the next five before they seemed to figure out I was hustling them. When they couldn’t pay me anymore, I decided to make them strip in the middle of the bar. “Strip boys. You owe this rich cunt money so I’ll be taking your shit. Have fun covering your tab.” I gave them a sweet finger wave and strutted to the bar to pay my own tab with the money I had just won off them. Fuuuuck them. I would have paid their tabs too. If they hadn’t called Jack a faggot.
All in all... it was a good night. I did a fuck load of flirting with those burly shifters during the games we played. I left the bar and went home alone, which wasn’t anything unusual for me. Jack went home with that male I was sure wasn’t into other males, even though I had no idea which one he was talking about. That was his favorite drinking game, though. So again, not that crazy for a night out with Jack.
When I roused the next morning, it was 10 a.m. and my alarm clock was screaming at me. I had a headache from hell and someone was banging on my bedroom door. Lovely. Just fucking lovely. Whoever it was could wait. I needed to get dressed. I was in a foul mood and missing coffee. I had not rested well after coming home a few hours ago.
I didn’t need a ton of sleep, or really any at all, but resting my body was normally a good refresher. It wasn’t this morning. I had the same nightmare of a memory that I got whenever I drank too much. It wasn’t some made up shit in my head like a regular nightmare, either. It was the past, and it liked to come back to bite me in the ass when I least expected it. I just wished I could remember everything instead of that one scene. There were some things missing, but after years of the same dreamlike situation nothing new ever appeared.
Cold, damp stone floor touches my cheek as my eyes crack open. My head is killing me and I know there’s a large gash behind my right ear. I feel the wound throbbing and my blood still leaking into my hair. Why hasn’t it healed yet? It should’ve healed by now. Is it new?
I slowly sit up to look around, trying to get my bearings to see where I am or if anyone is nearby, but all I see are stone walls dripping with water. A mossy looking substance covers parts of the walls where the water drips down. Algae?
It smells like dirty water, not the ocean. That sort of helps me narrow down the location. Not by much, though.
I close my eyes and try to focus more on my heightened sense of smell.
I can smell that people have been down here every couple of hours, wherever here is. The scents meld together, but I can pick out four different people. Maybe five. One is familiar, but I can’t place it. It’s too faint.
I know I’m under the ground near water or under the water, but I can’t catch much of anything else. No trees, no grass, no dirt. No exhaust from the city factories or cars.
Well, there is one more thing I become aware of as I sniff the rancid, moldy air around me.
Death. New and close by.
I pop my eyes back open and scan the cell I’m in. No one else is here with me. Then I walk to the bars and scan the cell across from me.
There. In the back left corner of the cell across from me is a body. His arms and legs lay in odd angles while his back rests in a pool of blood on the stone floor. His face is looking in my direction, but he’s looking past me. Long, dark gray hair is matted together with the blood around his body. It’s still draining down his face from his nose and eyes. His ice blue irises are cloudy and lifeless. He died terrified, but for himself or for someone else? I don’t know.
I argue with myself, but ultimately decide I need to take a closer look.
As I fade through the bars in front of me I hear a door open to my right. Heavy boots pound on the stairs, taking them two at a time.
I twist and back myself through the dead guy’s cell bars while keeping my eyes focused in the direction of the incoming male. I don’t fade back into sight. I stay hidden from the threat.
The male with the loud footsteps comes into view, peeking into my cell. He’s the familiar smell I noticed a moment ago, but who is he?
“I know you’re in here somewhere, Sweetheart. Come out, come out, wherever you are.....”
He calls quietly to me. Why is he looking for me?
I silently pad over to the dead male and look him over. I find nothing. Nothing except his eyes. They look familiar, too. Have I seen this man before? Or maybe I’ll meet him soon. How did he get here and how did he die?
“Damn it, Sloane,” the man with the familiar scent whispers frantically. “Where did you go? I need to get you out of here while they still trust me. We talked about this last night. It’s time to go.”
Yeah, maybe we did, but that last blow to my head won’t let me remember anything before waking up. I don’t know who this man is or what he wants with me. My heart aches a little when I decide it’s time for me to leave. They may have caught me, but they’ll never keep me in that cell. It’s time to run. I’ll come back to fight another day.