It was raining. They could all hear the steady, dripping sound of drops hitting the roof of the warehouse. They’d been there for hours. How many? They didn’t know. There’s something about slipping in and out of consciousness, that makes time really hard to track. Not all of them were awake.
On the left, right under the flickering light, were two chairs. The shackles on either side of the arms and legs of the chairs were laced with wolfsbane, keeping both Erica and Boyd from breaking out.
The latter of which is unconscious, the cut on is forehead and the bullet wound in his right thigh still bleeding, the wolfsbane no doubt slowing down the already weakened healing process.
Erica, on the other hand, was awake. Her left hand reaching as far as possible in a desperate attempt to touch Boyd, her right hand battered and broken. She too had cuts all over, the worst one being on her waist where a knife had pierced her skin, slicing through the fabric of her shirt.
She was crying, silent tears rolling down her cheek, face dark with fear and pain, eyes locked on the slow rise and sink of her boyfriend’s chest.
To the right, were Scott and Isaac, chained to the wall with short, heavy chains, wrists bloody and sore from struggling against the shackles. Their bare chests were littered with deep cuts and dark bruises. Both of them were awake. Scott had woken up, screaming in anguish as one of the men cut the first line across his chest.
He hadn’t passed out after that, even when the man cut increasingly deeper lines all over his body or when he beat his torso with various blunt objects.
It was clear though, that he wasn’t going to last much longer, exhaustion and defeat clear in his half lidded eyes, head lolling lazily from side to side, too tired too keep it upright.
Isaac had woken up when another one of the men had stuck a knife into his thigh and left it there. Blood was seeping out steadily from the wound and the young wolf was looking more and more tired the more time passed.
The men that had broken into the newly renovated Hale house, had taken them all by surprise. It had been rather quiet for a while, one might even have dared to say it had been peaceful.
But then, when the pack had gone to sleep after a training session and movie night, five men had broken in, in the middle of the night.
They were quick and efficient, blazing guns and tranquilizers, trapping them with mountain ash, attacking when they were they most vulnerable.
The pack barely had any time to defend themselves, let alone attack the intruders, despite outnumbering them.
The men, all dressed in black, had fired the tranquilizing darts, knocking the majority of the pack out cold within mere seconds.
Then, they’d put them in the back of a plain, non descriptive van and driven them to abandoned warehouse on the outskirts of Beacon Hills. So that’s where they were now.
By the wall at the back of the warehouse, bound together by the thick rope around their waists, backs pressed together, were Lydia and Allison.
Ever since they were first shot with the tranquilizer, neither of them had woken up, their human system not pushing out the sedative as fast as the wolves’.
They both had been roughed up a bit, small cuts and bruises here and there but nothing major. The men, seemingly aware of their being human, left them alone, choosing instead to torture the werewolves of the pack.
