He is without a pack,
He is without a mate,
And he is without a wolf,
He is the sanctuary of brutality, a slaughter that waits for its turn.
He is Killian, the beast built with strength, power, and chaos that yearns for a reign, not of an Alpha, but...
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The sky harbored the dominant color of grey, dark clouds hovering over the land of our pack as I waited for the rain to saturate the dry ground.
The trees were enveloped by the thickening fog as they swayed from the cold wind, its rustling lullaby bringing comfort to my ears.
Dark,
Quiet,
And tranquil,
It was nature in its gloom.
With one last look at the scenery, I stepped away from the window and dropped the curtains, setting my bedroom to darken once again.
My feed padded along the cold wooden floor as I made my way to the bathroom and turned on the lights to face myself in the mirror.
I had been stuck inside my home for almost a week, isolating myself from the werewolves that witnessed me at my worst, and I had spent the rest of my time gathering what belief I have left of myself.
The lashes were meant to land on my skin, to spill blood for the payment of my wrong, but it felt like it reached a place that had no chances of recovery, and it landed its mark on my mind. Engraving a word that brought weakness to the way I carried myself,
Shame.
With eyes set straight in the mirror, I began to undo the buttons of my shirt before discarding it to the floor, and I was greeted by the sight of the bandages wrapped tightly around my torso, the mere sight of it forcing my jaw to set tight.
I reached for the scissors settled on the sink and began to cut off the confining material.
As soon as the bandages had loosened and landed on the floor, I shifted behind to look at my wounds, only to find out that they had been replaced by light pink scars.
My features morphed to become grim, fingers coming up to trace the rough lines that covered my back as I faced the permanent mark of betrayal on my skin.
It was a known fact that wounds done by silvers should take a month to fully heal for werewolves, and to find my wounds completely recovered within a few days, closed up and void of pain, made a sound point that something was not right with me.
As if the sight of the scars alone brought bile to my throat, I turned my eyes away from my back and discarded the rest of my clothes before stepping into the shower.
My hand reached down for the faucet before turning it on, but as I allowed the water to run over my body, I was bombarded by a sensation that rendered me rigid. It was a wave of heat travelling throughout my body, and its sudden onslaught had me hopelessly clinging to the walls.
Deep,
Confining,
Coiling itself tightly around my muscles, it was digging hard into every crevice beneath my skin, leaving me shaken as I fought hard to even out my breath.
