Brought to his knees before the kingdom after ten years of hiding, Kyros believed that he would be sentenced to death for the murder of his pack. His sentence would mean the end of it all - his torment, his abuse, his turmoil.
But his destiny change...
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The arrow buried itself deep into his abdomen.
It sunk into his skin and muscle with such a force, Kyros gasped and stumbled back upon impact. The jolt of the hit was heavy and forceful and the pain was immediate.
He clutched the area that the arrow was protruding from and his face contorted into that of agony. Anguished, he fell to his knees and curled into himself as the poison coating the arrow started to take effect.
He gnashed his teeth together and groaned. The pain was intense, fiery, and burning all over. The dose of the poison coating the arrow was too much and he hoped it would kill him before the wolves got to him. Blood bubbled up from the surface where the arrow was embedded and it leaked through the cracks of his finger and dripped into the sand.
His body felt hot, itchy, and tingly. It seemed like it was scorching his insides and sweat poured down his face and drenched his clothes. His heart was beating too fast in his chest. Each pulse caused more blood to gush out from the wound and each pulse caused his head to throb.
He started to feel dizzy.
What's happening? He thought. He knew they wouldn't kill him just yet but he didn't know what was happening. He came to the conclusion that it must've been something they coated the tip of the arrow with.
And he was right.
He flinched as he heard the sound of wolves approaching. Their feet sunk into the moist sand and voices of the soldiers sounded far away, echoing in his mind like a nightmare.
A nightmare he couldn't wake up from.
A wolf attacked him, ripping into his shoulder with its large, sharp teeth. Flesh tore from bone and when the wolf let go, Kyros crumpled to the ground, face down on his belly. He groaned in pain and gasped for air when other wolves surrounded him attacked and tore at his flesh to weaken him further.
He didn't fight.
He didn't fight, much to the soldier's surprise.
They growled with ferocity over his body and he could do nothing but lay there and take it.
He didn't even realize one of the beasts had shifted into their human form until he felt the tight, cold feel of chains being wrapped around his wrists, arms, and ankles. Both were breathing heavily, both were ripped with power and both were in pain.
A knee was dug into his back and he was pressed against the rough, sandy ground. He struggled to breathe and started to choke on the sand he inhaled.
Oblivion.
The ground also pushed the arrow further into his belly and the chains rubbed against the raw, open wounds the wolf had made. He was bathed in blood, his blood, but the occurrence was nothing new to him.
He was already weak from his suicide attempt and his skin started to turn paler as more of his blood drained from his body. Crimson oozed from his flesh, sticky and warm, and stained his skin and the ground below. It splattered on his attackers and painted his world red.
