Your Turn
“Why do you want us?” Freya asked now. Her body itching from the dust that covered it, and the tightness of her dress.
“Well, I don't want you both, I only want you…” Marcus answered, calm.
“We go together…” Freya replied, sharp. As she reached out a hand towards Bella, holding her wrist and pulling her close, both of them holding unto each other like blood sisters.
“You really hold a concern about her?” Marcus raised a brow, surprised. His hands moving to his jaw and scratching the stubble that grew there gently. His haughty mind confused at how someone of a high status could be so attached to some peasant?
“Very well then… you both will be spared…” he sighed, standing up. His back arching in a slight stretch, seemingly tired of his throne's excessive comfort. “But you won't be put together…” he explained. “You'll be given separate rooms far apart from each other…”
“Why?” Freya asked immediately. Hurling questions at each of his statements in a bid to assert spoken dominance, in contrast to the Alpha's inaudible authority.
“Because I want it that way…”
“Are you scared we'll escape?”
And Marcus smiled now. His arms raising up to his chest and crossing in a twine, folded in a confident stance and poise. His mouth bent in a smirk at Freya as he moved sideways slowly, almost floating on his legs in an invisible shuffle of feet.
“Your pack didn't escape my wrath, did it?” he asked, craning his neck sideways to ensure she felt the burn.
And Freya was silent for the first time now. Her eyes solemn and her mouth closing the moment it opened. As she had planned to fire a response again. But his answer had muffled her rush.
Marcus reached for a dagger that rested on a golden platter. Holding it up to his eyes, and staring at it like a miser finding a golden nugget in his rock collection. With Freya frowning now and wondering what he was planning to do with it.
Her eyes glanced from the blade to the smile that sat at the edge of his lips. As she set herself steady and in fighting stance, holding Bella behind her.
She sized him up in her minds eye, calculating if she could take him. Knowing she couldn't, but still choosing to prep—whether it was solely for defeat.
She was never much of a fighter and hadn't grown up with a father. So there wasn't much combat experience under her belt, or even enough stoicism to stand without fear at the sight of a prickly needle.
But Marcus thankfully wasn't in a hacking and slashing mood this morning, as he observed the blade in his hand mainly to distract himself from the two jesters he saw in front of him. He was tired of them and only kept his eyes on the blades edge to process what next he deemed fit to do.
“Guards!” he boomed now.
And before Freya and Bella could blink, doors at the far end of both sides of the room burst open. With soldiers clad in armor and wielding swords sharper than a guillotines head. They ran in a straight line set up in formation—all six of them, jogging in unison and then standing spread out and parallel right in front of Freya's confused eyes.
A small unit standing tall down at the feet of Marcus…
Their eyes all hidden behind eye slits as their demeanours laid invisible. Their state of mind unpredictable. And guessing what they were called in to do was enough to make anyone uneasy…
With steel plated bodies that reflected almost blinding the rays of sunlight that peeked in through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Making the guards look like walking aluminium sheets in possession of giant kitchen knives…
Marcus towered above their line of offence and defence—even if he was close or far, still standing taller. His facial expression now a tired and resigned look that expressed more disinterest than rainy clouds in the sky that sauntered above a desert…
He looked at Freya, and then Bella, who seemed tongue tied the whole time—shaky and immoving. Hands clasped on her elbows and frightened as though a cat about to be euthanised…
Marcus released another sigh as he lowered his eyes down at both of them. Now dropping the blade in his hand and making a decision on what he would do.
“Lead her to the special room…” he ordered now, pointing at Freya. And three guards instantly cut out from the group and moved forward, to her side and holding her firm. Lifting her off her feet slightly and dragging her away.
Bella fell on her knees as they had pushed past her to reach Freya. Her hands stretched out and yelling a discordant concern watching them carry her friend away. Her eyes rolling down tears at their seperation. Wondering where they were taking her? And what they meant by ‘special room’
Freya was not short on her part in sudden worry. As she saw what happened at Alpha Darren's pack repeat itself all over again…
As here she was, for the second time, in Sheila's seemingly forsaken dress, being dragged—again rolling by her feet, to somewhere else she didn't know.
She struggled and pulled, but her body was the weakness of flesh against the might of steel. As she simply grew cuts and bruises on her arm from the effort. And the guards that held her didn't even flinch as though she made any effort.
Marcus smiled from his throne, with his hands in his pocket now. His fingers leaning in and pulling out a pack of cigarettes—producing a lighter in the same motion. Shuffling it, selecting a stick, and lighting it's end then puffing at it—releasing smoke up in clouds. Enjoying the riotius view ahead of him…
He relished the moment with a wide grin. His eyes locking in on Freya's as she was pulled past an open door and carried outside. Then turning to Bella in an eerie smile, as the door closed shut in a slam.
He paused slowly, then squatted to his knees, looking at her like a lion at weakened prey, with his eyes glazing as he said:
“Now it's your turn…”