The Last Spirit Wolf (Elena Norwood)

-Vera-

"Ahggg." I scream in pain again as the With Mother's knife turns in my leg.

I'm panting and slagging against the restraints that keep me hanging from the ceiling.

We've been at this for hours now; they're pushing me more and more each day that passes. The Witch Mother examines the knife, or rather my blood on the knife, against the fire. "Hmmm..." she says, "let's leave her be for the time being, we'll continue tomorrow."

I'm sweaty and exhausted; in fact, I feel like I'm about to pass out.

These past few days have been just like this. I wake up, Marcus takes me out of my cell and hangs me like an animal on the main room, and the Witch Mother pokes me multiple times with the knife, extracting my blood and magic. Then, either Marcus or Helena take me back to my cell and periodically bring me food and water for the rest of the day. When morning comes, the cycle begins again.

"Mistress, she looks very pale." Helena says as she delicately places glass caps on the jars filled with my blood.

"Yes, I do believe I may have overdone it this time," the Witch Mother muses, uninterested, "we drained her completely of her magic; meaning she may be close to death as it is. Maybe we'll give her a few days to recover." I perk up slightly at this.

Just the motion of trying to lift my head, though, makes me incredibly dizzy.

I'm aware of how much blood they've been taking. It's more than any normal human would bare, or werewolf for that matter, but since I have Noah's healing abilities, they can push me

further; perhaps they don't even know just how far themselves.

I start shaking.

"Marcus," the Witch Mother says.

Marcus approaches the lever on the wall, pulling it and letting me fall to the floor with a big thump!'

I continue shaking on the floor.

My body is so numb at this point that I barely even feel the pain of the fall.

When Marcus approaches me and tries to drag me by the chains, he realizes I'm not standing at all and instead, he's just dragging my limp body across the floor. Truth is, I'm even weaker than I was when I first came in. Marcus approaches me, lifting me up and carrying me into my cell.

He places me on the floor, on my back, and carefully removes the hair from my face, putting his palm on my forehead. My eyes are closed in an attempt to fight off a dizzy spell.

"Mistress, I think we have found her limit," he says, removing his hand from my face and wiping it on his shirt.

I feel cold and clammy all over, a clear indication of severe blood loss.

I hear the cell door close and the Witch Mother's whimsical steps approaching.

"Hmm..." she says, "she'll recover, but definitely not for tomorrow," I hear her walk away, anyway, let her rest, we'll work with what we have collected so far. Hopefully it'll be enough for our purposes. For now, that is." "Oh, Mistress! So, then she'll be all yours!" Helena cheers, heading towards the door behind her Queen.

"That's right, my little one," she says. There's an ominous pause, "after this, she'll be all mine," she says and I can almost hear the malicious laugh in her voice.

The doors close behind the three of them, finally leaving me alone.

It takes me several hours to even begin to recover.

Apparently, having my magic extracted like this is even worse than being physically wounded. It's a literal extraction of my 'essence, whatever that means. Noah's healing abilities have gone a long way keeping me alive, but it's not something it can quicken my recovery from.

With each passing hour, I can feel myself drift in and out of consciousness. Occasionally, I even hear either Helena or Marcus come in to bring me food and water; something Harriet doesn't have the luxury of, apparently. "Psst." I hear, eventually.

If I had the energy, I'd roll my eyes.

"Forget it," I whisper.

"You're not eating any of it! It's going to waste."

"What's the point?" I say in a low voice, "didn't you hear her? We'll both be dead in a few day's time."

Harriet huffs.

"*You'll be dead, you mean. It's *you* they want. You're what *everyone* wants," there is heavy resentment in her voice.

"You still don't get it, do you?" I keep my voice low, trying to save my energy, "whatever they have planned for me, needs a blood sacrifice, Harriet. That's literally what that bitch told you, did you not *hear* her?" She remains quiet.

"Goddess, Harriet. What happened to you? You were one of the best female warriors in the Castle, you had a wonderful mate, how the fuck did you turn into *this*? If you hadn't f****d us over, I would even feel sorry for you." "Weak," she whispers and pauses for a few moments before continuing, "what I had was a weak* mate. He didn't deserve me."

*

"Oh, and you think Alistair was strong? Please," I remark.

"Alistair was *King,*" she says, "Alistair *defeated* the previous King Alexander and *took* the throne. It takes guts to do that kind of thing."

"But you also have to be very stupid to be manipulated by a Witch. Alistair was Mehra's puppet, Harriet. Goddess, I don't even know why I bother with you."

We both remain silent after this, until I hear her stomach growling loudly.

I curse myself, trying my best to sit up.

When I manage to do this, I basically drag myself to the food they placed inside my cell, taking the bread and throwing it into Harriet's cell.

She hurries to it, eating it ravenous desperation.

I look at my plate to see if there's anything else I can throw her way. There's some fruit that doesn't look too appetizing, but under her circumstances, I don't think she'll care.

I throw the over ripe peach and apple to her cell, too.

I regret it immediately.

Just the effort of tossing food a few meters sends me into a dizzy spell again. I have to grab onto the cell rods for support. I close my eyes, leaning into the cell rod, trying my best not to throw up. "What about you?" Harriet says.

"Let's just say I'm not hungry." I tell her, gulping back the urge to vomit.

I try to focus on the coolness of the iron against my face and try to breathe more evenly.

After several moments, I finally feel steady enough to open my eyes again. When I do, I notice Harriet is looking at me concerned.

"Are you okay?" She asks.

I 'ugh' loudly and basically crawl back to my spot at the back of the cell and once again, lay on my back.

I lose track of time.

Hours upon hours pass and I again drift in and out of consciousness. I vaguely hear when people shuffle in and out of my cell, but I feel too ill to notice who it is each time.

One day, I even heard the Witch Mother come into my cell; I recognized her by the distinctive smell of dead roses she carries with her.

"She needs a few more days," she says.

I vaguely catch what she said, but, did she say 'few more days?"

How long have I been in this state?

Minutes have become hours. Hours have become days. I can't seem to keep track of time.

I do feel marginally better as the hours or days pass, but it's definitely not enough. It makes me wonder if the baby is also playing a part in my state. I remember with Sofia's pregnancy, she spent more hours sleepy and tired than not. Thinking of the baby fills my heart with grief.

The longer I'm here, the harder it becomes to think of us getting out of this alive.

With a shaky hand and closed eyes, I lift my hand to my stomach, where Noah's little pup is growing. A silent tear escapes the corner of my eye.

*I'm sorry.* I tell the baby, "I'm sorry I couldn't protect you.*

My wolf comes to the surface if only just for a moment. It's the first time I've seen her since the Witch Mother began extracting magic from us. She looks even worse than I feel.

She's skinny, weak; I can see her bones. Her eyes are sunken and sad. She's slouched, keeping her head down.

I touch her cheek.

"I know, I tell her, "I know you're trying your best.*

I feel more tears slipping to the cold, stone floor. I can't seem to make them stop.

Suddenly, however, I hear the heavy metal doors open and my hand flies to my side, no longer resting on my stomach. My wolf also retreats, once again using whatever magic she has left to hide the baby's presence. Quickly, I dab the tears from my face as the cell door opens.

I open my eyes just in time to see the Witch Mother poke my arm with her damn knife.

I don't even gasp anymore; I've grown so used to her stupid knife that the pain no longer surprises me.

"She's not healed yet, but it'll do," she says.

I see her eyeing the blood on the knife and there is some spark to it, meaning at least some of my magic is back.

She nods at Marcus and obeying the silent order, he comes in and carries me out of my cell.Visit Job n i b .com to read the complete chapters for free. "Leave her on her feet, I need to have access to her heart," she says, her back turned to me. 'Access to my heart'?

My heartbeat begins to quicken.

Is this it? Is this how it's going to end?

When the Witch Mother turns to me again, I notice she has a much larger knife this time. It's longer and sharper than the extractionem knife from before; it has more reach.

I begin fighting my restraints with every little amount of energy I have. It's a feeble attempt, but it's instinctual.

The Witch Mother comes close to me, putting her hand on my cheek.

"Well, my dear, it's been a pleasure, truly. Words can't express how grateful I am that your path and mine crossed. You truly will be the salvation of Witches. Ironic, no?" she says, smiling. She then nods at Helena, who goes into Harriet's cell and drags her out but her hair. "No, please! No!" she begs, but it's no use.

With a quick spell, Helena binds her legs and arms onto the floor, making her immobile.

"Why are you doing this?! Have you not taken enough blood already?!" I yell at her, afraid. I want to delay the inevitable as long as possible.

"Enough blood, yes. In fact, enough to build myself an army," she says.© NôvelDrama.Org - All rights reserved.

I freeze.

Build an... army?