Strains

chapter three

CHAPTER THREE

S

he hurt everywhere, on her neck a collar of enchanted silver clasped tight, with a single long chain trailing behind her fastened to the collar. Anyone could pull on it, order her around like a dog and have their way with her.

Amelia was a beautiful woman, at 20, her skin, a healthy shade of brown, unblemished and without any scar, werewolf healed fast and sometimes very thoroughly, hurray for little wins. She had honey brown eyes and fiery red hair. Her apparel was a flowing gown of black, tight around her tummy and her waist, and quite free everywhere else. She was the stuff men dreamed of, she was perfection.

As she walked the long corridors, heading towards the mess hall to get a meal, she tried to ignore the tug of the chain that bound her neck, the sneers and jeers as men and women alike mocked her existence. She tried to ignore them, she really did, but she had been through quite the ordeal for a month plus, her psyche was quite shaken and her emotions where over the place.

A sudden punch rattled the jaws of a woman who blocked her path, she had pulled the chain, and cussed and cursed at her at every step, and she just wouldn't shut up. Amelia followed up immediately with an uppercut, knocking the b***h out of her daze. A right jab and a knee to the face and woman crumpled before Amelia. She didn't pursue her advantage, as much as she wanted to kill the b***h, she dreaded the cold table of Nathan's lab, the man had scarred her, more so than anyone who had in one way or another made her life hell. So she walked away, enjoying the sudden hush and silence that had befallen the folks who moments ago sounded like a broken record with it volume set on max. She liked the silence.

"You! How dare you?!", the cunt yelled behind her, her voice cutting through the silence with dangerous precision, she snarled as her bones popped and stretched, Amelia couldn't allow that, she wouldn't.

With quick footwork, she appeared before the beast, it form imperfect, she grabbed it growing snout and smashed it into the floor, breaking the ornately tiled floor. Her fingers found purchase on the werewolf's arching spine, she held a cartilage and pulled hard to the right as and stomped on the beast neck. Her actions ceased the werewolf transformation, it was caught between form, neither man nor beast, it hurt, she knew from personal experience.

Anguished cries escaped the deformed jaw of the woman who laid before her, she'd die if help wasn't rendered immediately, it didn't concern her though, with a smooth turn, she was back on her way to the mess hall. She was going to have breakfast, and the wail of pain that echoed behind her was music to her ears.

Amelia made it to the mess hall without any other incident, wonderfully enough, no one pulled on the chain around her neck nor spoke ill of her to her face, The Assembly wolves where spineless like that, weak things who only bullied the weak and feared the strong, she had lived with them long enough to know this. Perhaps, if she beat up every Tom, d**k and Harry who assaulted her at every turn, she'd put the fear of the devil in them, it was something she always considered, but never acted on. What if the Five Great Families of The Assembly decided to kill her off immediately because of that? Or what if they made her suffer for a few years? The pain of the torture she had been dealt with in the past month, was still exceedingly fresh in both her mind and body. She doubted she'd last a year if she had to go through that again because of her actions.

Picking a tray and walking up to the chef who was serving, she placed it on the counter and waited, a minute later and she found herself a secluded spot in the wide room, the chefs had always been impartial, they cared not who she was, to them, everyone was equal in the mess hall, thank the moon for small mercies, she'd be long dead if it wasn't for their food.

Whilst she ate, she felt glares and killing intent leverage on her, but none dared to step forward and act on their impulses, for good reason, no one wanted to die. The chefs of The Assembly were notorious, they'd kill in a heartbeat any who dared to create trouble in the massive dining room. This rule of theirs had made the mess hall her one true safe haven in this accursed place, thus she was unmoved by the glares and promise of death, derision, and mockery, that laid in the eyes of those who bothered to glance her way.

Whilst she ate, she came to a realization, she had beaten a member of The Assembly and gotten away with it, the brand on her soul didn't hurt, no one had come to collect her to punish her for her actions. What did that mean? What game was afoot this time? Would they come to collect her later? Or could she really beat a couple of fools and get away with it? So many questions, no answers.

"Amelia Rotbone!!"

The shout dragged her out of her reverie, she looked up to see who it was that yelled her name like so. Approaching her was a tall man blond hair, no beards and gray eyes, he was quite the looker, it seemed they had come to collect her after all.

"Um, yes? You are?", she cursed herself for stuttering.

"Indeed, you're as beautiful as you've been said to be. My name is Tyrone Aísthēseis of The Five Great Families of The Assembly. It a pleasure to meet you, you look ravishing", grey eyes glinted with admiration as he walked with the confidence of a man with power.

"Ravishing you say, you must be blind then, I'm simply wearing a dress without accessories". Her own words left her shocked and appalled, where did this sudden boldness come from, she swallowed hard, her tongue suddenly very dry and in need of water, she was going to die.

A loud boisterous laughter interrupted her train of thoughts, the man, no, Tyrone Aísthēseis roared with laughter, his hands clutched his sides as he bowed over with laughter, it was a deep one, coming from his belly, unfitting for a descendant of Aísthēseis Family who where known for their quite nature.

"So you really did beat up Yolanda it seems, the state you left her in was quite brutal! What a pleasant surprise, truly pleasant, it is good to know you've got spunk", his words rang loud, the audience in the mess hall where silent, most sporting looks of confusion, much like Amelia herself.

"Oh, calm down. I'm not here to kill you or put you through an intense rhythm that'll have you begging for death. Quite the opposite infact, it seems your recent action has caught the eyes of the ones who sit on the highest seats. Lucky you really, once your existence was a thing of mockery and disgust, now you'll be made into a weapon. Luckily for me, you have got a warrior's tenacity and undying spirit, hold your head high, I'll make you fearsome, a force to be reckoned with".

Amelia blinked, and blinked again, her confusion was clear as daylight. So firstly, she wasn't going to get killed, secondly, she was going to get trained, nothing made sense. Why the need for training her all of a sudden, they killed her people fifteen years ago, and now they wished to train her.

"Well come along now, we've a lot to go over and even though you're a leader of your own squad, that's just in name, considering that the members of your squad are stronger than you, isn't that embarrassing? Anyway, we will begin with the basics, the shifting of forms..."

"I can shift just fine", she interrupted him, again, she couldn't explain why she did that. Had she finally gone senile?

"Yes, yes, so you say. But you incapacitated a wolf in-between shifts, you took advantage of her because she was slow, your enemies can and will do the same. We can't have that now can we?". Tyrone said with an easy smile, unbothered by the fact that she interrupted him mid sentence, and his words rang true, it was weirdly enlightening.

Amelia was quite weak as a werewolf at her age, she was lacking in knowledge too. Though her win against Yolanda was by no means a fluke. She had gone through all manner of torture and dealt the same to others, incapacitating a shifting wolf was something she had done several times already, it had been done to her just as well. The pain was unimaginable.

She walked straight into the back of the man who had stopped all too suddenly. He was peering down at her, an intrigued look colored his face.

"You get lost in thought a lot it seems, what wild things run through your mind?".

"Er, is that question rhetorical? And why would you stop so suddenly?", she answered his question with two questions.

"Think less, act faster, that's the general rule of survival. I had thought you'd know this much. Anyway, we're at the training grounds, strip yourself of that attire, whilst it makes you pretty, you can't battle in it". Tyrone said smoothly as he turned on his heel and walked into the center of a large space filled with sand and the scent of blood.

When did they even get here?! One moment she was musing and nodding along to the many words that just came spilling out of the mouth of the man called Tyrone, he never stopped talking. Now suddenly, they had appeared here, the speed of movement was jarring.

There where several others scattered about in the training grounds, a few walked in the skins of beast, claws, fangs and fur, looking every bit the monsters every human in Astoud had come to fear and respect. Tyrone couldn't care less though, he commanded they left, and what a surprise it was that they did so without a word of complaint. He wasn't the first descendant of The Five Great Families she had met, but he was perhaps the one with the most presence, laid back he was, yet that was a facade for the brutal savage that lay beneath. She shivered.

"Come on now, the earlier the better". "What's the rush? I just had a late breakfast. I don't mind getting down to it, but you seem even more into it than I am". Amelia responded quickly, she couldn't understand his enthusiasm, it was motivating, yet scary.

"There's a joy in shining diamond, carving jade into a beautiful piece. The art of sculpting is deep, it goes beyond mere objects, it touches everything. A commanders job is to create great soldiers, fit and ready for battle, to destroy the enemies like a storm. And beyond this, I must create survivors, war is not a merciful thing, it'll destroy you whole if you are unable to navigate it intricacies. You think I am happy sending young pups to their death? Even destroyed, the dregs of Vorax Clan still put up a fight, their spirit burns strong, their will to forge ahead is undying. Should the day come that they decide to come at us as an army, I'd rather every man, woman and child, down to the last suckling of The Assembly, be fit enough to protect themselves. Now, prepare yourself, you've five minutes". Tyrone said with a hint of finality, and she knew better than to say anything else.

She got ready, taking off her gown, she wore a set of trainers that hung on one of the racks of the training grounds. It smelt fresh, unused, and it hugged her just right. She turned to her newest instructor and for a second, Nathan's sadistic figure overlapped with his, it reminded her that she wasn't fully healed yet, her mind was feeble still, almost broken from his ministrations. Nathan was the devil himself, her heart raced with fear as adrenaline flooded her veins, she found herself muttering those words once again as she walked into the sandy arena with her fist balled, it gave her strength, it gave her hope, "I will live, I will live".

"Perhaps you will live, perhaps you will die, that depends on how much you can learn to defend yourself. Little pup, don't expect any mercy", Tyrone growled.

For the next seven hours, the dirt became Amelia's dearest company, pain, an old friend came visiting, and every cell in her screamed for rest, she kept going anyway. From running laps around the vast training grounds, to body exercises that demanded everything from her, popping her bones in all the right places and stretching muscles she didn't know she had. These was just warm up, next came the training proper, if it could be called that.

Tyrone showed her how to throw a proper punch, how to take a proper stance that wouldn't leave her open to enemy attack, yet fluid enough to not impede her own attack. Then he pummelled her silly and told her to adapt. The pace was fast and ever changing, he never used the same move twice, he was swift as the wind with the strength of a bear, she was completely suppressed at every turn. But there was grace to the wildness and brutality of the spar, her body was learning, reacting before her mind could keep up, it was exhilarating.

By the time they where done, she was sore all over, the good kind of sore, she laid on her back back with a wide grin on her face, Tyrone on the other hand barely looked ruffled, his hair barely looked out of place compared to the firestorm her hair had become. As he walked away, she Heard him say, "you just might survive after all".