The Rogue's Mate

Riot Hades

Riot's hands were bound above his head by a silver chain which burnt and cut into the skin of his wrists, the chain was hoisted up above his head and through steel hoop's that had been hammered into the stone wall of the mine making it impossible for him to get it out himself. Besides, the more he struggled the more the chains cut into his skin. His bare feet were bound the same way. At about 6'2 Riot was stood practically naked aside from a pair of jeans that hung low on his hips. The top of his chest was shaded with a patch of medium length chest hair. He also had some hair just below his belly button that travelled lower than the band of his jeans would care to reveal. He had ivory, sun-kissed skin. His body was covered in hard, defined muscle. Each part of his body supporting a muscle many didn't know existed. His feet were dirty with the matte look of sand and dust covering them, The top of his toed cut and raw from being dragged around.

His back was covered with large, long red welts from where they had enjoyed themselves taking a spine whip to his back, Every other mark your eyes would come across on his skin had been split open from impact and swelling. His torso and chest were also littered with small cuts and punctures, Odd bite marks here and there. He was being fed off. His skin misted with sweat and dirt that stuck to him. Riot also had a special type of silver chain cut to fit around his neck perfectly, burning and irritating the flesh it touched. His head was currently hung, his chin to his collarbone. His breathing laboured due to the makeshift collar.

They wouldn't let him sleep. The bastards wouldn't let him sleep. They kept him awake with torture, pain and pleasure. They would feed off of him, beat him, whip him. The females would saunter by and caress his crotch to try and wake his friend. What they didn't know was a wolf only ever had feeling and arousal for their mate.  His dark brown, almost black hair hung around his shoulders and head in a messy, dirty mop that hung around his face. Sweat dripped from his perfectly sculptured nose and chin and he practically hung there. His feet barely touching the floor. His arms were taking the full weight of his body in turn slowly making his shoulders dislocated. He thought he had hung so long and been through so much pain he physically couldn't feel anything any more. 

The silver drained him of his strength and healing. He was spent and feared this is where he'd meet his end. Being a damn Blood bag for the bloodsuckers.

"Please help me..Creator.." his deep, rough voice would rasp. His last plea before the darkness of unconsciousness took him once more.