When Tables Turn
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Ivana Vanessa Jameson
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9,3M
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37
Chapter 1
LUCY
âRun!â I yelled at Catherine, but I knew she wouldnât make it another half hour. I was about to lose someone else, but thatâs just how life was now. We didnât choose this lifeâit chose us.
She looked at me with the same sad eyes my family had before they were torn apart by the creatures we call werewolves. She cried and laughed, a bitter sound, looking at her broken, infected leg.
âGo! Theyâre here! Theyâll find you. Where do you think I can go like this? Iâm as good as dead!â she yelled at me, and I ran. I was used to thisârunning without looking back, leaving behind the people I cared about.
I ran until I couldnât hear her screams anymore. We shouldnât have risked it, but we needed food. Instead, my best friend became their dinner.
Itâs strange how weâre just fattening ourselves up for them to eat. Our deaths were inevitableâit was only a matter of time before they got to all of us.
I got to our hiding spot, and as expected, Jake was furious. He slapped me, and I deserved itâIâd gotten his girlfriend killed.
âWhere is she? Whereâs Catherine, Lucy?â he yelled in my face. He knew she was dead, knew theyâd devoured her like ravenous zombies, leaving nothing behind.
He was about to hit me again when we heard their terrifying growls. It meant one thingâdeath.
Their glowing orange eyes lit up the dark forest around us like demonsâthe eyes of death. I could hear Jakeâs heartbeat before he started screaming, then I watched as the first creature crunched on his bones.
It was like a horrifying movie, but I couldnât close my eyes. I waited for my turn; it was inevitable. I knew my time would come, and all I had to do was scream.
***
Fear, darkness, pain. Why was I still feeling these things? There was only one terrible explanation: I was still alive, and the reason could only be the worst.
I tried to open my eyes and groaned at the sharp pain in my left eye. I touched it gently with my aching hand. âAh!â I cried out. They must have scratched me. I could feel the dried blood on my face.
I slowly sat up on the cold, hard ground and looked around. Darkness was everywhere.
I stood up and almost fell back down because my legs were numb, but the numbness slowly faded the longer I stood.
I walked around blindly, trying to find a wall or something to touch so I could figure out where I was.
I bumped into a wall, then another. Soon, my hand brushed against cold metal bars. I was in some kind of prison cell.
I sat back down and cried quietly. Why didnât they just kill me? It would have been better than this! Iâd heard stories about what they do to the ones they donât kill right awayâthey become slaves.
They torture, abuse, and eventually kill them, making them suffer in the worst ways. Some rumors even say they eat their slaves slowlyâa hand, a leg, and so on.
I was in hell now, and no one would save me. All my friends were dead.
âDonât waste your tears. Youâll need them later. There are worse things to cry about,â a rough male voice said weakly.
His voice was dry, like he hadnât had water in a long time. It sounded like he was in another cell across from mine.
I sniffled. âWho...are you? Where are we?â I asked, looking into the darkness, hoping to see something, but it was useless. There was only darkness.
He coughed a lot before answering. âMy name is Oâzaak. Iâm a scientist. Iâve been locked up here for...I donât know how long. I havenât seen daylight or any light in ages. Weâre in hell...,â he said, coughing again.
He sounded like he was dying.
âWhat do you mean!â I asked, impatient.
âEver heard of the original full-breed lycan?â he asked, then continued when I didnât answer.
âWerewolves are nothing compared to them. A full-breed lycan is something you donât want to meet. There are only a few left, but they rarely show themselves. Right now, weâre in oneâs dungeon, where he keeps his slaves.â
I scoffed. âDungeon? Is this a castle or something?â
âI donât know, but what I do know is that this lycan is royalty. Heâs a king or something, and heâs going to kill us all. Youâll wish a werewolf had torn you apart instead,â he said, sounding sorry for me.
I didnât need his pity. I crawled into a dark corner. Why did this have to happen to me? I once had a normal life, then ten years ago, on my tenth birthday, hell came crashing down.
Scientists and doctors said it was a virus gone wild. People like my parents, who were deeply religious, said it was biblical, like the devil had come to wipe us out with his demon wolves.
To me, it was just hell. The first time I saw a werewolf was when one crashed my birthday party, sinking its teeth into my parents while I hid under a table.
I became an orphan on my birthday, a typical sad story.
