When Tables Turn
highlight_author
Ivana Vanessa Jameson
highlight_reads
9.4M
highlight_chapters
37
Chapter 1
LUCY
“Run!” I yelled at Catherine, but I knew she wouldn’t make it another half hour. I was about to lose someone else, but that’s just how life was now. We didn’t choose this life—it 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.
“Go! They’re here! They’ll find you. Where do you think I can go like this? I’m as good as dead!” she yelled at me, and I ran. I was used to this—running without looking back, leaving behind the people I cared about.
I ran until I couldn’t hear her screams anymore. We shouldn’t have risked it, but we needed food. Instead, my best friend became their dinner.
It’s strange how we’re just fattening ourselves up for them to eat. Our deaths were inevitable—it 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 it—I’d gotten his girlfriend killed.
“Where is she? Where’s Catherine, Lucy?” he yelled in my face. He knew she was dead, knew they’d devoured her like ravenous zombies, leaving nothing behind.
He was about to hit me again when we heard their terrifying growls. It meant one thing—death.
Their glowing orange eyes lit up the dark forest around us like demons—the eyes of death. I could hear Jake’s heartbeat before he started screaming, then I watched as the first creature crunched on his bones.
It was like a horrifying movie, but I couldn’t 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. “Ah!” 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 didn’t they just kill me? It would have been better than this! I’d heard stories about what they do to the ones they don’t kill right away—they become slaves.
They torture, abuse, and eventually kill them, making them suffer in the worst ways. Some rumors even say they eat their slaves slowly—a hand, a leg, and so on.
I was in hell now, and no one would save me. All my friends were dead.
“Don’t waste your tears. You’ll need them later. There are worse things to cry about,” a rough male voice said weakly.
His voice was dry, like he hadn’t had water in a long time. It sounded like he was in another cell across from mine.
I sniffled. “Who...are you? Where are we?” I asked, looking into the darkness, hoping to see something, but it was useless. There was only darkness.
He coughed a lot before answering. “My name is O’zaak. I’m a scientist. I’ve been locked up here for...I don’t know how long. I haven’t seen daylight or any light in ages. We’re in hell...,” he said, coughing again.
He sounded like he was dying.
“What do you mean!” I asked, impatient.
“Ever heard of the original full-breed lycan?” he asked, then continued when I didn’t answer.
“Werewolves are nothing compared to them. A full-breed lycan is something you don’t want to meet. There are only a few left, but they rarely show themselves. Right now, we’re in one’s dungeon, where he keeps his slaves.”
I scoffed. “Dungeon? Is this a castle or something?”
“I don’t know, but what I do know is that this lycan is royalty. He’s a king or something, and he’s going to kill us all. You’ll wish a werewolf had torn you apart instead,” he said, sounding sorry for me.
I didn’t 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.
