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I chuck the clothes on, anything to cover my bare body from his filthy lingering gaze. I hate everything about him, hate what he is subjecting me to. Though I also hate myself for being so weak and helpless against him.

I place the socks on my freezing feet before testing my legs. I always feel terrible first thing in the morning, my muscles heavy and aching from being frozen in the same position, unable to move once he is done with me. I hear him curse softly while staggering to the bedroom door and looking into the living room. He is crouched by the fire, trying to light it.

“Pass me some paper,” he says, pointing to the newspaper on the coffee table next to me.

I pick it up, my back cracking as I hand it to him. Goosebumps cover his skin from the chilly bite in the air. He only has shorts on, his chest bare, and I can see my scratch marks on his back from the few times I’ve tried to fight him off before giving up. It’s been futile. He would either beat me, leaving me black and blue, unable to fight back, or drug me. I have no choice but to take what he dishes out no matter how much he repulses me. At least I can move freely instead of being paralyzed in one position.

My belly growling loudly makes him look over at me. He didn’t let me eat for the past two days after I refused to drink the vile stuff that blocked them from being able to trace me. Spitting it out when I went to the bathroom, I didn’t realize he was watching as I tried to sneakily remove the taste from my tongue under the bathroom-sink basin.

“You must be hungry. Are you going to behave?” he asks, looking up at where I stand behind him.

I look away and nod. He sighs, placing a log in before standing up.

“Come on then,” he says, gripping my wrist and tugging me toward the kitchen.

He pulls a chair out, and I sit in it. He grabs a small plastic cup for kids, fills it up with water, and places it in front of me. I snatch it thirstily, the cold liquid soothing my throat and dry mouth. I scull the water in the plastic cup, but it still doesn’t satiate my thirst. I am so dehydrated, my urine has turned dark-brown; he barely gives me anything. He uses my hunger and thirst against me like weapons to get what he wants, or he would take it away as punishment leaving me weak and hungry or excessively thirsty. Two days without water and food have been hell.

He pops some bread in the toaster, and I get up, hoping he would allow me some more water. I walk over to him, going to the sink, when he spins around.

“What are you doing?” he asks, and I look at the cup in my hand.

“Can I have some more, please?” I ask softly, my voice shaking along with my hands clutching the cup.

My skin itches with fear of just being this close to him. And I fight the urge to scratch my neck to stop it. My stomach drops when he steps closer and suddenly steps aside, allowing me to go to the sink. I move quickly and hit the sink with my hip painfully, probably causing another bruise as I fill the cup, drinking greedily from it.

When I am about to fill it again, he takes the small cup from me, and I freeze when I feel his chest press into my back. His breath is on the back of my neck as he presses his crotch against my lower back. I can feel his erection pressing against me, and I swallow down the bile that raises in my throat, threatening to make me throw up the water I have just consumed.

His hands tug at the waistband of my pants, pulling them down, and I clutch them with my hand, trying feebly to hold them in place when he tears them off, the thin fabric tearing at the seams, stinging my skin, and I feel them fall at my feet. He presses his entire body against mine, and I feel tears spring in my eyes. The bread pops in the toaster, and he stops, moving away, and I let out the breath I’ve been holding, not wanting his filthy hands touching me, before rushing back to the table and away from him.

He is buttering the toast when I hear a strange noise. The noise gets louder, and I realize it is a helicopter.

The walls shake when I hear it pass above us, and I see Sam freeze looking at the ceiling before looking out the window above the kitchen sink. I realize this is my chance to escape; if I can just get outside, I may be able to flag it down and alert someone to my being trapped here.

Sam fills a jug with water before racing to the living room, tossing it on the fire, and putting it out; smoke filling the room makes me cough as I follow him. Looking around the room for something I can use to fight him with, my eyes land next to the fireplace. He has left the fire poker out. Usually, he puts it in the cupboard in the kitchen before locking it. He races to the front door, looking out the window beside it, and I grab the fire poker. I quietly move behind him. I am within arm’s reach when the floorboard creaks beneath my foot, and he spins around quickly. I swing it at his head, but he catches it before ripping me forward and headbutting me. My head snaps back as his head connects with my cheek, and I feel my skin tear from the force as it swells.

I stumble back, tripping over my feet when he jumps on me, raining blow after blow down on me before trying to drag me to the room. My face is bleeding, and I can barely see through all the blood.

I hear the chopper come back. Sam looks at the roof again. I lift my foot, kicking him between the legs. He grunts, letting go, dropping to one knee, and I lift my foot, my heel connecting with his face. I try running for the door, but he grabs my ankle, and I shake him off before turning and kicking him in the face again. I rush to the door, yanking on it, but it is locked with a key and multiple padlocks, leaving only the small glass window next to it. I smash it with my palm, climbing on the back of the couch and forcing my body through the gap. I can hear him groaning on the floor behind me, and I am nearly all the way through. My hands and skin are cut to pieces from the broken glass slicing my skin.

I am suddenly jerked backward by my foot. I scream as the glass cuts in my thigh from being ripped back into the window. The sharp edges cut the flesh on my hips. I kick my legs repeatedly, forcing him to let go before sliding through the window that is too small for him and landing on my hands and head on the small porch.

I am glad I got through the window by the time he unlocks the door. I can get away and out of view. I hear him fiddling with the numerous locks on the door, and I take off, trying to run for the tree line. I am about a meter off when I hear the door swing open. Adrenaline fuels me to run faster as I push my legs, racing into the forest. I can hear him gaining on me from behind but don’t dare look back, instead keeping my eyes forward to stop myself from tripping.

Blood is running down my bare legs and arms, branches and sticks making them sting more as they whip against my skin when I feel myself thrown forward, not seeing the sudden drop. I roll down the small hill, landing on my side. I hear him on the ground above before opening my eyes and seeing him climb down, using the trees to stop him from sliding. I force myself to my feet and started running.

My breath comes in fast gasps, the cold air making my bones ache as I force my limbs to move. I continue running before tripping over a rock and hitting the ground with a thud, my head smacking the ground hard, and my vision blurring slightly as I push up on my hands. I hear a growl and movement in front of me, making me look in that direction.

I try to see what is about to attack me as I push my knees into the ground to try to get up when I am suddenly knocked to the ground. A feral snarl rips out of the beast above me, and I feel warm fur brush my skin as it crouches over me. I feel a hot tongue run up the side of my face, sparks rushing over my skin, and a sob escapes me when I realize it is Eli. I clutch his fur with my shaking hands, and he whimpers but doesn’t pull away, instead pushing closer, shielding me from the approaching footsteps before hearing the sounds of people running toward us. All around us, I can hear shouting among the trees. Footsteps approach directly near us before the noise stops, and I hear a loud thud. A mangled scream follows, then the sound of someone choking. The noise is horrendous as they gasp for air.

More footsteps surround us, closing in, and Eli doesn’t move, his fur keeping me warm. I see blurry figures step out of the trees before hearing a gunshot ring out, echoing off the trees, and I flinch from the deafening noise. Birds are flying from the trees, and I hear Eli growl loudly above me, feeling it rumble in his chest.

“Cyrus, you can’t kill him,” I hear a man’s voice that I don’t recognize, though the authority behind it leaves me with no doubt that he is a hunter; no one else would dare speak that way to my mates.

“Like hell I can’t,” I hear him snap back at the man.

I hear Sam scream before hearing flesh being torn and the sickening sound of blood dripping.

“He is property of the organization. Let him go, Cyrus. Let us deal with him,” I hear the man say before darkness takes over.