Been Dying Inside [DYZZ] Feb 19, 2014 11:12:14 GMT -6
Post by SARANNA JUNE DAVIS on Feb 19, 2014 11:12:14 GMT -6
The grass glistened in the morning sunshine, the wind held a chill on it as it blew. Large fragments of ice were still on the ground, coating the pathways, remnants of the ice storm that had hit southern Louisiana. It was already starting to melt quickly, creating a frigid slush mixture that would have many slipping on the sidewalks before it completely broke down. The landscape was predominantly white, ruled by snow, and not a single soul was out when the schools and roads were still closed.
It wouldn’t be that way for long, though.
Among this icy wonderland, the Kishu Inu shifter should have been virtually invisible. Key word should. It had been a week since her initial showdown of when Haunt and his lackeys had found her. They’d put up a good fight; Saranna came out heavily injured. She would have been taken back to their pack for torturing and to repent for the wrongs she did to them had it not been for the ice storm that gripped the normally frost free city. While Saranna may be injured, so were the three tracking her. They’d been forced to hole up with the weather. Saranna, used to the high mountain’s unpredictable and merciless snowstorms, had been able to travel during the ice storm and cover her tracks better.
Well, that was until yesterday afternoon.
There was no additional ice to fall during the night to cover the red that she had left behind on the white.
Saranna sat on the deserted boardwalk, watching the churning waters of the Mississippi River below her, a completely frozen solid statue. The River hadn’t frozen over, barely even the edges, with its strong currents. Dried, frozen mud still clung to the thick ruff of fur along her cheeks, but the red stood out among her pelt the most. There was a great gaping gash along her left shoulder, a set of claw marks along her ribcage, and her breathing was labored. Her whole lithe frame, which should have been a pristine white, was pink in areas where the blood had mostly flaked off, and bright red with fresh, still moist blood. The blood was rapidly cooling, misting on the cold air in the vast temperate difference.
The fresh glistening blood was not hers, though. It held the distinct sweet smell of angel blood with a darkened twist to signify the angel as fallen. Along with the angel blood, there was a faint underlying scent of demon.
Saranna stared at the murky, restless waters with dead burgundy eyes for a moment longer then stood. Her tail curled stiffly over her spine, giving away her spitz breed type. She took a deep, struggling breath and turned intent on seeking better shelter and privacy. Her first few steps were slow and stiff. Her right hind leg looked like it had been someone’s chew toy, the skin shredded. Her first two steps were more like staggers, her figure hunched over and curled around her chest cavity in a manner similar to how a human might cradle a side. After a few steps though, her stance leveled out and even with her obvious blatant injuries, she appeared to be walking normal. She refused to betray just how many bruised and broken ribs she no doubt had. She’d been hurled hard enough into a tree trunk that she snapped it in half after all. Saranna had no doubt that if she had no had her inhuman strength she would have died with her neck and back broken.
Her claws made a hollow clicking on the inch thick ice sheets incasing the cement walk ways. With each paw step, her claws dug into the ice to grip it, leaving behind sharp claws marks gouged into the slick sheets. She didn’t slip once, even with her body broken and pushed beyond it limits. Unseen, each step sent a sharp coil of liquid agony racing up her limbs and down her spine. Muscles were torn, internal organs bruised, bones cracked and beaten, yet her body’s deeply ingrained instinct to survive, to live on even without a soul or mind to guide its actions, refused to let her pain show.
Her thoughts wandered while she let her paws guide her crippled body whatever which way they chose.
It had been two months since the Great Mountain Pack fell. Two months since she watched her packmates, her family, brutally slaughtered in their own home, a place that should have been the safest in the world. A place that she was supposed to protect, make a paradise for them. Werewolves mutilated because they couldn’t defend themselves, pups mauled just for being pups. Kita, her daughter, decapitated. Logan, her son-in-law, eviscerated. Hank, her gamma, her rook on the chessboard, throat slit. Buster, her pawn, eaten alive. Ajax, another pawn, skinned and flayed for protecting his mate and unborn pups. Diablos, her beta, adoptive father, and bishop, lost.
Zev, her knight and almost lover. He should have been her king had she ever thought to tell him her feelings.
She had fled to this land because she had nowhere to go. Her instincts to keeping living wouldn’t let her die no matter how hard she tried. Then six weeks ago she wasn’t quite so alone. She meet a boy, a ghost as she recently found out, and his dog, a pitbull named Tabitha that reminded her so painfully of Buster. They helped her even when she’d reacted on instinct and had tried to rip Chandler’s face off in a moment of weakness. Saranna was not weakness. But she was not reckless nor stupid either. She knew when she needed help. Chandler and Tabitha offered her some stability to her crumbled world, so over the weeks she’d flitted back and forth from his home to the streets. She never stayed long enough though, for more than a quick meal and much needed rest. Chandler and Tabitha were more for her physical recovery than anything. He was so naïve, having never suspected her to be a shifter.
Then came him. That infernal winged man, with his pale skin, and dark eyes and hair. How he’d handled her, having known from the start what she was. He’d treated her normally. All her life she’d either been the plague in her early life, or the queen in her later years. Never before had she just simply been a shifter, simply been Saranna.
No, wait, that was a lie.
The long months alone on cycles, before she became her pack’s leader. When it was just her. Just her and Zev. She was Saranna then.
Maybe that’s why she’d attached to Logan Blackfeather so quickly. Logan was the balm to the emotional turmoil that she never realized she had. Saranna had never been a creature of many emotions. As a shifter, a supernatural being, she should be on par with human thought processes. But honestly, her first 5 years of life had been nothing more than that of an animal. She’d been created, not born. Had she not desired freedom so greatly, she’d be dead in the ground right now; her body would be wore out from birthing litter after litter of superhuman puppies. Humanity? Pft, Saranna had none those first years of life. She had self-identity, but no humanity. How can you when you eat your littermates to survive? How could you, when you were a murderer before you could even talk or properly see? Even to this day, she didn’t feel remorse for what she had done. Honestly, she had saved her siblings a life of torture, of being locked in cages too small for them to shift. They would have never seen the sun or the moon, felt cool grass beneath their paws. They would never know what wind was, or sand. The only thing they would know their wholes lives was dark, cold, wet, rocks, and wire cages.
Looking at it now, her life had always been defined by blurred lines. There never was right and wrong. Just wrong and . . . not so wrong.
Logan would have probably been a major part in her new life. She’d always found herself shadowing his house, walking the halls at night when he slept. She knew where the towels were kept, when he arose in the morning and how it was always minutes before his alarm. She knew where he kept his extra guns in the house and ammunition, how he’d been so busy the last few weeks with his new job on the local police squad. Yet he’d always known when she would be there to spend the night, how she liked her steaks cooked (just seared enough on each side that they browned the slightest). They were both broken souls, fallen beings. He’d been there to comfort her at her worst time and she’d been there when nightmares kept him too from slumber. They would waste the night away in companionable silence only insomniacs understood. He talked around her, despite her not talking back. Teased her inability to shift into human form. Then offhandedly hinted how she should look. She’d accepted his comfort despite thinking she did not need it, because when had Saranna ever needed anyone?
A loud crack filled the air, causing the albino Kishu to jump. Her body sang with pain at the rapid movement. Saranna kept her face completely void, not hard when the right half was almost completely paralyzed due to the several years old scars betrayed the nerve damage. She looked up, her one open eye slightly wide as she realized her paws had carried her to the ice covered, deserted amusement park. The crack she heard was actually ice breaking off what appeared to be a large vertical wheel (ferries wheel). The crack reminded her too much of breaking, snapping bones. Saranna shook her head viciously, trying to dispel the image of ripped wings, blood caked ebony feathers, and dead, dead black eyes. His hand was frozen on her head in a final attempt to provide her comfort, accepting of his oncoming death. The scent of demon on Logan’s skin overpowered her, made her eyes water.
The blood frozen to her fur burned her skin.
Like a switch, she dropped to the ground, scrubbing vigorously at her fur on the abrasive ice in an attempt to rid her fur of Logan’s blood. The cold bit at her skin, the sharp edges of the ice breaking the scabs on her own wounds and causing them to weep more. No matter how hard she rolled, writhed, and scrubbed, the blood wouldn’t was off. Even when her own blood replaced the angel blood, covered the faint traces of demon scent lingering to her skin, she still couldn’t rid herself of it.
A demon had done this to her angel, had taken him from her before she could truly get to know him. She could never go back to Chandler and Tabitha without getting them killed. Logan would have been the only one she could turn to, but now he was gone too. And now, Saranna’s will to live had changed. No longer was she keen on just trying to make it day by day. She could not get revenge on her pack; it was too big a job alone to take down a whole pack. But she could get revenge for Logan. She didn’t know what demon had ripped his wings, had allowed him to slowly bleed to death in the snow and ice just hours ago, but demon was all that mattered.
Saranna stopped writhing in the ice, feeling it melt around her due to the sun and her hot blood now coating the area. She rolled onto her stomach, a growl curling the left half of her muzzle up into a gruesome grimace. Her steel fangs glimmered silver in the rays of light. First she needed to get her strength back; she would not be stupid to go demon hunting without some sort of strength.
But demon hunting she would go, even if it killed her.
And deep down, she hoped it would.
Notes: HAHA, 2000 words, baby. NO ANGELS PLEASE! Saranna has had her fill of feathers!
Tune: “What’s Left of Me” by Nick Lachey