Capítulo 7: Prisoners

"Why is it always me?" Astor whispered as he sat on the floor of his cell. There were no windows for him to gaze at the night sky, the walls made of thick concrete while the ground was stone cold, wet from the humidity and the moss growing there in between the cracks. A small grated opening was his only way of getting some air, its size was not sufficient enough for him to escape while silver chains hung from the ceiling, usually used to restrain them if they put up too much of a fight. The air was heavy, the atmosphere dark and ominous as this place was only for keeping monsters in, those detested by the pack, meant to be punished. Somehow he had become one of them too, a creature even worse than the one he was before.

He brought his knees close to his chest, hiding his tear-stained face as he wondered why his life had to take such a nasty turn. He never wanted any of this, he never worked with them or offered them any help, he didn't even know what they looked like but no one would believe him. In their eyes, the want to kill his brother was there, deep in Astor's heart.

He never wanted to though, not once had he thought that he needed to take Zeth's life. Many times he felt as if he wanted to beat him to the point he begged for mercy but never kill him, none of the people in the pack. What good would killing them do? It would simply prove to them that indeed he was the monster they described. Astor of course was not some kind of saint who believed in forgiving and forgetting, he still wanted them to pay, and hurt for all the things they did but die? He had never truly believed that was what he wanted.

"The Crimson Nightwalkers…" he mumbled unable to believe that a werewolf from this pack would ever offer someone help. They were known in the supernatural world, there was no creature out there that did not know their name and to say that their reputation was dark would be an understatement.

The Crimson Nightwalkers were one of those packs that had left the forests and continued living in the cities, mixing with the humans and all the other supernatural creatures of their respective areas. They were though, a very well-known criminal organization in the werewolf world. From drugs to assassinations they seemed to take whatever job would bring them money. Hidden behind the front of a car company their Alpha thrived by ruining others. People who had encountered them described them as ruthless and cold, werewolves who would not even spare you a glance before taking your life so why would they treat his wounds? There was also this other rumor around too, one that barely any people seemed to believe but just the thought of it was scary enough to silence them. It was said that the bloodline of the Alpha of the Crimson Nightwalkers were direct descendants of the moon god.

It sounded ridiculous, many werewolves did not even believe in the wolf god anymore, who needed gods when you felt like one? So different from humans who ruled the world, much more powerful, feeling superior seemed to be injected deep into their blood.

Astor closed his eyes, bumping slightly his head on the wall a few times, a deep sigh escaping his lips. There was no reason to be thinking any of this, tomorrow he would go through torture and humiliation. He was sure Zeth would make it ten times worse just to satisfy this little game he always played with him. His heart was racing every time he thought about it, anxiety creeping over him and the fear of the pain and the words he was going to hear made him want to disappear. He was not a traitor, he could never betray his mother's pack no matter what they did to him.

He missed her, the kindness in her voice, the love in her eyes. He wondered if there would be another person out there in his entire life who would look at him with love. Maybe his mate? He asked himself but he knew. If his mate was in this pack they would never come forward, it would be almost masochistic to voluntarily connect yourself with Astor.

"I'm tired…" he mumbled, hating how his fear ate him up, how it wrapped his body making him unable to move. He couldn't scream, he couldn't cry, his heart had been numb ever since the attack, ever since her death but he still felt it. Looking like a lifeless shell he still felt the pain, the fear, the frustration deep inside and the fact that he couldn't let it out made it even worse. He could only describe it as trying to fit inside a suitcase too many clothes, too many things. At some point, you would end up breaking it, destroying the zipper. Astor's heart was filling up with such negativity, day after day and he just stood there, merely shedding a few tears, waiting for something worse to happen. "Maybe it would be better if I simply died."

These days death sounded so sweet, just a fleeting idea here and there that offered him so much comfort. At the end of the day, they were all going to die, where was the bad if he just left this world a bit earlier? Then he would finally be free and if the moon god brought him back maybe he would show some mercy, give him a real family, a caring brother or a sister, and even a lover that would want him. The pain would stop and he would truly not be able to feel anymore. He wouldn't listen to their insults or notice their stares. Astor would finally find peace in this endless slumber, no Zeth, no Edwin, no meatheads that would beat him up.

"Sounds good…" he whispered with a bitter smile on his face, knowing that the only thing that kept him in this world was the stupid promise he wouldn't even be able to complete. He should have denied it, he should have avoided it and the moment they lost their parents he should have ran away but he couldn't.