Alpha & Assassin

Times like these, being a Gamma definitely has some drawbacks. When I say "times like these," I'm talking about being chained to a wall while a psycho rogue tortures me for information. And when I say "tortures," I mean getting lashed with silver cords soaked in wolfsbane after he'd already torn my tongue from my mouth because I wouldn't give up Pack secrets. Looking back, I probably shouldn't have called him Needle Nick. I don't remember every detail of how I got grabbed in the first place, but he probably caught me off guard with whatever supernatural trick came with that power. He pressed a knife to my jugular. I lifted one eyebrow and jerked my head toward the corner where he'd tossed my tongue after tearing it out, like I was saying, "You ripped out my tongue, dude. How the hell am I meant to answer your questions now?" That attitude did not amuse him, so he sliced a piece off the upper half of my ear in retaliation. Obviously, it hurt. But this was not my first torture session, and he honestly was not a very organized torturer to begin with. Sloppy as hell, if you ask me. When I torture rogues, I start with the tiniest tools and only then escalate, so they understand the punishment is going to keep getting worse. He bounced all over the place with the violence he was dishing out, and it was a lousy way to pull intel. Not that anything he did to me was going to make me talk anyway, but c'mon, at least torture me the right way. The one thing he got right was tying my wrists down tight enough that I could not use my Gift. My Gift let me conjure weapons whenever I wanted. He would have been fucked if I could have called up a sword, or hell, even scissors would do right now. He tossed the cartilage beside my tongue, adding it to the little pile of body parts courtesy of yours truly, Nyx Kestrel. Yeah, Nyx is a little "on the nose" for somebody this violent, but hey, that call wasn't mine. "If I get you a pen and some paper, do you promise to write down how many pack numbers you have? If you do, I will feed you," he bargained, realizing that was his only play since torture clearly was not his thing. I smirked to myself. He had no clue how lethal I could be with a pen. I nodded, but first I spat the blood pooling in my mouth without a tongue right at him. He slashed at my face and cut across my right cheekbone, missing my eye by inches. Thankfully he did not go for the good eye, since my left one already carried scars from an old "rough day on the job." There is not an inch of me that has escaped getting brutalized, and that is because it is true. He turned and left the cellar, then came back a moment later with one blank page and a cheap Bic pen. Whatever, if he wanted to die by Bic pen, that was on him. He put the pen into my right hand, still shackled to the wall, then held the page there so I could write. Sucks for him, I'm a strong werewolf, and I absolutely did not hesitate to ram the Bic pen through his palm until the tip burst out the far side of his hand. I wrenched free while he staggered back, clutching his hand. Relax, dude, I only stuck a pen through your hand. It is not like I tore your tongue out or anything. Then I whipped the pen with everything I had, even if my wrist could barely move. It buried itself in his forehead, and he dropped dead at my feet. I hooked the keys from his pocket with my feet and flicked them up into my right hand. Then I unlocked both of my hands from the chains. Needle Nick had ditched my boots near the door, and once I tugged them on, I looked back at his corpse. Maybe Bic pens were not so bad after all.