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Episode Two Charity

H azlan

Lylah. She'll walk by my cage soon. Even though their windows are closed, he shouted so loud I heard every word her mate said when he ordered her to get him food. That means she'll be scurrying by in a minute, her feet bare as she runs through the snow to return with his food as fast as her small frame can manage, but never fast enough to avoid a blow.

I've watched for weeks now from the punishment cage located in the middle of the open part of this manufacturing compound.

I was taken from my family by human males when I was just a cub. A warm home and loving arms are a dim memory that feels more like a dream than reality. I don't know what happened to my family. I mourned for a while, but soon found it was too painful to remember them.

Forced to work or feel the whip is all I've known since I was ripped from my home. Four weeks ago, something snapped inside me. The sting of the lash was nothing different from what I've felt thousands of times, but something inside me snapped.

I said "no," and attacked the guard. I knew it was a death sentence, but life was no longer worth living. The agony of the shockstick brought me to the ground. After the worst whipping of my life, they threw me in this cage as an incentive to the others to behave. Watching me waste away, starving to death between random beatings, will certainly keep others compliant for months to come.

The moment the female's door opens, I scent her on the frigid wind. As always, it's the bitter smell of fear mixed with the burned rubber of anger. Although those are the top notes, they always cover the underlying sweetness that is Lylah.

I think she is beautiful, though it's hard to tell between the dark purple of new bruises and the yellows and greens of the fading ones. All of that on top of a face far too thin and pinched to show what she would look like with enough food and without constant fear.

But no matter how many bruises she carries, the female is beautiful to me. Her eyes are compassionate. She's even said kind words to me before. It started with just clearing her throat, but soon progressed to a whispered "I'm sorry," as she dashed by.

Two nights ago, she tossed me bread and meat. It stunned me. She's far too thin because he only allows her to eat the scraps off his plate. Joseph is a big, broad-chested man. I doubt he leaves many scraps. How did she think she could get away with giving me food when he watches her so closely she herself can't even eat?

Although I don't understand how a meek little thing like her found the courage to do such a brave thing, I know her action will keep me alive for an extra day or two. I would never tell her, but extending my life in this hellhole is far from kind.

I'm weak. Far too weak to stand at the bars like I used to. But I follow her with my gaze, noting not only the bruises on every part of her body not covered by her thin clothing, but the sadness in her eyes. I imagine her forlorn expression looks similar to mine—the gaze of a person ready to go on to the next world. Someone who has given up not only on finding happiness, but on finding even a modicum of peace.

Her mate is getting worse. Bolder. He reeks of male frustration and anger. His position is toward the bottom here and he enjoys forcing his control over Layla so he can feel powerful. At the rate he's going, she won't last on Earth much longer than me.

She must be bringing food to me again tonight. Rather than heading straight to her front door, she's detouring toward my cage.

"You shouldn't," I say when she's close enough to hear my whisper. "This is going to earn you more pain." These are the first words I've said to her other than "thanks," the other night.

She gives her head the slightest shake, then tosses me meat and bread. I'm glad she didn't spare the time to make them into a sandwich. Perhaps she'll get away with it. I'd hate to be the reason she earns more punishment.

She tosses two bottles of water my way. My mouth waters at the sight. I have to lick my fangs to stop my saliva from dribbling into my matted fur.

"Throw the bottles as far as you can," she pleads.

She's taken a huge risk. The bottles are evidence of her kindness. She must know this will get her in terrible trouble if anyone finds out.

I watch as she hurries to her front door, wondering what her mate will do if he catches her. Whatever it is will be brutal.

I down one bottle before she reaches her door, then toss it toward the dining room. After I stuff the evidence of her crime into my mouth, it turns to ash in my mouth as her mate's anger erupts so loudly his words echo around the empty compound.

After swallowing a huge hunk of food, I swig the other bottle and toss it before he leaves his house to kill me. I don't care for my own safety, I just don't want him to harm her as repayment for her kindness to me.

There isn't a bottle or a scrap of food left as evidence when the sounds of his fist on her flesh reach my ears. I flinch every time his meaty fist lands on her soft, creamy flesh, but force myself to stare at the windows of the dreaded apartment. Silhouetted against the window, Joseph rips his belt from his waist and brings it down on Lylah's flesh like a whip.

Guilt races through me even as I feel every lash as if it landed on me. Even though I never asked for her help, I'm the reason for her pain. I might as well be the one delivering the blows.

The beating goes on for so long, her groans and yelps have stopped. Have I simply lain here listening to Lylah's death? I feel a pang in my heart, as if my breath has just been sucked from my body.

He bursts out of his front door, chest heaving, sweat sticking his shirt to his large body. He stomps straight toward my cage, pulling something behind him through the snow-flecked dirt. Gods above, he's pulling Lylah by the hair.

He releases her seemingly lifeless body to hit the snow-covered ground with a thump as he fumbles to place his finger on the lock to my cage. His laser pistol is drawn. Even though I'm near death, I could make an effort to pounce on him. On the off-chance Lylah's alive, though, I lie here and watch. I wouldn't want his anger at me to result in more pain toward her.

He rips her thin clothing off her, plants his boot on her shoulder, and kicks her into my enclosure. When he has closed the cage door, he lets loose a string of epithets.

"Stupid bitch. Think you can break the rules? Think you can undermine me? Do you think there's anything you do that I don't know about? I had a feeling about you and watched you tonight. Let's see if this monster can keep you alive through the night. If you're still alive in the morning, you better be willing to crawl back to me and do everything I demand."

I thought my emotions had disappeared long ago, but I was wrong. My insides clench in pain. I did this to Lylah as certainly as if it were my hand that delivered the blows. I doubt even death could hurt as much as this.

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