Fight for Me

Waking up, she feels the cold hard floor that must be to blame for her stiff body. But, in just trying to sit up, she can hear the sound of chains dragging across the concrete floor.

Fudge nuggets! Am I chained? Again?

It’s so dark, she can barely make out the chains around her wrists and attached to the nearby wall.

But this doesn’t look like those high class torture prisons. So it wasn’t the hunters that took me?

Which just has her thinking back to the face she saw before she passed out. But that wouldn’t even make sense.

Why would he be here?

She starts fiddling with the chains, trying to understand their archaic and complex design. It has locks she definitely won’t be able to pick with a hair pin.

“You’re very calm for someone chained up.”

But the deep voice of a man has her staring into the darkness, hoping her eyes could adjust and confirm her suspicions of his identity. But she knows.

“It’s not my first time.” She feels eager to break the silence.

“No, it definitely isn’t.” He huffs out, and she hears the sound of her cell gate opening and him walking in to stand right in front of her.

“Why are you doing this?”

He kneels down in front of her and gently tucks her hair behind her ear. “Keeping my promise.”

She furrows her brows in confusion as he removes the cap of a bottle of water she didn’t notice before. He holds it to her mouth and tilts it. She’s stunned into just drinking it, struggling to reach the bottle as the heavy chains weigh her hands down. Still confused, most of the water drips down her chin and she suddenly coughs as she chokes on the water.

He curses under his breath as he wipes her mouth with his hand, though his thumb lingers on her lips longer than necessary.

“You have to drink. You’ve been out for two days.”

“What?” She whispers out at that information.

“I didn’t think wormwood would affect you this much. I guess you are still much like a human.” He says in a sincere tone, though the slight smirk on the corner of his lip has her believe he’s actually grateful for that last statement.

Just as he lifts the bottle to her lips again, she speaks.

“Why am I here?”

He clenches his jaw and the bottle in his hand as he stands up abruptly. Looking down at her with what she can only depict as pity, he combs his fingers through his hair in frustration.

“I told you.”

“What are you talking abo-“

“Layla.” He interrupts her. “I’ll fix this. I’ll fix everything.” He steps back and closes the gate making sure to lock it.

“What are you doing?” She tries to stand and make her way to the cell bars, but the heavy chains slow her down. “Don’t lock me up in here.” But his figure is disappearing into the darkness and all she hears are his retreating footsteps echoing. “Please! Don’t leave me here.” She starts begging, as memories from her time in chains torture her mind of what is to come. “Please. Blake! Please.”

But all she hears is the echo of a metal door shutting.

She drops to her knees, trying to calm her laboured breathing and hoping it will distract her tears from falling. She’s yet again found herself in a situation where she doesn’t know where she is or what is wanted from her. She’s scared and alone, - a feeling not foreign to her but one she wished she’d never feel again. She tried to become strong. But looking at her situation, she knows she’s too weak to do anything.

But in the midst of that cold hollow pit twisting her guts, she feels a slight warmth flowing through her. A tingle running through her fingers.

Looking down, she sees the pink scar on her wrist which has almost faded. But in that very second, something sparks through her, like a sense of hope. Her tears fall and wet the scar as she starts to cry, not able to stop her tears anymore.

She knows her hope in him is futile. She always reminded him daily that she would leave one day. And regardless of his eye roll as a constant response, she might not be welcomed back. Now that he knows she’s a Michaelson, her presence at his pack would just cause more trouble than what he had in mind for their mate bond.

She chokes on her whimpers as she tries to stop hearing herself cry. She doesn’t want to be reminded of how weak she is. How alone she is. How cold she is, -even though she has forgotten what that actually feels like, she can’t forget the warmth she felt when he always held her.

But through the quivers of her lips, she still finds herself calling out to him as she hugs herself.

“Nick.”