TRIGGER WARNINGS: This chapter contains mentions of blood, grievous injury to the eye, and ingesting blood
The short trek through the snowy forest was far more stressful than when these strange men were hunting Biscuit down. At least then, he had some semblance of a plan. Instead, this group had taken him hostage and were leading him to some undisclosed location in the woods. He had no clue where they were headed, and the leader, Max, didn't seem interested in telling him. At least they'd given him back his coat, although they'd confiscated his pocketknife.
The walk was silent, save for the soft crunching of snow underfoot and the whistling of the wind. Max took the lead, and Biscuit himself walked in the middle, presumably to prevent him from sprinting off into the woods without one of the guys to stop him. Not that Biscuit was confident he could outrun all of them, anyway.
To his right, Ollie was glancing at him. The eye that had been struck was now swollen shut, having stopped bleeding a while ago. Even though it had been his fault that this guy was now half-blind, he had been nothing but civil towards Biscuit so far, only giving him an occasional smile. Biscuit merely stared back in response before looking away.
To his left was the guy with the dreadlocks. He was rubbing his neck and keeping precise watch for the trees as if he feared something was following them. Biscuit couldn't entirely blame him.
They locked eyes, and the guy grinned coolly. "I think we're almost there."
"Uh, where are you taking me, exactly?" Biscuit asked quietly.
"You'll see when we get there," Max butted in, whirling back to glare at them before turning around.
The guy rolled his eyes and stuck his tongue out at Max's turned back, as if he were more annoyed than anything else. "I'm Diesel, by the way. I mean, not that you care, since we're kidnapping you and all, but... yeah."
Diesel shrugged when Biscuit didn't respond.
The guy at the back of the group, the redhead with the nasally voice, stared at the back of Biscuit's head so hard that he could feel the burn of his gaze. "What's your name?"
Biscuit blinked. He didn't answer.
The redhead's brows were furrowed, but he didn't seem angry. "I'm Sparky. What were you even doing in that cave, anyway? Where's your family? Or the rest of your pack?"
Before Biscuit could answer, Max stopped walking and raised a hand, prompting the others to stop. He turned around. "We're here. We just need to wait."
"Fuck, finally," Diesel sat down on a dry log.
Max frowned. "What are you doing?"
"Sitting. Relaxing. Ever heard of it?" He gestured loosely to Biscuit. "It's not like he's going anywhere. You brought him along for no damn reason."
"I have my reasons," Max defended awkwardly, and Diesel rolled his eyes again.
"Uh, what-?" Biscuit started to ask what those reasons were exactly, before Max reached into his pocket and pulled out something shiny and metallic. Handcuffs. He tossed them over his head to Sparky.
"Cuff 'em," He ordered, his sharp teeth glinting as they caught the faint moonlight through the trees.
Sparky groaned but grabbed Biscuit's arms. The handcuffs clicked into place. "Sorry about this, kid."
"Listen," Biscuit offered, "I don't know what you guys want, but-"
"You Shut it," Max interrupted him, "Look, we're here waiting for the rest of our pack to meet us. If you don't cooperate with us, we'll, uh... feed you to Fluffy."
"Fluffy doesn't eat shifter meat, Max," Sparky corrected, then quietly to himself, "Well, not anymore."
"Who the hell is Fluffy?" Biscuit struggled against the handcuffs. "Can't you please tell me why I'm even here?"
For the first time in a while, Ollie spoke up. "Max, wait."
His blue eyes shone as they widened with mild panic. "This isn't necessary. Let's just take the cuffs off. He's not dangerous."
Max marched over to him. "We don't know this kid. If we let him go, who's to say he won't run off to his pack and tell them we passed through this forest? What if he's lying about being alone?"
Ollie looked at his feet as the distance between them closed. "He's not."
"Oh? And how do you know? Do you really want to risk all our lives for some random kid?"
Ollie looked over at Biscuit, his brows furrowed and a frown on his face. Biscuit knew that face; it was indecision. Ollie didn't know that Biscuit could be trusted. They didn't know each other at all. He looked down.
Max sighed. "Exactly."
He spun around to face Sparky and Diesel. "And that goes to you two shit-heads, too. This isn't some kind of joke-!"
"Alright, alright!" Diesel raised a hand to placate their leader and rubbed his temple, as if all of Max's barking was giving him a headache. "God, we get it. Don't get your undies in a twist."
Biscuit looked back at Sparky, whose face had turned beet red as if embarrassed by the debacle. Then, silently, the redhead led him to the same log Diesel sat at.
The hour passed slowly as the shifters waited. The sky had lightened from pitch blackness to dark blue, and the howling wind had calmed to a steady breeze. It was still freezing, but not quite as severely as before.
Biscuit sat quietly, trying not to cause these guys too much trouble, not out of consideration, but because he didn't want to give them any reasons to kill him. Plus, as few as they were, they still had his belongings, and he didn't want to leave all of his stuff behind.
Diesel's eyes were half-lidded, and his knees were drawn close to his chest. Sparky twiddled his thumbs, his leg thumping against the log as he bounced it anxiously. Ollie sat in front of Biscuit on a patch of dirt that wasn't covered in snow.
Max stood a few yards away, pacing back and forth, supposedly to keep an eye out for the rest of their pack. Biscuit briefly wondered whether there even was another half of their pack; maybe this guy was just fucking crazy.
"I'm sorry about this," Ollie spoke up again, his eyes locking with Biscuit's when he looked his way. "None of this is personal."
"Yeah," Diesel chimed in, "Max's an idiot, but he's not evil. So don't take it seriously when he says he's gonna kill you. He says that to everybody he meets."
"I heard that!" Max shouted from his spot further away, "And stop talking to the prisoner!"
"Prisoner, my ass!" Diesel yelled back, although with far less hostility. Max groaned in response, batting his hand dismissively in their direction.
Ollie looked back at Biscuit and smiled shyly. "Uh, what's your name? I'm Ollie."
"I..." Biscuit blinked and ran over his options. Should he say his name? Should he give these guys any personal information? His head bowed, a cautious look on his face as he closed up, and looked away from the others.
Sparky answered Ollie instead. "He doesn't seem to like talking. I asked him earlier, and he didn't say."
Ollie frowned and looked at the redhead, and Biscuit got a full view of his swollen eye. It wasn't bleeding, and he'd wiped off most of the blood with his jacket, but it was red and fierce, like a wine stain on his otherwise smooth, coffee-toned face. "Well, don't speak for him. I'm sure he can talk."
"Is... your eye going to be okay?" Biscuit asked quietly, and the three turned their heads to look at him, as if they didn't expect him to actually talk back. "Sorry about..."
" I'll be fine," Ollie answered, holding a hand out to interrupt him, before lightly touching his injury self-conciously, "I don't think I'll be seeing out of it again, which is a bit of a bummer, but what can you do?"
"It looks kinda cool, actually," Diesel squinted as he looked at it, leaning closer, a huge grin on his face.
"It looks like it's gonna get infected," Sparky corrected, and he got off the log and kneeled in front of Ollie. "I got it."
"I'm fine-" Ollie tried to protest before Sparky started licking his struck eyelid, clearing off the blood residue.
Ollie relaxed and glanced up at Biscuit with his uninjured one, his cheeks flushed red in embarrassment and disgust. "Do you really need to do this now? I know how to treat my own injuries-"
"Yes. Now, hold still."
Biscuit had seen shifters treat each other's wounds, both in and out of their wolf forms. It never got less disgusting to watch, what with all of the blood and saliva. It was usually done as a precursor to actual medical treatment of an injury. It was also always done between members of a pack that were pretty close. Biscuit had licked his own cuts, and it was certainly no replacement for an actual doctor, but it did what was needed when there were no alternatives.
"There," Sparky said after spitting out the blood from his mouth, looking back at his work. The eye's swelling had shrunken down and was less red, and the sclera and iris peeked through the torn eyelid. His gaze in the eye had gone lazy, his once blue iris now dull and with a bright red divot through the center, distorting its shape from a circle into a sideways hourglass. It was clear that he wouldn't be able to see out of it properly ever again.
"That's definitely going to make a badass scar," Diesel said, smirking, and Ollie gave one of his own in return.
Ollie looked back at Biscuit, "I'm fine with my eye. You did what you had to do, just like we're doing right now. I mean, I'll miss it, but I gotta make do anyways. I'm glad you didn't kill me, at least."
Biscuit thought that was a pretty low bar, but he said nothing.
"This one I've got here?" Sparky pointed to the one on his face, "My father gave this to me. He kicked me out of my first pack when I became an adult."
"I got this one," Diesel hiked up his jacket, showing his torso. A massive claw mark, three long lines of paler scar tissue over dark brown skin, was dragged from his left pectoral to his hip. "This was from a fight I had with Max when we first met."
"Holy shit," Biscuit whispered, "Your leader scarred you?"
"Yeah, but if it makes you feel better, I gave him one that's worse, so we're even."
That did not make Biscuit feel better. He glanced over at Max, whose back was facing them. He was wearing the same heavy coat, pants, and walking shoes as the rest of the group and was covered from neck-to-wrist-to-ankle. Biscuit wondered where the scar was on his body.
"What about you?" Ollie asked him. "Do you have any? If not, you're quite lucky."
"...Me?" Biscuit thought for a moment, considering his options. He then lifted up the right leg of his pants.
On his ankle was a massive bite, so large that it wrapped around his leg. The scar tissue was darker than his caramel toned skin, nearly purple, and a few veins bulged from the wound.
"What happened to you?" Ollie's eyes widened.
"Got bitten," Biscuit answered tersely.
"Well, no shit, you got bitten," Diesel said, "How'd it happen, though? Did you get into a fight or something?"
"Hey!" Sparky exclaimed, "Don't pry."
Diesel ignored him. "I'm curious. Come on, we told you about ours! Did someone in your pack do it? Is that why you don't want to say who? Come on, we won't tell anyone."
"I don't have a pack." Everyone grew quiet.
"Oh," Diesel looked away, scratching the back of his neck. "Um..."
"Told you." Sparky scolded as he crossed his arms.
Ollie placed a hand on Biscuit's knee. "Don't worry. I believe you. That you don't have a pack. And that you aren't trying to trick us, too."
Max whistled before he could respond, getting everyone's attention. "Get off your asses. The others are here."
Biscuit heard them before he saw them. As the shifters on the log stood up, four massive wolves entered the clearing through the trees.
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