BEATRICE

At the bottom of the stairs was an iron gate. How quaint of them, decorating their basement like some medieval dungeon. Beatrice was forced to wait as the driver reached around her to unlock it. As he shoved it open, the hinges let out a deafening squeak in complaint that had everyone wincing.

The air was musty, as though the room had no ventilation, and underneath was the stench of rot and mould. The lighting was dismal at best, creating shadows in every corner as she was moved further into the room.

This wasn’t a basement, she noted with a grimace. It was a legitimate medieval dungeon. What was wrong with these people? Turning into giant fucking wolf monsters and having a dungeon in the basement? Who did that?!

Cells lined either side of the room, with thick iron bars embedded in both the floor and ceiling to keep prisoners secure; except she didn’t see anyone else as they walked by the first two cells before stopping in front of the third. The man from the passenger seat unlocked the one on the left, pulling the door open and stepping to the side.

“Get inside,” the driver ordered, giving her yet another shove. She stumbled a bit, but regained her balance as she entered her new home. “Maybe you’ll behave now.”

Beatrice felt a laugh bubbling up in her chest and let it out. There were times when her response to high stress situations was to laugh and this was one such time. “Whatever helps you sleep at night,” she said, looking over her shoulder to give him a bright smile. He frowned as he closed the door with a resounding clang, checking that it was secure before leaving. His cohort gave her one last look before following, leaving her alone to process what the fuck had just happened.

Looking around the cell, she noted three of the four walls were made of stones, but what drew her attention was a small hole in the floor. It was in the far left corner and looked like it ran deep. Not that she could check how deep, as the lighting was atrocious; all she could see was a black hole, and when she held her hand over it, there was a faint breeze. Unfortunately, it was only as wide as her hand; escaping through it wasn’t possible. This was probably for the best because, when she leaned over it, she caught a whiff of something pungent and had to stop herself from retching.

It was the toilet. They expected her to do her business using a hole in the floor? “Five star accommodations,” she muttered to herself as she moved away, settling near the wall farthest from the hole. “I need to remember to write a glowing review for them when I get home.” If she got home.

No. She was going to get out of there or die trying. There was no way she was going to let these people do whatever they wanted without a hell of a fight. The problem was, she had no idea what was going on. Why had she been kidnapped in the first place? Who were these people? And since when were werewolves even real?

Maybe whatever they’d injected her with had caused hallucinations. No, that didn’t feel right. Beatrice had not only watched the man turn into a wolf… she’d felt it.

She’d felt how the bones in his hands, pressed against her arms, had shifted and changed. She’d felt his palms turn into the rough pads of a paw. Even the smell of his disgusting breath had been all too real.

Sighing, Beatrice crossed her arms and legs in an attempt to ward off the chill in the air.

“What did you do…?” A raspy voice spoke, startling her from the thoughts that’d been flying around her head.

Beatrice looked to the cell across from her own. The bad lighting meant she couldn’t make out details, but it looked like there was an outline of someone sitting in the shadows. The fact she wasn’t alone brought a sense of relief, allowing her shoulders to relax. “Do?” She echoed the word back at the silhouette, not quite grasping what was being asked.

The silhouette moved, as whoever was there shifted forward. She could now make out tattered clothing, barely more than rags, covering the emaciated frame of a man. “What… did you do?” He rasped again, voice cracking as though it had seen too little use.

“Good question,” Beatrice replied, turning her body so she was facing the other prisoner. “I think… they’re angry I fought back and tried to escape.”

“Escape…?” Something in his voice gave weight to the word. “You don’t… escape from here.”

“I’ve noticed,” she mumbled, leaning her shoulder against the wall. In a normal voice, she said, “I’m Beatrice. What’s your name?”

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