• Pain filled her. Venom flew through her veins, burning her from the inside out. She refused to scream, refused to show how much pain she was in.

    No. Pain was too simple a word to sescribe the feeling.

    She was in agony. Yes, that was the word. Agony. (Oh, the beauty and simplicity of it!) It almost had her, too. She almost screamed out her suffering to her captors, but she managed to bare through her suffering in silence. But oh, how she yearned to scream it out, to cry out. And if it could have relieved the agony of torture, she would have. But it would only make things worse, so she didn’t utter a sound. As the whip sang through the air to hit bare flesh her captors laughed and ridiculed her, mocking her.

    “Had enough?” the rough voice of the whip-holder demanded. She didn’t dare part her lips to answer for fear of a scream of pain escaping past her locked teeth. “Suspend,” the man commanded. The whip sang its final song and at long last the agony slowly began to cease. The girl relaxed as best she could--seeing as she was bound by the wrists and ankles--and tried to ignore the pain searing throughout her body. Now that the beating was over she was beginning to feel the humiliation and shame that came with being bound, beaten, and left alone in a warehouse full of men. Finally, with a few last jeers and mocking laughter, the men exited the room--leaving the girl to fend for herself.

    Outside the warehouse a group of six people were sauntering down the street, their eyes alert. One of them--a man with auburn hair and emerald eyes--stiffened and shot a glance towards the warehouse.

    “What was that, Albion?” the leader of the group--a man with darker hair and shocking blue eyes--asked. Albion scowled in the direction of the leader.

    “You didn’t feel that?” he hissed. A female from the back of the group, flowing black hair and orange eyes glimmering, slipped up behind Albion and slipped her arms about his waist.

    “Nyte,” Albion murmured to his mate, “tell me you felt that.” The woman laughed, a charming bell sound that rang in the still night air.

    “I felt just a breeze,” she responded. With a glance at the rest of the group she said, “Well? Did you sense that?” When no one spoke up Albion snarled in rage. With alabastor skin that shone brightly in the weak streetlights and smoldering red eyes and six feet of solid muscle he--rightly named Albion meaning stark white--was a fearsome sight to behold.

    “That misery was so strong that I could hear its voice in the wind!” he spat. “How did the rest of you not feel it?!?” One of the others, a female of African American descent bearing herself with a royal stance, glided forward to the front of the group. Rightly calling herself Niobe, meaning weeping queen, she brought an immediate calming affect upon the group.

    “It was not misery I tasted,” she murmured softly. “it was sorrow. Someone’s in trouble Melker. We must go. Perhaps this person will be an asset to us.” She addressed the leader of the group with her last sentence, her eyes locked on him. Melker, meaning king, brought himself to his full hight and began issuing commands.

    “Nyte, Albion. Go the the left of the warehouse. Secure the area.” Once they’d gone he turned to Niobe and her mate. “Niobe, Rome. You are to the go to the right side and secure the area. Wait for my signal.” Niobe nodded and glanced at Rome, waiting for him to follow. At five--feet--eight--inches the Italian wasn’t exactly imposing but was the ideal person for what Melker had in mind. Rome nodded once and he and his mate disappeared. Melker glanced towards the last in his group, a male with elegant blonde hair and teal eyes, and beckoned him over.

    “We are going, Melker?” he asked. Melker drapped an arm about the male’s shoulders.

    “Yes Tirus. We are.”

    “Where is Adrianna?” Tirus barely moved his lips as he spoke.

    “She’ll be joining us shortly.”

    Suddenly Tirus felt a flare of jealousy in the pit of his stomach. How was it that Rome, Albion, and Melker all had mates while he, Tirus, was the only one to be alone? It was completely and utterly ridiculous. But he managed to push that feeling aside and turned to the task at hand. Then he felt a different emotion fill the air with its delicious scent: fear. Whoever was in that warehouse was terrified; ah, what a delectible emotion fear was! He smirked as they came to a halt at the front of the warehouse. They didn’t say a word, not a whisper. No words needed to be said. All the two males did was bust the wall through.

    The girl was still chained to the wall, slowly bleeding to death. Her eyes had acquired a slightly glazed look and she appeared dead already. She could feel death approaching, could feel His scythe upon her already. Her conscious was slipping but she fought against it. She was terrified of edeath. Even though she had nothing to live for, she still did not want to die. But she could feel that the end was near. She fought the oncoming wave of terror, still refusing to let loose the scream of agony and mind-racking fear in her throat. No sooner had that thought crossed her mind then the door exploded open with an ear--numbing BANG and one of her captors appeared silhoutted in the doorway…