Fictionistas is a Substack group that comes up with monthly prompts for writers. The June prompt: A prisoner of war is in conflict with a trespasser about woods. I flashed on a scene where there is a battle between wolf shifter clans. That’s what happens when you read you’ve read all of Patricia Brigg’s Mercyverse and are now on the last Alpha and Omega book. So here’s “The Collar,” as my entry for the Fictionistas prompt.
The Collar
My body bore the indignation, not to mention the bruises and pain of being bound and gagged in a burlap sack carried on the backs of wolves.
The heat of the enclosed space, coupled with the duct tape over my mouth, wrists, and hands, normally would have been no barrier for me. Unfortunately, the silver collar, bespelled by a witch, robbed me of my strength. It burned my skin where it brushed against it with a searing pain and smell of burnt flesh.
I had managed to pull part of what was left of my shirt between my skin and the collar as I was bounced and jostled, which was the only reason I probably wasn’t dead yet. When it did make contact with my skin, the pain was almost unbearable. Not as unbearable as my capture.
I am Gwenyth, daughter of Boris, ruler of Clan Volkov, one of the most important wolf packs in the world. I am the warrior princess that will inherit my father’s clan.
Only if I choose a mate.
Control of the sacred woods and water source between clans had been the source of contention for a generation. The woods produced our food sources and blessed us all with what we needed. Until Angus rose to leader of Clan Lovell. His need for power outweighed his common sense, making him an idiot.
“Allow me to claim her,” he had said to my father. “She is the heir to your clan, daughter, and general. Your enforcer. Our clans together shall control all of the woods and resources.”
My father laughed. He couldn’t foist me off onto someone. I was a warrior not a simpering woman to be used as a political pawn.
“If you will not give her to me, I will take her by force and you will regret that decision.”
Regret? A little. That he had to use magic to subdue me spoke of my power. My decision had been a good one. I did not tolerate idiots or abusers.
Angus was both.
The jostling run was more frantic now, I could hear wolves joining, but the sounds were vicious. Had my father sent his wolves? No… the scents were wrong. These were different wolves, unfamiliar to me.
Then they dropped me onto the hard ground.
Damn it hurt.
I could hear the sounds of battle. The scent and sounds of the howls were foreign to me, they must have been part of Clan Penn. The smell of blood and fresh kill reminded me I hadn’t eaten since my capture… how long ago now?
The claw extended through the burlap, easily parting the fabric and the fresh air smelled good.
“What have we here?” the voice had an edge of amusement. The speaker was handsome. He was wolf, but wearing his human form and his thick black hair was messy. The black shirt had wet spots, which I assumed were blood.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” his voice calm, eyes flashing when he saw me trussed up. “First I’m going to rip the tape off your mouth. I warn you, it will be like ripping a very sticky bandage off your skin, but it will be over in seconds.”
He sat me up, leaning against his knee, he held me across the top of my chest and yanked.
“Son of a…” reminding myself that I was noble born and raised, adjusted my tone, “Thank you wolf.”
“You are?”
“Gwenyth, daughter of Boris from Clan Voktov.” I eyed him and knew immediately who this was. Suddenly aware of the state of my tattered rags and dirt stained face, I mustered up the power and pride I could and added, “And you, Lance of Clan Penn shall treat me with the dignity I deserve.”
He laughed again.
Lance was a modern wolf and business savvy. He had managed to go to war quietly by purchasing parcels and bits of land, hemming Lovell into a smaller and smaller piece of forest lands.
His amber eyes shone and caught mine and I felt an energy that was both foreign and natural at the same time. My wolf sat up and took notice with a nudge.
For the first time in all my years, I understood what the term “mate” meant.
He must have felt it too because his body stiffened and his eyes widened in surprise. The scent of arousal was strong.
“I’ll free you and see if I can’t get this collar off.”
He reached as I screamed, “STOP!”
His hand froze, almost reaching the dreaded witch’s curse.
“It is bespelled and meant to poison the waters here with my death.”
Pulling his hand away he looked at me.
“All right then.”
He freed me from the rest of my bonds and sighed.
“So what do we do?” Looking over the collar, frowning at the blisters and marks it made on my unprotected skin. “Ah, there’s a simple latch here but it looks like it requires a hand to open it..”
Suddenly, I reached back and grabbed the latch. The pain was almost unbearable as my skin made contact. Heat seared through my fingers, my breathing grew ragged as I realized, this could be my final act. Yet I persisted and finally managed to flip the clasp, loosening the accursed thing as I fell forward with a sharp cry.
“Here, drink,” his voice cut through the haze of pain. Holding a flask to my lips, I tasted the cool fresh water of the blessed source. The flavor of herbs for strength and protection; sage, cinnamon, rosemary, and mugwort washed through my system. Greedily I accepted the counter to the magic that fell me in the field.
The gifts of the woods.
“Thank you, mate, for giving me back my honor,” I whispered. Reaching toward his face, my arm trembled. I didn’t have the strength to reach his face and my arm fell like dead weight to the ground as I closed my eyes.
I was free. My last act was one of redemption, not enslavement. I could now rest in peace and power.