Just a few more steps and then you can rest

You’ve made it this far, keep going

Don’t you dare die in this forest alone

That was only a snippet of what was going through Sam’s head as she dragged herself through the undergrowth of the forest. The werewolf wasn’t sure how long she had been walking for before she had collapsed, her body too weak to support its weight. She couldn’t stop, though, so she just dragged herself across the cold dirt, feeling spruce needles digging harshly into her knees and rocks tearing at her skin. She was still half turned, too exhausted to change back, but her claws came in handy as they allowed her to grip at the dirt for stability. She knew being in wolf form only expended energy but she was also glaringly aware that she probably wouldn’t survive anyway if she changed now. Her human form would be too weak to handle the pain and she could still feel blood seeping from the deep gouge in her side; without her lycanthropy boosting her healing, Sam would be better off dead.

She didn’t have much memory of the past few weeks, the only things she could remember were painful and hard to focus on. Ever since the death of their leader, the pack had gotten violent. With Connor on the run, the werewolves who idolized the late leader of the Rhodes pack had to take their grief and anger out on someone else. Sam was the obvious target, seeing as her insubordinate behaviour was the reason he was dead in the first place.

They had kept her in one of the empty caves, back in chains like she had been merely days before. She was still a new wolf and the treatment didn’t help her adjust, the enchanted silver of her restraints burned at her skin and left her writhing in constant discomfort. She was scarcely fed, thrown only bones and the rare piece of scraps if they were feeling especially kind. Sam was no stranger to their hate, she had never really been accepted since her turning anyway, but this was even worse than she could have imagined. They beat her every day, letting the younger fighters use her as a training dummy just as Cornelius had wanted before he died. At sundown she would be thrown roughly back in her cave, her wounds full of rocks and her body unable to heal because it was so weak. Sam couldn’t do anything but weep, praying to the universe that someone would just put her out of her misery.

This day had been different, though. One of the pups was in charge of putting her back in chains, heaving her limp body across the camp to lock her away again. He didn’t want anything to do with this job, that was clear, and he didn’t make certain that the restraints were tight. He left and it took Sam a few hours to work up the strength and courage to slip her scarred wrists from the loose chains. Knowing this was her only chance, Sam waited until she was sure no one was awake, praying that they didn’t come check on her that evening. It took all her willpower to keep quiet, wanting to cry out with the agony she felt as she hobbled as silently as possible. She was limping, pretty sure one of her ankles was shattered at that point. Still, the second she reached the edge of the camp, Sam took off in a sprint; knowing someone would catch her scent soon enough.

Unsure of where she was or how long she had been running for, the blonde knew she was lost. She hoped that would mean no other wolf would find her, though she didn’t know how in the world she would survive this. The sun had begun to rise slowly to the east, letting her know it must have been about 6 hours since she started running. She was running on fumes, barely able to drag herself without feeling like she would throw up, though it would be only bile by that point. When her weak wrist finally gave out, a sickening crack echoing through the forest as she failed to catch herself, Sam could only whimper. She rolled herself over partially, curling into herself in the mud because she knew this was it. She would die here, alone and in absolute agony, but at least it wouldn’t be by the pack’s hand.

“Connor,” she mumbled weakly into the empty air, “I’m so sorry.”

That was when her vision went dark, surrendering to the promise of peace found in unconsciousness.

***

“Oh dear, you poor thing.”

An accent that she didn’t recognize, childish yet sounding ancient all the same. Sam couldn’t open her eyes, a blinding light casting painful shapes behind her eyelids. This must be the end, she figured, the voice belonging to whatever would end her suffering. She didn’t know if werewolves could even go to Heaven, probably not, but she just hoped Purgatory would be less painful than the alternative.

“Mama won’t…” the voice just barely broke through her haze, “... I can’t leave her…”

Excruciating pain shot through Sam’s body soon after, making her cry out. Well, she assumed she did, though she couldn’t hear herself at all. Every fibre of her being was begging for it to end, pleading with whatever was torturing her to just let her die. Those were the only words in her mind just before she blacked out again.

Please, let me die.

***

Cold hands, hushed voices, the feeling of something pressing into her wounds. It all just brushed at the edge of her consciousness, making Sam feel like she was in a dream. She must be, she figured, but she didn’t dare open her eyes. Waking up would mean being a punching bag all over again, the last thing she wanted to feel again was the razor sharp fangs tearing at her flesh. She couldn't live through her second family turning on her, over and over; she didn’t want to wake up to that ever again.

“Poor pup,” Sam wanted to flinch at the freezing fingers that trailed down her bruised face, “... in such a state.”

There was more conversation, both voices carrying the same accented tone that made her feel in a foreign place. She couldn’t place their words, as if they switch languages mid sentence and her brain couldn’t tell one word from another. Nothing felt real, not even the searing pain when her ankle was snapped back into place with a crunch that shook her whole leg. Nothing felt real, of course it didn’t; she was dead after all.

***

“Hey, c’mon, pup.”

Sam whined, the lights were once again too bright and her eyes refused to open. She didn’t know where she was and the freezing touch was back on her skin again. Clearly she wasn’t dead, not yet, despite what she had previously thought. She had been in and out of consciousness a few times, roused by the same low voice and the promise of painkillers or water.

“You need to drink something,” the voice pressed and a hand was on the back of Sam’s neck, “Would be a shame if dehydration kills you, after all of this.”

She didn’t fight when a glass was pressed to her lips, the hand cradling her head so she didn’t choke. She hadn’t noticed just how thirsty she had been, not until her dry throat was finally met with the water offered to her. It made her cough a little, relieved to have some fluids but it still shocked her body, and that earned her a soft chuckle from her caretaker.

“Careful,” the glass was removed when she had her fill and her head was guided back to the pillow, “Are you ready to join us?”

Sam didn’t answer, she couldn’t, because her head was pounding. She wanted to escape back into the minor peace she found in sleep, the one place away from all her pain and fear. She could only whimper a little when her body was jostled, an apology murmured as something soft was tucked around her.

“Alright, rest then.”

***

“She barely stirs,” her caretaker’s tone was matter-of-fact, “I am surprised. Lycanthropy-induced healing is incredibly agonizing.”

“Ava?” a new voice, an american accent that Sam swore she had heard before; not in this life but in her human one.

“What is it, Darling?”

“Where did she come from?”

“Tia found her,” the reply was gentle, “Half dead in the woods. The child has never been good with death, she begged me to save her. I couldn’t let the pup die, not on our land, so she may rest here until she regains her strength.”

“She is lucky to have you.”

Sam took a shaky inhale, scenting the air as best she could. This was the most alert she had been in days and she finally realized that her caretakers were not of the species she assumed. Well, she wasn't quite sure what she expected, but the scent of a vampire was not it. The other person was just that, human, though she reeked of vampire too. As much as her instincts told her this was the enemy, that she was in danger, she knew that wasn’t true. This vampire had been nothing but caring since she was brought here and she had certainly had a fair amount of chances to kill Sam before then. She was safe here, far safer than anywhere else in that moment.

“She grows stronger each day,” the vampire, Ava, continued, “Could you let the mongrels know, Darling? They may know of her, if they’d come take a look.”

“I will,” the American woman agreed, “Connor said he would drop by later, I’ll ask him then.”