My Lycan Mate of Suicide Forest

"Isaac?" August called into the darkness. She heard another groan. "Are you okay, buddy?"

She walked carefully forward wondering where he had fallen, because below her the floor seemed to be solid stone.

Past a small room that contained the remains of two chairs, a stone fireplace, and a stairway in the far corner, she entered what had once been the kitchen. There wasn't much left of it, but the large porcelain sink and stone countertop still remained.

Shelves were carved into two of the stone walls where dishes were still nestled protectively, and ivy had penetrated through the one small broken window that looked out onto the forest in the back. A charred black wooden island stood—barely—in the center of the room.

August tried to piece together what she knew of the events that occurred here, but it didn't fit well in her mind. How had the alyko died here? The interior of the home was charred, but it wasn't significant enough to indicate mass murder. Perhaps the alyko were bound. Yes, they must have been tied up and left before the fire was started.

What a cowardly way to go about it—not that there was a good way. But her memories of witches being burned in film and dramatic reenactments were of the deaths being on display for all to see—as if the witnessing of the death was a kind of exorcism of evil for all who were present. Confirmation that the bad had been eradicated.

This was true for stonings and hangings as well. There was an element of spectacle to it. The witnessing of the killing was instrumental in the casting out of what was perceived as evil. But this was different. There seemed to be shame involved—as if they did not want to watch what they were putting into motion.

Another—louder—groan echoed up through the room, and August followed the sound to a small gaping opening in the wall. She hurried over to it.

"Isaac?" she called down, peering into the dark shaft within the wall. It looked to be a dumbwaiter, which was odd for such a small cottage. But sure enough, the opening ran up to the second floor as well as down to a lower level.

"Hold on, kiddo. I'm coming," she called again, though when she looked for the rope to pull the dumbwaiter up, it was dangling, unattached. It looked like Isaac had been playing in it, and the rope had snapped. She cursed under her breath. There was no way to get down to him that way without falling.

August scanned the kitchen again for another way down. There must be a staircase to the basement somewhere, but she didn't see one. There was no door other than one leading out to the back and another that she had come in from. Maybe there was a cellar door in the backyard…

A high-pitched scream rose from the dumbwaiter that had August gasping and running to the wall again with every one of her hairs standing on end.

"Help! Help! There's something down here!" He screamed with such conviction that she found herself climbing into the hole as every rational thought flew out of her head.

August braced herself with her back against one side of the shaft and her shins and hands against the other, attempting to lower herself to Isaac that way. It almost seemed possible until she slipped and caught herself, now awkwardly positioned to keep herself from sliding further.

Great. Now she was stuck. And unless someone came to help her, there was only way out of this.

When Isaac screamed again, she panicked and lost her grip and before she knew it she had hit the cold dirt floor below.

"Ah," she groaned. Something had crunched unnaturally in her ankle, and the pain rocked her, but she scrambled up on her hands and knees. "Isaac? Where are ya buddy?"

He was whimpering somewhere in front of her, and she crawled blindly toward the sound until finally her hand found him. He flinched at the contact.

"It's me. It's me. You're okay," she said reassuringly, drawing herself next to him and wrapping an arm around him protectively.

One of her hands instinctively searched—running over his head to feel, to reassure herself, that he was in one piece. When he realized it was someone familiar who had found him, Isaac clung to her whilst continuing his whimpering.

"I'm sorry. I didn't know," he cried. "I'm sorry."

"Shhh. It's okay," she said, trying to reassure herself as well as him, because right now she couldn't see anything. There was no light in this space below the kitchen.

As August looked around the darkness of the basement, she again opened her vision to the Veiled for whatever good it would do. There was a deep huffing noise from a distant corner, and Isaac squealed and shivered against her. She shushed him, patting his quivering form that seemed to be willing itself to burrow into her.

"What's making that noise?" she whispered.

Several more deep huffing sounds resounded, and she tried as best as she could to sense what it was. Whatever it was seemed fearful of their unexpected intrusion, and it sounded massive in size. Big lungs were huffing out all of that air.

"Does it smell like garbage to you?" she asked quietly.

"What?" Isaac whimpered fearfully.

Loud breathing interrupted them as the large body it belonged to shifted, and Isaac flinched.

"We just need to find another way out," August thought aloud.

"There is no other way out," he whimpered again.

"How do you know?" she asked.

"It's boarded up."

"But whatever this thing is got in here somehow," she countered. "And not by the dumbwaiter."

After a few more moments of whimpering, she felt Isaac pull away from her. "Follow me," he said.

"Isaac," she hissed, but she followed as he said. He was moving on all fours along a wall away from the sound.. August followed him, her hands finding the small disturbance of air that his feet left with each shuffle forward.