WC: 519
As she struck the floor and was pinned, her opponent grinned her victory. The defeated one only snarled. She took defeat well, but it was where this defeat took her that caused her to be so vehement. The grip about her throat tightened, and the black fae relaxed, giving herself more space to breath. The space was quickly taken by the strong vice, but the other did not seem to wish to rob her of air, to suffocate and kill her. White orbs shifted at last from the victor to the black shadow that came from behind. Something flickered within those lunar depths—had He manifested? But no, this male creature was pure black and did not bear the death-white mark of the pied crow. This was no shade but a true wolf, alive and breathing, with eyes that were not black but silvered. For a moment the white orbs shone their defiance at the male, and then they were upon the green-eyed one once more.
Through the growls and snarls, the white teeth flashed in a vicious grin. Much to learn? The martial artist could have responded to those words, but for once she found enough mentality to keep silent. Indeed, the green-eyed woman had saved her life, but the Korean owed nothing to her. The stranger had shown aptitude in fighting, but the taekwondo fighter did not respect her. She was captured and subdued, but the pack wolf could not ensnare her soul. Salsola. The word was bitterly unfamiliar. At least now she knew what this place was called. The foreigner did not believe the stranger. She did not believe that she would be here until she died. And yet, in the depths of her heart, she heard the laughter of His darkness. She could only respond in silence, the black lips sheathing her white fangs. A frown tugged at her corners, and the eyes held their defiance. The black-pelted fae did not look away from those eyes. She refused to. She refused to accept true defeat to this Western female, to the angered male behind her, to the pack Salsola. She refused to accept that she was a part of this pack not as a member but as a slave.
A silent rage was ignited within her breast. Slave. Slavery. This should not have been her fate. Frustration rose within her, but without the means to act, there was nothing she could do. She had been defeated. She was determined. Somehow she would grow stronger. One day, perhaps, she would taste freedom once again. But it would not be soon. The Korean seemed to sense it. And the green-eyed one promised—until she died. Within her heart, a disheartened mark was made. Without freedom, what did she have? The martial artist, however, was not broken yet. She still had her limbs, and soon her strength would return. If she could fight, her life would not be completely without worth. Regardless of her capture, the young woman simply would not give her young fighter’s life away to slavery, and she would not allow it to be taken.
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