WARNING : This chapter contains gory depictions of death and torture. Read at your own discretion.

My heart sunk.

Brandy dug a hole for me and didn't realize that she was also going to be buried in it.

It was evident that she believed everything the Hunters told her. She didn't realize that they were just using her the same way they used all those other werewolves that they captured and killed.

First, they would promise the werewolves everything to their hearts content.

Second, they would infiltrate the pack with that werewolf's help.

Third, they would eradicate the Alpha of the pack.

And finally, they would kill every single being within the 10 mile radius, including the werewolf that they had worked with.

Without someone leading them into the pack, the hunters would never be able to exterminate a pack within such a short time frame.

What made Brandy think that allying herself with the Hunters was a good idea? When has that ever been a good idea?

Just because Lilith managed to escape their grasp doesn't mean that she will too. They will turn on her when given the chance.

And it just so happens that the time has come.

Brandy was shaking with rage, uncontrollable like a desperate and wounded animal ready to fight for its life.

Instead of running, she chose to fight them head on. Her face morphed back and forth between humanoid and wolf features due to her wavering emotions.

Everything happened in rapid succession after that.

Brandy leaped into the air at the hunters, halfway through shifting into her wolf when the loud gunshot went off.

My heart stuttered a beat.

One of the hunters shot her dead in the center of her forehead and a ring of black quickly formed as her skin was charred and burned in the span of seconds.

Brandy had no chance.

When she was hit with the bullet infused with concentrated silver and mercury, I knew that there was no going back.

She stopped midair and her wolf dissolved until she was forced back into her humanoid form. I could hear a pained whine leave her throat, choked and sharp, before her body flopped over into a heap on the forest floor.

My eyes closed as a tear trickled down my chilled cheek, feeling hot and cold at the same time.

Regardless of how she treated me, Brandy didn't deserve to die like that.

She was also a victim, used by the hunters in order for them to achieve their wicked schemes. They played her just like they played everyone else.

Brandy made the mistake of trusting them.

And it had cost her dearly.

I sniffled, trying to calm my emotions when a hunter stopped right at Brandy's lifeless body. The tall male pulled a silver dagger out from the scabbard strapped on his waist and dug the sharp blade into Brandy's chest.

With deft precision, the hunter carved a circle through Brandy's chest cavity and lifted the bloody flesh to dig deeper.

Just the sickening noise of her ribs shattering under the force was enough to make me turn my head away.

I couldn't bear to watch as the Hunter dug out Brandy's heart.

From what I knew, a silver bullet couldn't completely kill a werewolf. There's no guarantee that the werewolf would die and stay dead. And in order to completely destroy all chances of survival, the heart or the head needs to be cleanly removed from the body and burned.

Since her heart was removed, Brandy was really dead now.

There was nothing that could bring her back.

At the terrifying notion, more tears dripped down my face, wetting my cheeks until I could barely see through the haze of my ugly emotions. I contemplated running but doubted my abilities could rival their enhanced ones.

And, as if they knew my intentions, the male with the ponytail said, "Run and we will break one of your legs, breeder. Choose wisely."

Chewing on my bottom lip, cold sweat dripped down the side of my face and to the column of my throat.

I stood stalk still and waited for the inevitable.

As they approached, they kept their defenses up with muscles tightly coiled and a gun aimed at my face. They acted as if I was a threat to them if not properly detained.

Smart.

"Keep the little bitch alive. Those scientists want her for their experiment," the leader, with the glass eye, warningly said. "They don't want damaged goods."

At his words, my blood ran cold.

Experiment.

I was their next experiment.

What did I expect? Why else would the hunters come for me?

A bitter sarcastic smile graced my lips while angry tears tipped my lashes at the thought of my own demise. The word feels cold and barren, yet so accurate of my upcoming future once the scientists were done with me.

At this point, I already realize how pointless fighting them would be. I could do more damage than good if I anger them, and that would not be good for me or my babies.

The risk is far too high for me to attempt anything stupid.

I knew that, yet the thought of letting them easily achieve what they wanted didn't settle with me.

So when the Hunter reached out for me, I grabbed onto his arm and bit his hand hard. He swatted me off like a fly to show me how fruitless my act of defiance was, and I didn't put up much of a fight after that, knowing that it was futile.

When they captured me, I realized something terribly disturbing.

Eros didn't come.

No matter what I screamed into the mind-link, there was no reply.

The deadening thought made my chest tighten painfully with worry. And I couldn't help but pray for his safety.

To all the god's out there, please keep him safe, please keep my Eros safe.

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"Such pretty and smooth skin. What if I accidentally run my scalpel against her face and mar it?" a feminine voice asked through the haze with a playful and cheery intonation.

I don't remember what happened after I was captured by the Hunters other than getting hit in the face once or twice when I tried to gouge their leader's last eye out. They must have knocked me unconscious in order to keep me from attacking them before handing me off to these people.

Now that I am aware of my surroundings, I could feel the chilling cold seep through my skin and into my bones. I was laying naked on a cold autopsy table of some sorts and the stainless steel was freezing against my flesh.

It didn't take me but two seconds to figure out that I was in a lab. The scent of sterile equipment and bleach was strong in the room just like in the lab that I had worked in before.

Instead of opening my eyes to look at my surroundings, I kept my eyes closed.

I couldn't let them know that I was awake. If they were to find out, they would put me under again or possibly...kill me.

What good will I be dead? Who will save my children and I if I don't?

I decided to wait for an opening, pretend that I am still unconscious and under the affects of their anesthesia for that one chance. If I am not given a chance, I will make one myself.

Holding my breath, I willed my limbs to remain still as I imitated death, which was not hard because the rest of me was still numb from the affects of their drugs.

And even if I try to get up right now, I doubted that I could get very far before they hold me down and put me to sleep for good.

Through the bare slits of my eyes, I could see the blurry image of a male and female, working on my lower abdomen with their tools.

They were aiming to take my womb from my body.

They were going to do surgery on me.

No.

Not surgery, because this wasn't a hospital.

It was a butcher shop.

They cut me open like I was their next slaughter, uncaring of the damage left behind each time their scalpel marked my flesh. And they certainly didn't care to make the cut neat, dragging the blade across in jagged lines as if they were drawing across my abdomen just for the sick fun of it.

I was aware of every single cut across my skin and every single drag of their scalpel felt like the burning of hell left in its wake.

I prayed that they didn't hurt my children, prayed that they did cut my womb open. But I knew that they weren't stupid enough to damage my womb before they are able to carefully analyze it, that's the only reason they chose to keep me alive.

Choking back a pained whine, I kept my mouth sealed shut; although, the pain was far worse than anything I have ever felt.

"We don't have time to mess around, Candy," the deeper male voice replied in an unbothered manner, as if he was used to her psychotic ways and didn't care to chide her behavior.

After his words, the cold slide of something sharp against my cheek immediately pulls me away from my thoughts until I could only think of the scalpel slowly dancing across my face.

My own warm blood trickled off of the scalpel and slid down the sides of my face, dropping onto the shell of my ear before collecting on the rim.

The anxiety was almost palpable, cold sweat starting to collect on my neck when I calmed my fear with a steel strong resolve.

I don't know where I got the strength to remain conscious because the pain was truly unbearable for a person with low pain tolerance like me.

This is the only time in my life where willpower was starting to win. I have to survive for my children.

"Don't be such a party pooper, Scar. I'm just going to carve my name onto her face, it won't take more than a minute," Candy informed with this whining tone of voice.

"You're fucked up, Candy," he replied with a husky dark chuckle that seemed more encouraging than insulting.

Then, he dug his own scalpel deeper into my lower abdomen, turning the blade just enough for my stomach to bubble revoltingly in response.

And the mind-blowing pain rendered me motionless.

After his statement, there was a slight pause when I felt the extremely painful sensation of my cheek getting cut open.

Candy's cold scalpel came across my left cheek, trailing down to my chin and curled back up again.

Quietly, I dragged in a choked breath of air at the mind numbing pain that nearly draws tears to my eyes.

"I hate it when someone's prettier than me. It makes me want to cut off their face and step all over it," she confessed, her hand becoming heavier as I felt the scalpel cut completely through my cheek and dig into my gums.

The pain was terrible, filling every nerve fiber with the sensation of burning fire. It hurt so badly that I had to fight the need to throw up when I started swallowing down mouthfuls of my own blood.

Even my veins popped out from the restraint I showed myself, trying hard not to tense my body or grit my jaw in case they noticed.

And in order to distract myself, I bit hard on my tongue until it bled, continuously biting until I could barely will my teeth down on the abused flesh.

Pain meant I was still alive.

Pain meant I was still breathing.

I chanted the mantra in my head, trying to fill my brain with different thoughts to keep my mind busy.

And I couldn't help but think of what would have happened if I hadn't woken up when I had, when they first started cutting me.

What would have happened? To me? To my babies?

The terrifying thought sends a fear through me that I barely manage to extinguish.

Just the thought of demise made this fire burn hotly inside of my chest, not from pain, of course, but from anger and unadulterated fury.

Several seconds later, Candy finally finished the torturous motions on my face and headed back to my abdomen with Scar.

I assume that she finished engraving her name into my face.

Most would be terrified that something like this is happening, but I'm not, not when I have more important things to worry about, like my unborn children.

And since my skin doesn't scar, even if she took a chunk off of my face, it would regrow and heal over.

Heaving a shiver of pain, I tried to control the slight tremble in my hands and found that I couldn't.

But since they were too busy trying to cut my stomach open, they did not notice how my hand shook with each slide of the scalpel against my flesh.

As I lay there, halfway numb from the pain and partially in shock, I am suddenly reminded of when Rora told me that if my womb were to ever be removed, it would grow back.

But I don't want it to grow back because I want the current one with my children in it.

"I'm going to take a short break. You finish up the rest, Candy," Scar stated after completely opening a hole in my lower abdomen. He wiped his shaking hands onto a paper towel after he finished taking off the glove and washing them thoroughly with antibacterial soap.

"You know, Scar, those cigarettes will kill you before the supernaturals do," Candy remarked, as if she cared for her companion, which I doubt because she didn't look the type to care for anyone other than herself. "And if you die, I am going to take that black lung from your body to keep inside of a cookie jar in memory of you."

Her words just cemented how totally insane she is.

Scar gave her the middle finger and pulled out a packet of cigarettes from his pocket before he rummaged around for his lighter.

I silently waited, counting every second down while analyzing the room through the cracks of my eyes.

When Scar finally left, I knew that this was my only chance.

It was now or never.

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A/N : Since Brandy/Brandon will not be moving forward after this chapter, please ignore the change and enjoy the story. I may bring Brandon back one day when I feel confident enough to ignore all the criticism and hate. Thank you for reading and supporting! It is really helping me to move on from this. :)

The events in this chapter has been foreshadowed since the beginning but it was extremely hard to write >.

Fun fact, but this was written based off of my mother's experience when she woke up during surgery and had to lay still for over an hour to not disturb the doctors. She didn't even scream once through the pain. So I think Emira would be able to do the same for her children. :)