Alpha Dom and His Human Surrogate

Roger

Less time probably passes than it feels like. Because it feels like hours of being seared by fire, of the Priest hurling spells at us.

And it’s not fire alone – it’s flames first, and then slicing spells that cut at us, and then wind – and ice – and something that feels like acid in the air that creeps into our lungs and makes us hack –

But slowly, slowly he burns himself out. And our men fall, screaming. But in the end, it’s me who prowls towards him in my wolf’s body, ignoring the aches and pains that come with every step. It’s me.

I step over my brother’s limp form, doing my best to ignore the fact that what breaths pulse from Dominic’s lips are short and shallow. That his eyes are shut, that whole swathes of his skin are burned away.

I only have eyes for him, this cornered Priest, at the end of this. Because it is the end. And I have him trapped.

Then, because I want him to see me in a form he can understand, I shift back into my human body, wincing as I do so, as the pains of my flesh reform themselves on hands instead of paws, on my legs instead of my haunches.

“Tell me” I command, as I stand before him, cowered in his corner.

“I will tell you noth-”

But I roar, allowing my nails to arc into claws that I slash across his face, opening four deep wounds across his cheeks, his nose, his lips. He shrieks in pain and covers his face before looking up at me.

my fury. “Because while you may be prepared to die for your god,” I say, holding up my hands

shift then to focus on my claws as the blood drips down his face. As he realizes what I’m saying. That he is

That’s up to me.

I say again,

in himself as he snarls the words at me, as he winces at the feel of his face shifting when he speaks, at the new pain there. “I told

move, I rip my claws again over his face – raking some in the fresh wounds I just placed there, but also opening some

wounds. But I slash at those next, letting my claws cut deep, severing several fingers and slicing deep into the tendons of his hand so that they are useless to him now – for the rest of his

next to the curled

him now, “Or by your God’s own name I will do it AGAIN!

much pain now that I don’t know if his words are shaking in shock or fear or…something else. But I have every reason to believe they’re

he has the

out in fear now, working to cover his face

know!” he cries.

he have!?” I command, shoving the priest’s hands away from his face so

the last we were supposed to hold you here – “he grits his teeth now, finding some level. of frustration in this, almost not believing that we found a way to

I don’t let him finish – because frankly, I don’t care. Instead, I raise a fist to shoulder height and then smash it, again and again, into the Priest’s clenched teeth, reducing his face to a bloody,

is done, I use my claws to cut his throat, watching as the blood flows quick. And then,

For what? For the chance to wield some spells? To feel, for a moment, that he was powerful in stealing

filled with our men. And I can tell the moment that the priest dies. Because there is an almost audible click as the magic leaves the house. I don’t know what it was – wards to tell him where we were? Further protections? It doesn’t matter. But I know, instantly, that everything is