The Mystical Attraction of Alpha

Chapter 372: Burn Out

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.

your god,” I say, holding up

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

That’s up to me.

me,” I say again,

me, as he winces at the feel of his face shifting

over his face – raking some in the fresh wounds I just placed there, but

I slash at those next, letting my claws cut deep, severing several fingers and slicing deep

again, falling flat to the floor next to the curled forms of his

own name I will do it AGAIN!

that I don’t know if his words are shaking in shock or fear or…something else.

gone, he has the

the priest cries out in fear now, working to cover his face

he cries. “He didn’t

away from his face so that I

were supposed to hold you here – “he grits his teeth now, finding some level. of frustration in this, almost

frankly, I don’t care. Instead, I raise a fist to shoulder height and then smash it,

cut his throat, watching as the blood flows quick. And

want to spend no more time with this wretch of a man, who dedicated his life to darkness. For what? For the chance to wield some spells? To feel, for

house. I don’t know what it was – wards to

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