The Mystical Attraction of Alpha

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.

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

then to focus on my claws as the blood drips down his face.

That’s up to me.

me,” I say again, gentler

the words at me, as

I rip my claws again over his face – raking some

hands flying to cover his 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

falling flat to the floor next to the curled forms of his sliced

I roar, leaning over him now, “Or by your God’s own name I will do it AGAIN! And I will keep doing it until you are nothing but SHREDS OF WHAT YOU ONCE

trembles as he looks up at me, in so much pain now that I don’t know if his words are shaking in shock or fear or…something else. But I

has the child

to cover his face again but only

cries.

priest’s hands away from his face so that I can look down on

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

finish – because frankly, I don’t care. Instead, I raise a fist to shoulder height and

throat, watching as the blood flows quick. And then, as his hands fall limp at his side, I open the veins at

who dedicated his life to darkness. For what? For the chance to wield some spells? To feel, for a moment, that he was powerful

to the hall 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.