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.

for your god,” I say, holding up my hands so he can see my weapons there, “I don’t think that your little order

down his face. As he realizes what I’m saying. That he is going

That’s up to me.

say

out, finding a little more courage and hate 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 you the master

– raking some in the fresh wounds I just placed there, but also opening some new ones

at the pain of it, his hands flying to cover his wounds. But I slash at those next, letting my claws cut deep, severing several fingers

the floor next to the curled forms of his sliced fingers, staring up

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

don’t know if his words are shaking in shock or fear or…something else. But I have every reason to believe they’re honest.He no longer has any reason to

gone, he has the child

fear now, working to cover his face again but only succeeding in leaking

he cries.

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

he moans, shaking his head. “We were – we were 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

don’t care. Instead, I raise a fist to shoulder height and then smash it, again and again, into the Priest’s clenched teeth,

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

who dedicated his life to darkness. For what? For the chance to wield

the house. I don’t know what it was – wards to tell him where we were? Further protections? It doesn’t matter. But