Annie was once docile as a lamb, but now she is a wolf on the loose.
She is on a desperate quest :
Finding her true identity,
And finding her father.
Struggling to find a balance between herself and her inner wolf will she find balance? Since...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
——————- Only time can show the true value of a person. MJ1 —————-
Wolf Realm
Quick footsteps echoed through the vast, hollow halls of the palace. They neared the main chamber where Damon sat in silence. He sniffed the air. Servants. The scent was always the same : smoke, metal, sweat, and fear.
Damon stretched his stiff body within the silver throne, grotesquely crafted and rimmed with needle-like pikes designed to draw blood at every movement. The metal groaned softly beneath his weight. So did he.
The heavy wooden doors creaked open just enough to let a sliver of light in and a man. A servant, eyes low, lips sealed, approached and began setting down the instruments on a small iron table beside the throne. Hooks. Brands. Implements not just of pain, but of purpose. Symbols of dominion. Damon shifted, straightening his arched back with agonizing slowness. A sharp crack echoed as a vertebra slipped back into place. He bit down on a grunt. One of the spikes tore a fresh line down his back. Warm blood trickled beneath his shirt.
The servant didn't react. He didn't dare. No one showed sympathy here. Not unless they wanted to share in the punishment.
Five years. Damon had been trapped for five years. That day. He had come from another mission into the wolf realm trying to get as many souls to cross paths into the human realm. Into sanctuary. He had thought himself safe. His family was safe. But they weren't. His wife, Isabella. Though her memory had faded, the wounds in her soul endured.
Damon huffed a slow breath just enough to avoid a sharp pain in his ribs. That's the cruel irony—people believe the mind can forget. That time and silence are enough to soften agony into something bearable. But the body remembers. The soul remembers. Pain burrows deep, hiding beneath the surface, waiting. He thought.
Isabella had grown distant and scared as Devon had got closer to their home. They had changed cities many times and their lives had changed drastically. They were no longer living the life of a millionaire, but the life of a struggling entrepreneur. And again. It hadn't been enough.
Magic made ripples and those ripples could be tracked. Annie was a living beacon. She was too inexperienced. And Leah. Her apparition wasn't helping things. Annie was too young yet she had become valuable. She had become the absolute thing king Davon dreamed to possess. The power of the ancients. A werewolf witch.
Coming back to find her daughter's powers subdued and her mind altered had shifted something inside him. Annie was in danger. And her mother was that danger. He had to save his child and take her away from her mother. I had no choice.
Damon hitched breathing subdued. The sting sensation of the wolfsbane in his system was wearing out. The man cleaned up the biggest part of the blood on his chair and added a new coat of wolfsbane on the spikes.
