The One

Revenge

 The scene transformed into a chaotic symphony of violence as he stormed to where Karol was engaged in a deadly ballet with the werewolves. She shot, slid, and executed a throat-slitting manoeuvre, gliding through the fray like an ice skater on the rink of death. Her movements appeared breathtakingly effortless, yet one undeniable truth loomed: the enemy horde was only multiplying, as if fed by her very fury.

"Stop this bloody nonsense, you dipstick!"

A stranger clapped mockingly from the shadows of the trees, garnering her ire. "Good performance, not half-bad! Bravo, my queen," he sneered.

"Why are you doing this?" Karol demanded, her bloodlust momentarily overshadowed by confusion.

"I want you to suffer just as I have," he retorted, his voice a snarl.

"What I did to your family was their doing. I am who I am because they pushed me to it; they deserved every bloody moment."

"You killed them, you cold-hearted murderer. They didn't deserve to die at the hands of a mere human!"

Karol's eyes flashed fire. "Are you talking about yourself?"

"You killed them! Right before my five-year-old eyes! You heartless beast!"

With a roar, Rose lunged at full speed, and Karol smirked, tossing her gun aside and reaching for her combat knife, ready for the metamorphosis.

In an explosive leap, Rose transformed mid-air — and Karol seized her opportunity, launching herself forward with a twist, her blade slicing deep into the stranger's gut, claiming victory in a stunning instant that sent shockwaves down both their spines.

The stranger's howl echoed through the night, a guttural wail of betrayal and vengeance, awakening the wrath of the rogue wolves nearby. Yet instead of retreating, his anger ignited, the ferocity of his growl resounding like thunder. After several minutes of their brutal dance, the stranger lost control, morphing into a monstrous brown wolf — the spitting image of his father, the one she had savoured killing so slowly.

"You were the bastard son, the brown-coated wolf," Karol taunted, her smirk a weapon in itself.

"I am!" he bellowed, his transformation complete, charging towards her with rage-fuelled speed.

His intent was crystal clear: to humiliate her, to best her swiftly — but little did he know she was no mere foe. Her resolve hardened; she was not one to be trifled with. Yet, deep down, she felt desperation clawing at her spirit; she was no werewolf, no seasoned warrior. She was merely a survivor, a commander of her own fate.

The fight raged on as Karol's body began to yield; wounds accumulated and her strength waned. Helplessly, she lay back, facing the angry sky, cradling her shattered arm and gashed stomach. A bitter giggle escaped her lips as she met the stranger's mocking gaze. But then a thunderous growl pierced the air, fierce and protective, as Christian charged in, tackling the stranger to the ground.

She laughed again, bitterly, her harsh breaths mingling with the blood that spilled from her lips. Christian erupted towards her, gathering her against him in a frantic embrace, weeping and cursing everything under the sun, swearing vengeance on gods both known and unknown as he hauled her towards the medic wing.

As they hurtled through the night, the darkness swallowing them whole, Karol reached out with her mind, linking to her son: 'Luka, my darling, mummy loves you.'

'Mummy? I can sense you're hurt!' came his choked response, tremors of sorrow threading through his words.

'Tell the twins that mummy loves them, and will always remember them,' she urged.

'Mummy, no—'

With her final gasps, she whispered to her family, feeling the flicker of her life dimming. 'You are my greatest treasure, my greatest love. I love you, my family.'

One last link to her son flickered alive in her fading consciousness: 'I love you, baby boy. Always remember that.'

As the connection severed, her energy dwindled and Christian's frantic promises filled the air as he rushed through doors into chaos, "Almost there, love! Please hang on, please, hang on for us!"

Hours crawled by as they whisked her into the intensive care unit, the doctors fighting against time to mend her torn body. Outside, Christian paced like a wild beast, torment twisting in his gut as he wrestled with despair, feeling utterly powerless in the face of fate.

The battle may have concluded with their victory, but at what cost? They had claimed a few lives in the fight, yet even lesser numbers could not mask the overwhelming shadows of their losses.

Upon arriving at the medic wing, Beau and Accalia were greeted by the heart-wrenching sight of Christian, hunched over and sobbing, desperately trying to hold himself together. They rushed towards him, Luka trailing behind, clutching the twins close.

Without hesitation, Luka threw himself into his father's arms, the two of them weeping profusely, each crying a plea for comfort amidst the shared agony.

Meanwhile, the Randales scrambled through the mansion grounds, their urgency palpable as they rushed towards the medic wing. Suddenly, the door swung open, and Doctor Nat emerged from the operating theatre, dread etched across her face. But before she could utter a word about Karol's condition, the monitors blared out a horrifying cacophony—the steady rhythm of her heartbeat twisting into chaos before it flatlined.

In one frantic movement, Christian dashed inside, shoving aside a nurse who attempted to prevent his entry. His gaze fell on Karol, bloody, lying pale and motionless. A nurse began CPR, but Christian's anguish overtook him; he lunged forward, sinking his teeth into his mate's neck in a desperate attempt to transform her into a werewolf.

Bite after bite, he pressed his mouth against her neck, arms, and inner thigh, but still, hope flickered out. Just as her body quivered violently, slipping into shock, a whisper filled their mind link—"I love you and I forgive you, my mate."

The words halted him in his tracks, the weight of them crashing over him. He crumpled to the ground, shaking uncontrollably, before unleashing a howl that shattered the glass in the room. The mournful sound echoed, a chorus of sorrow as other wolves responded in kind.

Time blurred as he witnessed the flatline of the heart monitor; hope faded with each passing minute. In a moment of desperation, he preserved her body in an icebox, attaching a breathing machine, futile support for the lifeless form.

He locked the door, shutting out parents and pleas, consumed by grief and an unwavering trust in his love for Karol. He waited, hour after hour, starved of both food and drink, praying to any forces that might listen to restore his mate.

The first day dragged on, silence suffocating the air as he isolated himself, his eyes fixed on the icebox. On the second day, anxiety gripped his family as they began to worry about his health. On the third, the once-gentle concern morphed into harsh demands as the pallid visage of Karol remained unchanged.

By the fourth day, resolve melted into fatigue, and in a fit of exasperation, Christian succumbed to sleep.

In his dreams, he wandered to a serene stream, light dancing upon the water. There, a figure sat by the bank, ethereal and inviting. As he approached, she spoke without turning. "Christian, wake up. Go shower and eat. I'll follow you after."

With a nod, he murmured, "Okay," before awakening to the stark reality of the medic wing. He pressed his lips gently against the glass box encasing his mate, then swung the door open to find Jason wielding a kinetic breaching tool, flanked by the rest of the family, confusion painted across their faces.

Christian steeled himself, locking eyes with Jason before stepping into the outside world. He showered, then descended to the kitchen, obedience to the mysterious woman's instructions guiding him as his family looked on, bewildered.