Tangled With The Fated Mates

Wreakage Unleashed

Denzel's eyes darted from one corner to the other, and he sensed his rage intensify, mirroring an erupting volcano.

A vintage sports car that had been his father's, which he rarely took out, had been battered, its windscreen broken, its sides dented. He hissed as he took a deep breath.

"Fuck," he said, increasingly becoming exasperated.

The interior of the mansion was no better. Some of the windows had been shattered. He looked around and saw the chairs and tables upturned, the television lying flat.

There was a deliberateness to it, and Denzel could tell, but this only aggravated him. And then, just as he took one more step into the house, he had a thought.

"Nira!" His eyes blazed with a combination of fear and anger.
Usually, after the pack meetings, she would wait for him at the door to hand him a cup of coffee and smother him with kisses. But today was not the same.

As he went up the steps quickly, feeling light in his legs and a bit worried, he wished that nothing terrible had happened to her.

"Nira," he called again upon reaching the room's door.

Initially tapping it lightly, he escalated to pounding when met with silence.

Despite repeatedly calling her name, there was no response. Desperation drove him to twist the doorknob frantically, but it seemed locked outside; his keys were inconveniently stashed in the truck's glove compartment.

"Shit," Denzel muttered in frustration. Determinedly, he forcefully opened the door using the weight of his shoulder and upper body, sending it crashing to the floor.

The sight that greeted him was Nira, lifeless on the floor with a gash on her forehead.

"No," he whispered first, then exclaimed, "no!" Hurrying to her side, he shook her limp body, panic rising with each unresponsive moment.

"Nira, wake up." Fear constricted his throat. He persistently shook her, relying on his keen lupine senses to tune into the faint, rhythmic pulse of her heartbeat.

"Nira?" he said gently. "Come on, love, wake up."

Cradling her head, he rocked gently, and her eyes fluttered open, wide and fearful as if emerging from a nightmare. Struggling to rise, she was held back by Denzel.

"Hey, hey, relax."

"Is he ... are they gone?" she asked, voice breaking.

"They? Who are they, Nira?" Denzel inquired.

***
Nira had been in her room that night when she heard crashing noises in the living room. Before the sudden crashes, she had been having disturbing premonitions.

She knew something was about to happen, something dangerous, but she didn't know exactly what it was. She was in her room — her eyes closed, her legs crossed, her mouth working fast as she said a spell — when she heard the front door open.

Immediately, her fears took over. No one was supposed to be home; all the werewolves had gone for the pack meetings.

"Who's there?" she screamed, scrambling to her feet. But even as she stepped out the door, she knew who it was — Reid.

He had come with a small pack of werewolves. Nira addressed them from the overlook.

"What do you want, Reid?" She mustered the courage to speak calmly. She would not give Reid the pleasure of seeing her petrified.

He looked up at her with a smug smile.

"It was you, wasn't it?" he said, speeding up to meet her where she stood.