Queen Rouge

Chapter 1

"Demina." A face pops around the door. It's Jamie. Tyson's lap dog. No matter how mad or crazy the command is, if Tyson wants it. Jamie will do it, even if it kills him.

"What?!" I snap at him, making him flinch. Still glaring down Timothy. It's not long before Tim lowers his head, his shoulders sagging, resolving our little spat. I don't know why he bothers. He knows he's no match for me, no one is. There's only one person in the entire world who might possibly be able to beat me. And that's a very tiny maybe at best.

"Tyson wants to speak with you." He says, his voice only just betraying him. His words portraying a slight tremor, undetectable to most. "It's important. He's in the throne room." I roll my eyes at the last part.

Of course he's in the throne room. When isn't he in the throne room? As the self-proclaimed king of the Rouges, Tyson likes to reside in abandoned castles and dress up in fancy garb. Pretending to be royalty. A fool in king's clothing. He's a real royal pain in the arse if you ask me. In my opinion that's about as close to royalty as he'll ever get.

Standing up I run my fingers through my lovely, long brown locks. Chocolate, dark chocolate to be precise. My hair colour reminds everyone of dark chocolate. Milk chocolate in the light. I used to have the nickname Cadbury. That was before I beat the shit out of anyone who even dared whisper the name. I'm not fan of cushy nicknames or any nicknames to be truthful. Nicknames commonly make you likeable and I'm not interested in being liked. I'm not here to make friends. That's one thing I make clear. It also happens to be what dear young little Timothy doesn't seem to be able to comprehend.

I leave the room, barring my elongated canines at Jamie as I pass. Trying not to laugh as his face pales beyond belief. He looks like he might pee his pants. Retracting my teeth I quietly chuckle to myself, unable to contain my amusement. I slowly make my way down the hall deliberately taking the longer way to the throne room. Shooting daggers at anyone who glances my way. I'm not a friendly person. I've done things that sends chills down people's spines. Horrible, horrendous things. Bloody things.

I'm not ashamed to say I've got a lot of blood on my hands. I'm also not ashamed to say that the blood currently staining my hands won't be the last. Bloods that'll never washes off. Because you can't wash off blood. You may not see it, but it's still there. Staining your skin. Seeping beneath the layers. It's scent mixing in with yours. After awhile the scent will fade, as will the stains, but it won't leave for good. It'll still be there, just very faintly. Barely noticeable. Only just. Cause once you kill, it's part of you, forever after.

I enter the throne room. My silhouette hidden within the shadows. My scent masked. My steps soundless. My movements effortless. Graceful and Devine. Fluid and cat like. But I'm not a cat. I'm a wolf. I howl at the moon. I'm a predator of the night.

Tyson is sitting on 'his throne' looking out over the empty room. Completely furniture less, the stone throne set in the floor being the only decor the room has. With the exception of the old tattered drapes hanging on the walls. Life less curtains barely keeping the sun out. Vines and other plants having crept through broken windows. Growing over the stone infrastructure. Bring what holds some of the slightly crumbling stone walls together. I walk up behind him. Less than a metre behind him. With him completely unaware of my presence.

"You wished to see me." My voice rings out, breaking the peaceful silence. My annoyance from him 'commanding' me here dripping through my tone. A harsh, sharp, knifelike quality to it. Tyson jumps, startled. His head whipping around to face me.

"Demina. Haven't I told you not to sneak up on people." He scolds me, straightening his now slightly rumbled silk garments. My eyes flash. Narrowing into slits. I give him a frosty look that could kill. As you might've noticed, I don't take lightly to bring bossed around. He noticeably swallows. "And yes, I did wish to see you." He says, his voice steady, not betraying him to his real feelings. But I could see it all in his eyes. His fear. His fear of me.

"So come on, spit it out. I don't have all day." I snapped at him, softening my glare only a little.

"There have been some complications. Some complications that will take us into pack territory. And I'd like you to be part of the expedition. We need someone with expertise with your... Specific..... Field." Tyson democratically says. Lightly brushing over the more difficult subjects snd topics. The topic of which my expertise is killing people.

"What's in it for me?" I ask him, not wanting to step foot on pack territory but willing to for the right price.

"You know exactly what's in it for you. Whatever your little heart desires." He smiles at me. Tyson has always been a sly charmer. It's what he does best. It's why he's managed to get into a position of power. Using his slick words to persuade people to do his biding. But we all no that words can't get you everything. And that's where I come in. In return for whatever I want I 'protect' him from brute force, and add s little bit of motivation. Extra persuasion, of the brutal variety. In dimples words I intimidate his opponents. And carry through with my threats of the don't oblige. It's a win win situation. I get what I want. He gets what he wants.

I nod my head in reply. Turning on the bills of my feet. My hair flying out behind me. I stalk away from him. Re-entering the shadows. Disappearing from sight. I'm about to exit the room when he calls out after me. "We're leaving at dawn. So don't be late."

I growl at the last part. If I'm anything, I'm punctual. I'm never late. Neither am I early. I arrive on time, every time. And he fully well knows that. He's just trying to annoy the shit out of me. In which case he succeeded quite some time ago.