Taming The Wolf

Chapter 10

Bran's muscles tensed as he bounded down the castle steps. The acrid scent of smoke filled his nostrils, mingling with the metallic tang of blood. Before they left, he needed to see someone and ask them for his guidance. He rapped his knuckles against the heavy wooden door of her cottage. "Enter," a raspy voice called from within.

Bran pushed the door open, revealing a dimly lit room filled with swirling incense. Doireann, the seeress, sat hunched over a table, her silver hair cascading down her back. She didn't look up as he approached.

"My dear, Doireann. I need your guidance. The Vikings-"

"I know why you're here, young king." She lifted her milky eyes to meet his. "The battle ahead weighs on your mind."

Bran nodded, his jaw clenched. "What can you tell me?"

Doireann's gnarled fingers traced patterns on the table's surface. "The winds of fate blow in your favor, Bran. Your pack will emerge victorious, there will be injuries but it will be manageable."

Relief washed over him. He waited patiently as he watched her fingers trail the stones in front of her.

"But there is something else... something about your human mate," she said as her brows furrowed.

Bran's heart quickened. "Aoife? Is she in danger?"

"No, no." Doireann waved her hand dismissively. "But there's more to her than meets the eye. When you return from battle, we must speak of her. She is... not as ordinary as you believe."

Confusion and curiosity warred within Bran. "What do you mean? Tell me now."

"There's no time, young king. Your pack needs you." Doireann's tone brooked no argument. "Go. Lead your people to victory. We'll discuss the girl when you return. Bring her with you when you come back."

Bran opened his mouth to protest, but a distant howl cut through the air. His pack was calling. With a frustrated growl, he turned and strode from the room, Doireann's cryptic words echoing in his mind.

His pack was gathered in the courtyard, their eyes gleaming with anticipation and fear. "To arms!" Bran's voice thundered across the stone walls as he took off his clothes. "Defend our home!"

He shifted mid-stride, bones cracking and reforming as fur sprouted across his body. The transformation complete, Bran stood as a massive black wolf, his silver eyes scanning the horizon.

The Vikings' war cries echoed through the forest. Bran's ears twitched, pinpointing their location. He raised his muzzle and let out a bone-chilling howl, rallying his pack. Lorcan appeared at his side, already in wolf form. They exchanged glances, indicating they were ready to proceed. Bran nodded, his mind racing with strategies. He'd faced human armies before, but never with Aoife's safety weighing on his conscience. The thought of her alone in the castle made his hackles rise.

The pack surged forward, a tide of fur and fangs crashing through the gates. Bran led the charge, his powerful legs eating up the ground. The scent of the Vikings grew stronger, mixed with the stench of fear. They burst into a clearing, coming face to face with the invaders moving in from their outer perimeter. Bran's lips curled back, revealing razor-sharp teeth. For a moment, time seemed to stand still as the two forces sized each other up.

Then chaos erupted.

Bran lunged at the nearest Viking, his jaws clamping down on the man's sword arm. Bones crunched between his teeth as he whirled, flinging the screaming warrior into his comrades. All around him, his pack engaged the enemy. Snarls and screams filled the air, punctuated by the clash of steel on fang. Bran moved like a shadow through the melee, his black fur blending with the encroaching darkness.