Wild Heart

Prologue

The world is changing and so is your path; don't falter, for you will fall. 

Egil worried at his lip and his dirt-smudged hands tapped restlessly upon the grainy table. Just an hour ago, a woman, hodded and regal, had sat across from him. She had several cards laid out before her; however, she had not touched them nor looked at them. Instead, she had merely studied Egil, who was woozy on the influence of alcohol he had accumulated from Mistguard. Her name and her originality is a complete mystery to him, yet she had not failed to make him shudder with terror. The words she had spoken smacked him in the gut and made him think long and hard. 

She had left soon after, a smirk playing about her lips, and strode for the door. How she had come to find his lonesome shanty cottage, Egil did not know. Nor did he know why she had come all this way to tell him the words she did. Was she paid? Was someone seeking to assassinate him? 

It wouldn't surprise him if anyone did. The people displayed their hatred for him outright without even trying to hide it; they wanted him gone, killed, impaled on a stake, where he no doubt belonged. Which is why Egil lived in solitude and would go into town little as possible. 

Egil silently mouthed the Occulta Viventem spell, his eyes closed in determined concentration. A cold wind blew around his body in a hushed whisper that made him shudder all the more. Pain coursed through him in a bone-crunching burst; however, Egil gritted his teeth to keep from screaming out in an outroar. There is no doubt about it: fear outweighed any kind of pain.  

Without looking down in speculation, Egil knew that his skin had turned feverishly pale. It often did when he performed magic. His body was not made for that kind of thing. He would have been if he was purebred, but he wasn't. Both of Egil's parents were different species, which caused him to become a unique case where he would have spasms that angered the villagers. Spasms that inflicted pain on others. It became the reason of why Egil had discovered his deficiency when it came to magic. His parents had shunned him after figuring out they had a defected son. It disgraced them as much as it disgraced him. 

Egil's head snapped up from his concentrated stare at the battered chair across from him to the front door, which had swung wide open, smacking the wall behind it. There a black vicious wolf stood, deep red eyes blazing in the dark. Egil clicked his tongue irritably, already annoyed at the large snarling wolf who opened his maw to show pointy white teeth. 

"Nice smile, Magnus," Egil snorted, chugging down a mug of ale. "I bet it works splendidly with the ladies back in Wynter." 

A soft tingle of warmth flooded Egil for a moment before a male seated himself in the woman's vacated chair. He winced at the sight and grimaced at the spilled blood she left behind as a little gift. Magnus, however, dragged his finger through the liquid and sucked on it, his lips a darker red than before. 

"Oh, believe me, it does," Magnus replied huskily with a wink, his smile bright. "In fact, I was just showing off my brilliant smile to her when you summoned me. What is it that you want, Egil? I'd like to get back to more important—" 

Egil banged his mug on the table, which sent a foamed spray of ale flying in all directions. Magnus blinked heavily but did not flinch. All he did was watch as Egil's eye twitched in a sudden outburst of rage that he couldn't control. "Something more important, you say! I'll tell you what's important, Magnus. I'm being hunted!" 

Magnus shook his head sadly and paused his drinking. He shouldn't have said such a thing; he knew that Egil always took such jokes seriously and should have prepared for it more strategically. It's too late to fix it now. Magnus could see the fresh spittle which slipped out of his mouth and down his chin. A stranger would call him crazy, but Magnus was no stranger.