Shielding the Beast (discontinued)

Fourteen | Storm

A/N:
WARNING: crappy ending in this chapter, it will be fixed for sure later.
UPDATE: In case you're looking for the fixed ending, most of it has been. The part about Asher's father is all I have left to revise.

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Miles away, screams rip from canine and human lungs alike, bloodcurdling rattles that rustle the birds from their trees, a chorus of wings flapping in the sky.

They're coming closer.

Snarls that a normal wolf would fail to pick up my ears hear perfectly through the trees.

Watching from the balcony, the light of dawn grows brighter with every passing minute, but the storm-bearing clouds keep the sky a dark grey. Any moment the atmosphere would give, and the battleground the wolves fight upon would turn muddy.

With every clap of thunder, and every distant streak of lightning, the stirring in my stomach strengthens. When those clouds break, my humanity will want to go with them.

The air is cool, crisp with feel-good feeling cool weather notoriously brings.

From downstairs the aroma of food reaches my nose. Not the metallic scent of blood and death, but the scent of something actually fit to be on a table. Something that wouldn't give salmonella to someone without the anatomy of an animal.

For a peaceful moment I allow myself to almost feel normal, despite the writhing primal instincts wishing to be released. Listening to leaves shake in the growing winds, feeling the breeze blow on my cheek, and forgetting that there are thousands upon thousands of people who wish for me to be dead.

Even the sounds of savage slaughter miles away are somehow disregarded. Ignored until the shattering of glass and snarling of wolves riots below me.

Adrenaline driving me, my legs swing themselves over the balcony, half a heartbeat later my body drops off of it.

A sliding glass door is shattered, a gaping hole in its middle just large enough to fit a full-grown werewolf.

My canines rise from my gums, the pressure from the shifting of my teeth familiar. My fingers bear razor sharp weapons that dig into my palm, a trail of red forming before the wound heals itself.

Finding entry where the intruder did, I follow his tracks, blood smeared on the wooden floor like a massacre.

Disgruntled yells come from within the house. Running through the dinning room glass crunches beneath my bare feet, biting at the flesh. My pace doesn't slow, a constant speed heading straight for where the sounds of struggle are resonating from.

In the kitchen pots are strewn across the tiled dark mahogany floor, claw marks carved into the wood. The walls are splattered a bright red in places, tainting the chestnut color of the paint.

In the corner Asher's back faces me, his legs straddling a something hidden from view by his shoulders.

"Asher," it isn't a question, rather an announcement of my presence. He stills after hearing me, his body turning rigid. 

"There," a stranger's masculine voice growls with an ominous air, "There she is. Just who we came for."

To accompany the voice, a head of dark brown hair perks up from in front of Asher, half of his face stained crimson and his left eyelid shut.