Being thrown to the wolves is a death sentence.
Adalia knows that all too well, since she witnessed her own father being slaughtered in that same unmerciful way.
Living life as a meek slave in a kingdom full of royals, Adalia has no rights and is tr...
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Rogue's breath filled the air as the feral wolves panted upon the ground. Crimson leaked from their open wounds and their last breaths were dawning upon them like the rising sun. Fur turned to skin, revealing the nakedness of mankind.
Silence spoke the loudest and the forest was wrapped in the shadow of death. Crunching snow and marching feet shattered the silence like glass. Beasts of ice and fur surrounded the wounded trespassers, snarling and snapping their teeth.
The king of beasts arose from the depths of the dark forests. With a growl, he shifted back into a human. A muscled, wild-looking man replaced the beast he once was. His dark auburn hair was messy and tousled having been windswept from the icy chill of the forest. Scars adorned his bare body and his chest rose and fell with each deep breath.
His presence was graced by power. Fear struck in the hearts of the wounded creatures but they realized their mistake far too late.
Symbols of death squawked and cawed above, circling the grey skies, ready and waiting to pick the bones of the deceased.
His wolves waited for his command, their eyes eager for blood. Time stood still and silence suffocated all of them.
Then he spoke.
His dark voice splintered the silence.
"Kill them."
His wolves attacked. Teeth sunk into flesh and tore skin from bones. Ripping. Tearing. Devouring. The beasts crushed life between their jaws with relentless power. The victims cried and begged.
But their pleas for mercy fell on deaf ears.
White turned to crimson as their blood was spilled upon the land. Torn throats and severed arteries spilled their fluids, staining the teeth and fur of the wolves that take. Take. Take. Take.
Their leader watched them - emotionless, unmoving. His eyes darkened by bloodshed and his burly arms were crossed over his chest. He watched how the victims before him surrendered to death. Their eyes of all colors widening in complete and utter shock before they breathe their last.
Eyes fall into a glass-like state.
Wide open, glossy, void.
Bodies fall limp, mouths hanging open.
They lie in a pool of their own blood, forever reminding anyone that whoever dares to cross into his pack lands will meet their brutal end, bathing in their own life source and their intestines as pillows for their corpses.
When all traces of life have been eliminated, the leader commands once more.
"Shift."
Bones broke, claws retracted. Fur turned to skin and several bare, feral men stood in the beast's place. Their eyes were almost animalistic - the way they looked wild and untameable. Each man's height was like that of the great frozen trees that grew in Winterfest.
