An Alpha and a witch, one cruel, one kind. Who will win and who will lose in this mateship? Will they come out of it hand-in-hand or part ways when the truth is revealed?
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Twenty-two minutes.
We didn't even wait for the tremors to stop.
We charged. At full speed. Because every second mattered from now until the portal was sealed shut.
The rush of adrenaline had my muscles pumping in ways they've never been used before.
Anyone watching me from above would think I was on steroids.
I was dodging fallen branches and pieces of bark expertly– as if it came naturally to me. My vision was blurred, and the only image my eyes narrowed in on was the flickering numbers on my wrist.
Twenty-one minutes and fifteen seconds.
I had been in battles before, but none of them had me riled up to this stage. This was a war to avenge every innocent soul that gained their angel wings the hard way at his hands.
And the first and last drops of his blood would be mine to claim, mine to savour, and mine to stain my lips.
If anyone could feel the overwhelming need for revenge that burned in my chest, I could probably pass as a vampire because it did not seem healthy for any other species to crave blood like this.
Twenty minutes and twenty-five seconds.
The distance that was supposed to take us three minutes to cover only took us a minute and a half.
We broke through the line of trees that revealed the entry to the camp of the enemy a short distance away, where they were blissfully ignorant of the raid that was to take place on both sides.
The moment we could see the silhouettes of bodies through the thick fog, Alrik threw his head back and let out a chilling howl that put horror movies to shame just as Daxton sped over our heads and released a fierce roar along with a terrifying stream of flames that broke through the fog seamlessly.
There were a few angry squawks in the distance, and a streak of red across the sky as the rogue dragons soared toward them with their mouths ablaze, creating fireworks of blood and flames.
Nineteen minutes.
This had turned into a deadly game of Capture the Flag.
Except we weren't chasing a flag, we were chasing a lunatic.
Alrik was leading his pack warriors to demolish the defense around the camp, Daxton was piloting his warriors through the rogue dragons and diverting their attention so they would not target our side with their flames, and I was charging for the center of the battle with a majority of my coven, five wolves, and Reece.
She was sprinting ahead of me with the other wolves, clearing the path as I used the staff to fight the rogues that broke through the little protective circle. I had discovered the sharp edges on the staff were a great weapon in itself so I was decapitating and wounding wolves left and right.
