The assassination of the royal family has left the werewolf kingdom in the hands of a rebel pack. Peace and prosperity have now been replaced with corruption, crime, and poverty. Freya Lockehart, the last remaining member of the royal family, is on...
had to check the safe, check my dresser for my chains
I hung my apron onto the hook and grabbed my bag, exiting the pack kitchen. I was on my way to the bathroom when a group of girls roughly my age passed by. They giggled and danced by me in their gorgeous gowns. They were obviously headed to the Mating Ball.
I was grateful that I didn't have to go. Enough people volunteered to go, so the Alpha didn't even need to draw names to meet the rule of ten girls and boys per pack. I didn't understand why they wanted to go. They could easily fall into the hands of a Red.
I would know.
But no, they were under the impression that they would attend the ball and lock eyes with a handsome werewolf who would just so happen to be their mate.
How naive they were.
I rushed into one of the bathrooms of the pack house and closed the door. Taking a deep breath, I rinsed my face and wiped my hands on a towel. I pushed my long brown hair into what was supposed to be a ponytail, but strands fell out and the top had little bumps sticking out in random spots. Twenty-two years on this planet and I still failed at the simple task of tying my hair.
I unzipped my bag and took out my blades. They were daggers made of pure silver and it only took half of my smallest one to bring down even the largest werewolf. Once the silver was embedded in your body, it was just as bad as poison. I strapped one on all four of my limbs, ensuring they were hidden under my clothes. The silver would have burned the skin of any other werewolf, but one of the blessings that came with my royal blood was immunity to its effects. I put a fifth one on the forearm of my right arm and flicked my wrist, making sure it easily slid out. I slid five silver bobby pins into my hair and hid them between my strands. They were sharpened like needles and came in handy as a last resort.
Lastly, I strapped my favourite dagger to the side of my waist and secured it in its sheath. The blade itself was a translucent emerald green made from dragon glass, while black moonstone formed the handle.
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(Something like this, except the handle is more of a black/obsidian colour)
There were very few blades made from dragon glass and moon stone; the power of the combination was too deadly for mass amounts of the weapon to be made. Each one was handmade for its owner and bound to the person by a magical spell performed by a witch. Once a dagger was spellbound to someone, it gave them a unique power when using the weapon. You didn't get to pick your power; the blade chose for you. Only the owner was able to wield the power of the dagger, for in the hands of another, it reverted back to an ordinary knife.
