Children of the Moon
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| Children of the Moon by Asmaa Nada |
Chapter 4
The emerald canopy dripped secrets onto Elara's bound form. Though a silent plea, a language woven of shared spirit, had been cast to her inner wolf, Cookie remained a ghost within. A tendril of unease, sharp and cold, began its insidious climb within Elara's breast. Her will urged her limbs to action, but they were prisoners, ensnared by a cruel lattice of fibrous cords that bit into her flesh. A relentless tug then commenced, a sinister invitation deeper into the shadowed embrace of the ancient woods.
No recourse remained but the agonizing surrender, the tearing of the human veil to unleash the beast within. The knowledge of the searing torment was a bitter draught, yet the rising tide of terror offered no other shore. A symphony of fracturing bone and strangled cries erupted from Elara, a human lament swiftly swallowed by the triumphant howls of Cookie, now unbound. Pearly fangs, sharp as shards of moonlight, severed the imprisoning ropes with brutal efficiency. Freedom was a heartbeat away, but as Cookie wheeled, a grotesque silhouette materialized from the gloom. A vampire, its visage a mask of predatory hunger, lunged, its elongated claws plunging into Cookie's flank.
Elara crumpled, the wolf receding like a tide leaving behind bare sand. Human vulnerability returned in a rush, yet a new scent, wild and unfamiliar, pierced the metallic tang of blood. A phantom blur of fur and fury descended upon the vampire, a swift, brutal ballet culminating in the sickening thud of severed heads hitting the mossy earth. Darkness claimed Elara, but through the encroaching void, Cookie's voice, a fragile whisper of possessive affection, drifted: "This is my mate. He won't leave me injured here. He's mine, and I'm his.”
Victor’s agreement with the Minister of Internal Affairs, a bond forged in shared confidences, set the stage for a nocturnal pilgrimage into the shadowed woods. Permission, a fragile truce brokered with the very creatures of the night, the vampires, had been granted. Thus, cloaked in the camaraderie of a werewolf pack, they embarked.
Deep within the emerald gloom, Victor, now clad in his lupine guise, turned his senses towards the whispers of the Kami pack. A faint, metallic tang, the scent of suffering, tugged at his awareness. He peeled away from the group, a silent divergence into the deepening woods, drawn by a mournful cadence echoing through the ancient trees.
As he drew nearer, a fragrance bloomed in the air, a delicate perfume that stirred the primal instincts within his wolf, a magnetic pull towards its source. The scene that unfolded was a brutal tableau: a vampire, a creature of elegant cruelty, poised over a fallen female wolf. Instinct overriding thought, Victor launched himself, a whirlwind of fur and fury, and with a swift, savage grace, separated the undead head from its unnatural form.
Turning then, not to the fallen foe but to the one he had defended, Victor’s breath hitched. There, bathed in dappled moonlight, lay a vision. A girl, her human form revealed, possessed hair the color of rich earth, cropped short against the delicate curve of her neck. Her frame was slender, yet imbued with a captivating grace. As he shifted back to his own human shape, a silent reverence guided his hand as he brushed stray strands from her face. A profound contentment settled within him, a quiet joy mirrored by the tumultuous pronouncements of his inner wolf: “This is she. My companion. My king, and I hers.” A primal directive then surged through him: “Carry her to the palace. We will not abandon her to this shadowed place.”
A triumphant bellow of pure joy erupted from her, a sound that resonated deep within Victor. Urgency seized him; cradling her fragile form, he hastened back, his purpose a desperate race against the insidious venom coursing through her veins. The nearest haven, a tribal settlement nestled beside the ominous embrace of the dark forest, became his target. The tribe's chieftain, a figure etched with the wisdom of generations, summoned their healer.
Upon reaching the sanctuary of a woven dwelling, Victor gently laid her upon a makeshift bed. A soft fur, salvaged from some forest creature, became a modest shield against her vulnerability. He retreated a respectful distance, granting the healer the space needed to wage war against the demon’s poison. The ensuing hours stretched, each moan that escaped her lips a fresh stab of agony in Victor’s chest. A profound silence descended only when the healer finally straightened, his task complete, his pronouncement a fragile hope: undisturbed rest for the mending of shattered ribs.
A command for a stretcher echoed through the small settlement. Victor, his precious burden secured, brought the healer with him, the grand halls of his palace now a makeshift infirmary. Upon their arrival, the familiar comfort of his study offered a moment of respite as his close friend, Pierre, followed him inside.
Pierre’s voice, laced with playful curiosity, broke the silence. "So! Who is this girl?”
A smile, tender and possessive, touched Victor’s lips. "My companion, and soon, the queen of this palace."
Understanding dawned in Pierre’s eyes, a slow widening. "Now I understand. Finally, I have a companion in your… affections. May the celestial powers have mercy on us both if her regard doesn’t match yours."
A low growl rumbled in Victor’s throat, a hint of the beast beneath the surface. "Silence, before I offer you your own still-beating heart as a conversational piece.”
Pierre’s laughter was light, unburdened. "Duly noted, your majesty. But do remember, a heart’s devotion must be a mutual exchange, or your queenly ambitions may remain just that – ambitions.”
Victor rose, the echoes of Pierre’s mirth a fading soundtrack to his ascent. He sought the chamber where she lay, this woman for whom his heart had inexplicably declared its allegiance, whose very essence resonated with the wild spirit within him. She slept, unaware of the silent vigil he kept. He approached with a hushed reverence, a careful tread so as not to shatter the fragile stillness. Sinking onto the edge of the bed, he murmured into the quiet air:
"I cannot relinquish you now, not after the long years of searching, the unspoken yearning that has finally found its anchor. The fragility of your human form holds no consequence for me, but do you know the potent secret held within your own wolf? A resilience beyond mortal comprehension. Few possess the gift of communion with that inner beast; I doubt you are aware of its extraordinary power.”
A tender kiss brushed her brow, a silent promise. He retreated, but at the threshold, another whisper escaped his lips, a blend of fierce protectiveness and nascent authority:
"Though fate has bound us, know this: your transgression will not go unheeded. You trespassed against my law, venturing into the forbidden shadows of the Dark Forest.”
The door closed softly behind him. A brief exchange flickered across the digital ether, a message to Pierre requesting the presence of the Northern Region Commander at dawn.
The following morning, the rigorous demands of his training complete, the sustenance of breakfast taken, Victor entered his office. The Tribe Leader of the Northern Territory awaited him, an air of apprehension clinging to him. Beside him stood Pierre, known among the werewolves by the honorific "the special follower," a designation that eclipsed even the authority of ministers. As Victor crossed the threshold, a wave of deference rippled through the room; every figure rose in silent respect. A curt gesture bid them to be seated before Victor settled behind his imposing desk.
"Welcome, King," the Northern Territory Tribe Leader began, his voice tinged with remorse. "I offer my deepest apologies for the recent events."
Victor’s gaze was unwavering. "Do you believe a mere apology suffices? Your negligence, the failure to secure the borders of the Dark Forest and prevent unauthorized passage, has resulted in grave injury to my companion.”
"We had a strong guard in place, my King," the Tribe Leader countered, a note of bewilderment in his tone. "None reported seeing her, and the means of her crossing remain a mystery. I myself witnessed her return this very morning, after the Kami Pack’s earlier assault had concluded."
"Upon her awakening, I will conduct my own inquiry," Victor stated, his voice firm. "But your oversight remains. This transgression warrants more than words; however, for now, a warning will suffice. Fail me again, and I will tear your life from you with my own hands, before the eyes of your entire tribe. Do you comprehend?" A pause, then, a seemingly casual inquiry: "Wait. What is the girl’s name?”
The Northern Region Commander blinked, confusion clouding his features. "Who, my King?"
The flat of Victor’s hand slammed against the polished wood of his desk, the sharp crack echoing in the tense silence. "Idiot! The name of the girl sleeping in the chambers above!"
"Her name… her name is Caroline, my King," the Commander stammered. "She… she has no family. The Kami… they slaughtered them when they tried to shield her."
A flicker of something unreadable crossed Victor’s face. "Very well. You may leave.”