THE ROGUE WOLF Page 24

  I nod at her, "Alex." I'm unsure what to say, given our differences. I'm just glad to see that she escaped unscathed.

  Alex bows her head in response, her hands rested calmly by her sides. I rarely see her without her sword fastened in her iron grip. "It's good to see you," She states with a smile. Her tone remains neutral.

  Suddenly, a figure sprints from the crowd, wrapping her arms around my waist for she cannot reach any higher. I stagger back in shock, a smooth fountain of black hair tumbling down the girl's back and hiding her face. But I know the child's stature like I know the back of my hand.

  I give the figure a quick hug before bending my knees to glance down into Harper's deep irises. "Hey," I whisper. I shoot her a smile, and she sends me a toothless grin in return. She looks more beautiful than usual with the mud and grime no longer caking her face. "You ok?"

  Harper nods.

  The girl then pries herself from my body, but remains defiantly at my side. I take the opportunity to scour the growing crowd for Azra, but her piercing eyes are nowhere in sight. If she was safe, surely she would be with Josh?

  I nudge the boy standing next to me with a measured amount of strength. "Where's Azra?" I enquire, not daring to glance his way just in case the look on his face breaks my heart.

  Josh's face contorts into a shield of demoralisation in my peripheral vision. "She's not with you?"

  It's my turn to be disorientated. Why would she be with me?

  "As much as these reunions are heart-warming, we have much more pressing matters at hand," A deep voice interrupts. Although the tone rings distinctively like a man's would, I am astonished when I spot a woman standing before Damien with her arms crossed. She's probably one of the oldest werewolves I've ever seen, but her light blue eyes resembled something from my past, as if I knew her. The woman shoves her index behind her, obnoxiously ordering us to follow her into the building. She's short, but her strides are long as they carry her towards one of the oak, white framed, doors.

  The ancient woman turns her head to gaze at me as I silently take a step forward. I give Damien a side glance, but he just follows the woman without question. "It's nice to finally meet you, Aurora," The she-wolf speaks loudly over her shoulder. Her voice is shrill; the commanding tone of an alpha or someone alike. No one dares to speak as she walks through the crowd, people stepping aside to let her through. "I've heard a lot about you."

  I bite my lip. This was not how I had intended my day to go. "Well most of its probably bullshit," I tilt my head to the side. "But thanks. I don't know if I can say the same about you." I was much happier staying with Josh, I want to add on, but I stop myself before I make yet another enemy.

  The woman laughs - a quiet, strained noise. "I'm Logan," she says as we near the door. I briefly look behind me to check that Josh is following us, and smile inwardly when I notice he is. "And I've been in charge of this outpost ever since it was abandoned," Logan continues. It was strange that her name was notably masculine, as was her articulation. "We take in any wolf who needs help, including outcast rogues."

  I shiver at the mention of rogues. "That's great," I comment sarcastically.

  Logan opens the door, her hand clasped so tightly around the metal handle I hear the shuddering vibrations of her clicking knuckles.

  The action reveals the interior to the hotel. The corridor is painted an insipid ivory, wooden doors placed at equal distances from one another as they line the walls. A rugged, and repugnant dyed navy carpet smothers the floor, worn by many shoe soles down to an etiolated blue.

  "I understand your hatred towards rogues," Logan states, making sure to glower at Damien after me. "And I understand that you do not want to wait around and talk about pointless matters. We are at war; a war that we need to win, and we all need to work together to do so."

  The silver haired wolf's words are probably the bluntest, yet meaningful words I have heard in a very long time.

  She leads us through a set of double doors, opening up into a room overlooking the fraying tents down below in the gardens. From here, it was effortless to see the overgrown flowers, climbing over rotting wood and writhing across the grass like an oncoming storm. The deep emerald stained shrubs outlining the main garden were uneven, branches of different lengths poking out where they should not be. It was just as wild as the life I am currently having to wade through like syrup.

  A desk is the centrepiece of the room. Papers lie sprawled on the desk, neatly arranged, and each handwritten in the same font. The writing was extremely tidy, but I couldn't read a word, even with my improved eyesight. A glass of water lies upturned on the desk, soaking numerous pieces of paper, the ink in huge blotches of blue and black. It looks like someone was in a hurry.

  Logan elegantly walks over to the desk, past the multiple black filing cabinets lining the walls. It was clear that she was very much in touch with the human world. A sheathed dagger was the only out-of-place object in the scene, the dull metal reflecting the light into my eyes as I staggered uncomfortably into the room. Incoherent runes were embedded within the blade, swirling across the item like a cloak. I recognise those symbols, I tell myself.

  Then it dawns on me. That's why Damien said I wouldn't like this place.

  "I know you," I state firmly, gripping the edge of the varnished oak desk whilst Logan occupies herself by sitting down in the black leather chair opposite me. I run my fingers across the uneven grain of the wood, ignoring the splinter that chips away and sticks into my finger like a miniature knife. I can't find the courage to face her, so I don't. My eyes never leave the intricacies of the skin on my hand. "I know you," I repeat. "You visited the rogue pack I was in when we were in need of supplies."

  Logan nods distantly. "I visit all packs as often as I am needed."

  "But you were there when it"- it being when Damien's pack had slaughtered my rogue pack -"happened," I murmur, my tone growing angrier by the second. "When it happened. You were there, and you did nothing to stop it." I'm crying now, but the light tears are enough to give me the courage to face the woman sat before me. Her eyes are icicle blue - piercing and perceptive like a hawk. "You let them slaughter good people. You knew they were good."

  Logan raises her hands, partly in defence, and partly to stop my rambling. "I had no power. If I did, I would've tried to do what you did and stop it," she replies calmly, tapping the tips of her ageing fingers rhythmically against the human made piece of furniture. "So I led them here. It's the best I could do, and if I hadn't, they would've all died." She pauses, only to gaze me right in the eye. "I'm the only reason half of them lived to see another day. And you did not know me, Aurora Thompson, nor do you now. You have no right to blame me like that."

  "To hell with whether I have the right to blame you or not," I shout. I know that she's right, but I need to be angry. I need to let out the building pressure coiling under my skin.

  Logan lowers her hands. "I'm not arguing with you, Aurora. The rest of your rogue pack are here if you want to see them later. They wouldn't be if it weren't for me."

  I stop, blocking out the sound from around me. The heavy breathing of the numerous werewolves in the room, the blood rushing through my ears, the hammering of the steady wind - all gone.

  She was right, in the same way that I was wrong.

  "Sorry," I apologise. I step away from the table, my back accidently pressing into Damien's firm chest. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that."

  The room falls into an awkward silence. There are eight wolves crammed into the four walls, including myself, Logan, Damien, Josh, and Alex. The other are all male, whom I recognise but cannot put names to their faces. Azra is nowhere in sight.

  "Let's get back to the war," Damien orders firmly, as a King should. I've never heard him use such an authoritative tone of voice before. It startles me, and a lot more than I let on. "Hunter has the Kingdom, and he knows our location. So what happens next?"

  Logan crosses her legs. She smirks at Damien, as if she's proud
of him. "For a King who was not even selected to rule, you do make a fine leader," She says clearly and without fault.

  "If you forget the countless murdered werewolves that were supposedly under Damien's protection, and the fact that the kingdom was hijacked by a psychopath, then yeah, he's a great leader. Truly, one of the best," Josh comments. I can't help but show the glimmer of a smile through my tears - it was as if Josh was purposely trying to cheer me up.

  Damien clenches his jaw. I watch it pulse out of curiosity. "I was selected," he states, ignoring Josh completely.

  Logan shakes her head distinctly. "No, you weren't," She retorts with a bitter edge to her otherwise calm vocalisation. "Aurora won the Alpha Trials. She should be Queen, not you."

  Damien begins to take a step forward, but I latch onto his hand. My fingers slide into his like a jigsaw puzzle.

  "Damien is the rightful ruler," I defend. He had almost killed me, but he had saved me twice. Doesn't that at least count for something? "He won. How does not matter. He is the King, and we must all respect that."

  Logan nods, although not in agreement. From the look in her brisk eyes, I can tell that she's reading me like I'm an open book, turned to the final page. "Fine," she finally agrees, but her words are bitter. "But you must know what you have to do to win back Arla, Damien. After all, there is no other way. Their army is twice as large as us, and Hunter is much more willing to send his soldiers off to slaughter."

  Damien nods solemnly. My eyebrows pinch together once again. "What is she talking about?"

  The king's grip suddenly stiffens. His body language is strange - rigid, almost, like a mechanism. His back is completely straight, appearing unnatural, and the gold flecks adorned in his typically bright eyes have lost colour.

  "Damien," I dig my nail into the skin of his hand. "What is it?" I enquire forcibly. "What do you have to do?"

  For the first time, Damien's eyes are watery. The one word he mutters sends a shiver spiralling into the concealed depths of my heart like a bolt of electricity.

  "Deathmatch." He murmurs.

  Logan claps her hands together in a menacing manner. Only now can I see the shadows underlying her large eyes. They appear a constant on her weathered face. "Exactly." She speaks with precision, like a bullet: straight to the point. The elder stands up from her chair, running a hand along the wood as she trails towards the ruler. "But the question is, are you willing to do it?"

  I see Damien gulp out of the corner of my eye.

  Because everyone knows what deathmatch is, especially against an Alpha much stronger than yourself: a death sentence.

  I want to tell him no, don't do it. But I can't because if he doesn't, everyone else will die. I can't tell him it's ok, either.

  "Hunter is much faster than any werewolf I have ever known," Alex interjects. Her opening couldn't have come at a better time. "And stronger, too. Aurora already killed him, and he came back. If we try again, we'll need to make sure that he's dead. We'll need to use a weapon that will kill him almost instantly."

  I watch Logan's face with precision as it lights up with a notion of knowing. It's as if a light bulb just switched on in her mind. "I know what we must use." The woman pauses, leaving the eight of us waiting for her suggestion in suspense. "Wolf's Bane."

  Damien acknowledges the suggestion. His hand is still tight around mine, although I can distinctly tell that my thumb running against his skin is doing nothing to calm him.

  He exhales. "I'll do it."

  I glance up at him, willing my voice box to allow me to scream at him not to do it. To stay, for me. To not be added to the extremely long list of people I have lost, possibly including Azra. God, I feel so selfish, but he makes me feel alive. Without him, I don't know how I'd be able to smile again.

  Logan smiles. "Great," she mutters. She signals to one of the other alphas in the room. "Send riders to inform the rogues of the challenge." Her crinkled face somewhat resembling puff pastry, turns in mine and Damien's direction. She rubs her hands together, her smile growing. "Let me show you to your room."

  ◆◆◆

  Only when the door clicks shut behind Logan, do I finally breathe a sigh of relief. The air flows freely from my lungs, just like the choking water had earlier. It was as if a weight had been lifted from my chest. I hated being the centre of attention, and every second in front of Logan's perceptive gaze made me feel like I was being skinned alive. It was not a welcoming sensation.

  "So we get to share a room?" Damien enquires with a daring smirk, trying to cover up the fact that he just signed himself up for slaughter. I see right through his protective armour, peeling away the layers of skin to the scared boy hiding beneath. He looks like a child, curled up in his own skin.

  I scrunch my nose in fake disgust. "Looks like it." I can't keep the agonising pain of losing Damien out of my voice.

  The room was right on the top floor of the hotel, and had clearly been prepared for the arrival of a special guest. The flooring was an exotic timber, cleanly sliced to show the unique wood grain in each plank. The room was open plan, and much more exquisite than anything I could've ever imagined a human room to look like. Red velvet curtains clung to the walls, beside high arched windows that distinctly looked out onto a white balcony as it faded into the dark façade of night. The area was spacious despite the large quantity of beautiful furniture. A double bed stood in the far right corner of the room, right beside the white framed doors. Grey sheets, almost resembling moonlight, were slathered across the bed like liquid silver. Ebony drawers were resided next to the four posted, luxurious bed. The shade of bone made my skin crawl, but I quickly flickered my eyes to the next object to avoid bile rising in my throat. A vase of withered flowers stood to attention on a mantelpiece above a built-in fire pit, a circle of black leather sofas surrounding the non-existent flames. They were the only thing that seemed out of place in the vibrant room. Even the dim lights were welcoming - it meant that I could convey my true emotions on my face without having to worry about Damien stealing a glance at them.

  Logan had called it the Penthouse, although that word meant absolutely nothing to me.

  I run straight towards the bed, diving head first into the soft material without a second thought. The sheets are soft - the softest thing I have touched in my life. So this was what it was like being human. Expensive, reclusive rooms without having to watch your back every second of every day. It sounded like a peaceful life.

  Damien's light chuckle echoes across the room at I sit up. I straighten my back, perching on the edge of the bed with wide eyes. The mattress dips below my slender body.

  My eyes lazily drift to Damien, who has his back turned to me. His movements are rigid, and all evidence of the previous moments and his laugh have since vanished into thin air. He pulls off his coat in a staggered movement, before turning to unlace his shoes and kick them off with agitation.

  "Damien?" I state to break the immeasurable silence. He stops taking off his belt to gaze up at me, my distressed face. "I," I begin, but don't know how to finish the sentence.

  The man before me raises a perfectly shaped eyebrow. In this light, his face is even more angular than it generally is. It's as if his features were carved by the Gods themselves. "If you tell me not to go through with this, you can sleep on the couch." He jokes.

  I fake a smile. My stomach is churning like an underwater current. My hands fidget as my mind races at one hundred miles per hour, unable to focus on anything but the overhanging threat of what was going to happen tomorrow.

  "I need you," I tell him. Because I do. "I don't know why, but I do. When I'm without you, it's like- it's like I can't breathe. And I'm scared because I don't know why, and because I don't know what'll happen if I lose you."

  Damien lets his belt fall to the floor with a metallic clatter, never breaking eye contact. "Aurora?"

  I shake my head. "I don't understand love, or feelings, or anything for that matter," I say as my voice shakes. The tears have return
ed once more - it was easy in my current emotional state. "But I understand how I feel when I'm with you."

  Damien takes a step forwards, closing the distance. I rub my arms as goose bumps rise on the limbs, tiny lumps on my skin like permanent marks.

  "It's like I'm a livewire," I murmur. I don't care if I sound like a whining bitch. I don't care about anything except Damien. "Like there's no spark until you're there with me.