But that wasn't the only peculiar thing about this one true rogue. His face bore no scratches, and he walked silently and calmly towards his prey instead of charging just like every other beast in the room. Just gazing at his slender body and precise movements made me realise that he was important.
The white haired rogue slowly paces towards the king, a long and thin sword clutched tightly in his grip. The feral werewolf swivels the blade one, swishing the blade in front of the king's face as they began to get into their fighting stances.
I feel a growl echo from my vocal chords. I didn't particularly care whether the king lived or died, but I had chosen a side and I was going to fight for it until my very last breath, just as I had done to avenge Noah's breath, despite the fact that I had been lucky to escape.
The young rogue who looked no older than twenty slowly went to roll up his sleeves as if he had all the time in the world. His moves were smooth as the battle raged around him, Damien continuing to slash his knife at the huge rogue before him.
With no intentions, a battle cry follows the growl from my throat, my legs automatically moving forwards as they charge towards the mysterious, every cell in my body buzzing as if wildfire was spreading through my limbs. I couldn't begin to describe my hatred for the mindless beast who haunted children's nightmares, but whatever that rage was, it was forcing my body to move, forcing air to rapidly fill my lungs, and forcing me to face the rogue before me.
I lash out with my long sword, not quite anticipating its reach. The silver does not meet the pale skin of the boy with platinum hair, and I withdraw my sword as soon as I realise my attack has failed.
On the plus side, I have distracted the rogue from the king. On the down side, I am the boy's next meal.
His head snaps in my direction in the blink of an eye, and his feet immediately begin to pace towards. The boy's pale lips pick up into a smile when he realises who I am.
"You must be the rogue," he snarls, his voice soft, almost a whisper. If anyone was the opposite of Damien, then this boy was. "How does it feel to betray your own race?"
Betray my own race? I was never a rogue. Not a real rogue. Not one like him: completely and utterly crazy.
I don't reply for a few seconds, the time becoming centuries as I gaze into his eyes. At such close proximity I was able to tell that his eyes were a very, very dark brown, his pupil camouflaged by the iris.
Instead of forming words, my arms thrust forward, sending my blade straight into the man's stomach. Except it never reaches the guarded skin. Instead, dark-eyes moves his own sword in the way and pushes my own back to be, causing me to stumble back.
"Did you really think that it would be that easy, bitch?" He spits at me, a smirk still on his face. He looked like a very attractive devil.
I wish I could nod, but he does not give me time. As swift as lightning, I feel the brittle handle of his sword whacking against my head, my skull immediately bursting into flames of agony.
My legs give way as I feel the inferno roar on my scalp, devouring my thoughts. I feel my lips open to cream, but I can't form words, and my brain won't let me think.
It hurts too much. It hurts.
I try to focus on the scene in front of me, but my vision is blurry and my mind spins as though it was a never ending roller-coaster. I had been lucky not to be knocked out altogether, but maybe falling unconscious would have been better than this torment.
I wait for a few seconds, blinking away the moisture in my eyes. Second by second, the haze begins to clear and the fogginess inside my brain ebbs away.
Soon, I have a clear picture of two pairs of feet: the rogue and the king. They constantly move around, one pair much clumsier than the other.
Finally, my head is almost clear and I'm able to look up to see the glint of a sword. I can't process the actions properly, but all that I see is the splatter of blood as a body crashes to the ground, a sword stuck in the back of the corpse.
I stagger to my feet, head shaking in disbelief and fear. My hands clench into empty fists as I realise that my sword had fallen from my grip.
No. This cannot be happening.
The king's dead eyes stare up at me, his ghost joining my own to haunt these corridors until the end of infinity.
On my feet, I feel my body begin to sway as the dizziness kicks in once more, but not nearly as powerful as it had been a minute ago. The fog clears enough for me to see Damien fight the rogue expertly, forcing him out of the window.
The rogue glances at me once more, smirking like an evil villain before disappearing over the window sill. I wish that that was the last I saw of him.
Abruptly, my head throbs once more and with the grief of losing the king, I feel my legs fail beneath me, causing my body to hurtle towards the ground.
"Aurora," Damien says as he rushes back to me and catches my useless body before the fall can cause me any damage. Despite being in my opponents hold, I felt safe in his strong eyes, as if nothing could touch me. "Are you ok?"
I shake my head: of course I'm not ok. The king was dead, and the city was leaderless. They needed me or Damien to lead, and I was ready. I didn't want to win, but I didn't want to die. What the hell was I supposed to do?
I didn't know, but I didn't care anymore. Fate had taken me down this path for a reason, and I was going to follow it.
And for that tiny moment in time, I feel as though my soul detaches itself from my body and I fade away, leaving the shell of my skin behind. I feel empty, and for that tiny second I feel as though the world would be better off if I didn't exist.
8 | Sacrifice
❝A moment of pain is worth a lifetime of glory.❞
My heart is thumping inside my chest as if it's a volcano about to explode. I can feel the lava burning its way through my soul, creating a scorching hole where my heart should be. My stomach is blazing with the inferno of butterflies, and my lungs feel as though they're breathing in fire every time I dare to take a breath. Every movement hurts, and no matter how many times I tell myself it's ok, Aurora, it's ok, reality comes crashing down on me.
I nervously gulp, but even that feels painful as my throat refuses to swallow. I had never felt like this before, perhaps because this time I knew that this was the end. There was nowhere to run. Nowhere to hide. This was it.
I tremble as I stand waiting below the arena. Last night had shaken me much more than it should ever affect a teenager. Every time I blinked, an image of the king tumbling to the ground flashed before me, and it stung. Why I was reacting in such a way, I didn't know. Maybe it reminded me of my parents' deaths.
Since the king had died, the guards and the kingdom's army had been able to hold the rogues off long enough to get us to the arena. The rogue attack had slowly ebbed away, leaving few rebels, but it was still enough to threaten the city. Whatever the beasts were planning, they were holding off their attack for the time being, as if they were allowing us to choose a new ruler.
God, how have I even got this far? What did he have planned for me?
"Choose your weapon," a gritty voice demands. It took me a few seconds to realise that the sound had echoed from behind me, produced by a larger, more rounded guard who looked out of shape compared to the others.
I glance at the selection before me. Both Damien and I were staring at a weapons cupboard laid neatly with newer and shinier weapons. Some tiny part of my mind wondered whether they were specially laid out, cleaned, and sharpened for the task ahead of us.
My hands graze over the sword I had been given last night. I still had it because some part of me never wanted to let go. I had been given it as a gift, and although I despised the deceased King, I couldn't help but like him too. He had shown me respect, which was more than I deserved.
I pat the sword at my side and turn so sharply on my heel that I almost lose my balance. I quickly skitter my feet into a safer position, bringing my hands firmly by my side. My aim was to try and not make a fool out of myself, yet here I was undermining my
goal.
"I'm sorted," I state, unsheathing the beautiful sword from its covering. It was clear to see that this sword had been crafted for royalty - and who knew, I might be the next Alpha Queen.
But the truth was that today I had to make a decision: Alpha Queen or death? Lead a kingdom and numerous packs, or chose the easy option out of this hell hole? It was my choice, and it was one that I could not make. Perhaps I would never have to make it.
Damien follows my lead and takes a sword from the rack, choosing the same weapon, perhaps to make the fight fairer. Or maybe it was just because it was his preferred weapon.
Damien curtly nods at our escort before the wide man nods himself. Despite his larger shape, he moved surprisingly quickly and I found it hard to keep up as we paraded through the deserted catacombs below the arena. With no competition left, the place was so quiet, you would be able to hear a pin drop from the other side of the corridor.
Our footsteps are the only noise as we continue to stalk the hallways like ghosts. One of us would soon be, anyway, left to haunt these forsaken walls and corridors for the rest of eternity, confined within the kingdom as if it was an impenetrable fortress.
Finally, we reach the dreaded entrance to the arena, the metal gate drawn up above us to allow us to pass. Sunlight hits my face almost immediately, and the arena is so quiet, I feel as though no one is watching.
Except they are. Most of the kingdom stare at me so closely that it feels like they are trying to pry apart my body, cell by cell. Many of them scowl: they didn't want a rogue to win. Others, like Josh and Azra simply nod to wish me luck.
I am weak. I have bad technique. This isn't going to end well.
The wind clumsily flings loose hair in my face, partly obscuring the view of my death bed. I had rushed to French plat it this morning, leaving a messy braid. But, for now, that was the least of my worries.
Damien and I stare at each other as the warrior wolf raises his arm, mouth opening to bellow the rules to the rest of the werewolves in the arena. I glance up to the box where the king had once sat in all his pride and glory, seeing it empty of life.
"Welcome, citizens of Arla, to the final of the Alpha Trials!" The guard introduces, but barely anyone claps. They all wear morbid faces as if they had been claimed by death as well. And that's when I saw it: a kingdom without a ruler was like killing the whole kingdom. With no one to follow, they were lost spirits, just as I had been when I arrived here, and rule would quickly be demolished. Law would be thrown in the trash, and the city would destroy itself from the inside out.
The few that do cheer quickly grow silent as the armoured wolf continues. "Unlike the other rounds, this fight will have a different rule. Today, only one will emerge victorious," The guard states, causing the butterflies in my stomach to rapidly reproduce like a plague of locust. "Today, the fight will be to the death!"
Since when had that been a rule? Why had nobody told me? I knew that Damien would most likely kill me anyway, but there was still that flutter of hope left in my heart that he would let me live if he were to win. Now it looks like I only have one choice.
"Good luck," the male finishes and backs away, lowering his arm to signal the beginning of the match, but it's as if a nuclear bomb has been dropped. I can see everyone perched nervously on the edges of their seats, anticipation riding on top of all the spectators' shoulders.
Damien stands before me in a sleeveless top, revealing his bulky muscles. He was all an alpha was expected to be: strong, handsome, and daunting. Even when I looked into his eyes, I saw the true look of power. He was the king they deserved, but what won: the want for power or the need to survive?
"Are you ready?" Damien asks as he gives his sword a whirl in boredom. He was a strange opponent: one who was confident that he would win. The only problem was that I had seen him fight, and I knew his tactic. He would try to wear me down as if I was a battery, but I would try and do the same with him too.
I shrug my shoulders. I had to stay strong, even if every single part of my body was shaking. I remembered the last time we had fought, and his immense power had effortlessly crushed me. I would not let that happen again.
I grit my teeth, taking a long and slow breath, preparing myself for the battle ahead. I nod at the alpha before me, "as ready as I'll ever be."
Damien considers my answer and appears to be happy with it. His face even has a hint of a smirk on it. His handsome eyes glint menacingly at me as he flicks his wrist once more, creating a perfect arc with his metal blade.
We continue to stare at each other, the sand from the arena fluttering into my boots due to the light zephyr. The sky above us is grey and dull, just like the previous night had been when I was forced to stay in a room with guards outside my door for the duration. Their plodding alone had kept me up all night, and God only knows what my eye bags look like now.
After a few moments, Damien raises his eyebrow. He clearly expects me to attack first, but even I am not that stupid. It was one of the first rules of battle and had been plugged into my system since birth.
"Are we going to fight, or not?" I ask out of boredom.
Damien clenches his jaw when he realises that I want him to attack first. He bows his head slowly. "Yes."
His actions are a blur as he spins his blade towards me as his own body pivots in a circle, creating a distant whistling noise before his sword meets my own. I grit my teeth as the weapons clatter together, but we both quickly retreat.
This was unlike the battle with Titus. He had held his blade against mine, trying to overpower what little strength I had. Damien was different with his fighting tactic, so I would have to change mine too.
The young werewolf before me goes straight for my stomach, jabbing the sword towards my flesh. I arc my back into a curve to avoid the blade ripping through my skin, and quickly think to batter his sword away with my own.
Now it's my turn, and if I was going to win this, then I wanted the fight to be a quick one. I didn't have time to become exhausted and finally give up because I had no energy left within my cells. I was going to win this quickly, because otherwise the battle would become even harder than it already was.
I slash with my sword precisely, but each time Damien ducks or counteracts my attack with his own steady strike. After a few attempts to try and wound him, I realise that it's pointless to keep slashing with my mighty blade. He would keep avoiding the attempts, and soon I would tire, leaving the crown as his.
Males are faster, stronger and better in combat than females. Sexist biology.
With one final try, I clench my teeth and put all of the strength I can muster in my muscles behind one blow of my sword. I think about Noah, my old friend who had been taken from this world before his time. He deserved so much better than to bleed out in the middle of the bleak, white snow-stained landscape.
My mind suddenly flashes, and it feels as though I am standing on the same cursed ground I had been perched on the night my parents were slaughtered. I see my mother's face, but it's blurry. All I can make out are her brown eyes: exactly the same as my own. I feel her hand push against my flesh as the arrow buries itself in her heart, shoving me into the gushing river behind us. The water swirls around me like a mystical veil, wrapping me tightly in its glacial grip.
The gush of the water seems to wake me up. I feel a chill run down my spine as my eyes automatically focus back on reality. I had only been absorbed in my thoughts for a millisecond, but it had felt like decades.
In that final attempt, I place all my anger and all my hatred into one strike so powerful, I hope that his sword goes flying in the opposite direction. But it doesn't. As the blades meet for the countless time, he matches my potency with his own.
We hold out positions, and I feel a bead of sweat slowly run down my face as my feet begin to slip backwards, my muscles too exhausted to react. I was not strong enough to conquer him, but I had the brains to outsmart him.
I grit my teeth so tightly I think that they're g
oing to shatter into a thousand unsalvageable shards. I didn't want this to be over, but even now I knew that it was the end.
Damien suddenly jabs his sword forwards, and manages to scratch his own sword across my cheek. Taken by shock, I stagger back as I feel a sting coming from when the handle had made contact. My hand flies to my enflamed wound, and it comes away stick with the ruby resin of blood – something I had grown used to seeing over this past week.
I feel my anger grow so strong that it takes control of my body, forcing my conscience out of the driver's seat to take the reins. My infuriated body hurls another sloppy throw of my sword at Damien, but given my extra rile, I am able to batter his weapon away from his hand.
I growl as Damien widens his eyes in shock. He, just like many others, had underestimated me. Maybe I had even underestimated myself.
THE ROGUE WOLF Page 9