THE ROGUE WOLF

by Klaire London

  "I know I will," I beam back, the smile foreign on my grief-stricken features. I'm still smiling as the pair round the edge of the door, and I watch anxiously as they merge into the corridor and cease to exist. Part of me wishes that they would turn around and come back, just to spend one more minute with them. Just like I wish Josh had done the same.

  But instead, they don't come back. And once again, I am left on my own with no one but Damien by my side.

  Damien turns up five minutes later, his face crooked with deliberation and stress. I had pondered where he was, but being the King I knew that he had to oversee the dying and give hope to the living. His presence was testimony to the remaining Arla citizens that we had won the war, and was necessary.

  I run straight into his arms as soon as his cropped dirty blonde tresses appear around the stone doorway, crushing my face into his chest. Right next to his beating, alive, heart. The steady thump vibrates through my bones, and I welcome the abnormal contractions. Having Damien is more than I could ever ask for, especially the fact that he is alive. It could've easily been him in Deathmatch against Hunter instead of me; he could've easily ended up dead. Like Azra. Like the other countless amounts of warriors who were slaughtered because of the fearlessness of rogues.

  The man's muscles bulge as he leans down to kiss me on the top of my head. He doesn't complain about my windswept hair, or the blood entwined with the dark fabric of my clothes. I almost exhale when he retreats, placing a hand on my cheek instead as I pull my face away from his chest. The ticking of his heart ceases. I feel numb without the reverberating sensation.

  I press my cheek into the palm of his hand. I can't see whether it has dirt, or blood, or both, on it, but I'm beyond the point of caring.

  Damien pulls me closer, continuously gazing into my eyes. The gold flecks are lighter today, appearing luminescent like the sun. They swim in the fluctuating cobalt I have both loved and hated, but at this moment in time, they are the most stunning things I have ever seen.

  I wish I could freeze this moment; stay in Damien's arms for the rest of my life. I know I will always be by his side, but with a crowd of people focusing on me, whispering about my outlook, or questioning my leading skills. I hated the idea that one day, after all my efforts to survive and my bid not to be Queen, I would be. And I can't be. I don't know anything about leadership - some people are born to rule, some to stick to the side lines. I was clearly chosen for the latter. I'm a murderer; not an idol.

  "I'm sorry," Damien murmurs into my hair. It takes a snap second to figure what he's talking about. Or rather, who. Azra. "I know how much she meant to you, and I wish I could've done something to help."

  I shake my head as a response. Not to patronise that he was almost utterly useless in the bid to save her life. To tell him that it wasn't his fault. No matter what we had done, wolf's bane that strong couldn't be cured, and it had already twisted itself deep into the roots of Azra's body. She knew that her life was over the moment the sword so much as touched her. It's a miracle that Harper even survived such a small dosage - she must be slightly resistant to the substance.

  I also shake my head because I don't want to be reminded of the heart-wrenching experience once more. Perhaps in a month - or even a year - I would be able to process what had happened to the alpha's daughter, but right now I had to live in the moment. I had to live focusing on the living, otherwise I would be dragged down in my pool of sorrows by the dead.

  The sky outside has turned into a veiled sunset, the mark to the end of a traumatic day. Ruby etches itself into the sky, grey hazes of water vapour obscuring part of the canvas as the sun plummets over the horizon. Pink infiltrates the edges of the clouds, lining them salmon. I sigh at the stunning sight, but my heart wavers purely at the shades of the sky. The scarlet reminds me of the blood that still stains my open fists, lines across my palms like rivers. And whenever I see it, all I can picture is the flash of azure eyes and a mix of red and black; the pigment of blood as it ran down Harper's cheek while she was unconscious.

  I gulp, remembering the King with his arms fastened around me, refusing to let me go. The scent of pine trees infiltrates my nostrils, defeating the stench of death. He needs to know how I feel. I need to tell him.

  I push away from his chest with my hands, but the proximity is still close enough for his gentle breathing to fan onto my face. "I," I begin. It's going to be much harder to portray what I mean when Damien's head isn't as screwed up as mine. "I don't want to be your Queen."

  Damien's face turns into a mask of rejection. His lips part, jaw falling open as his lips begin to form words. I shush him before he has a chance to start his sentence.

  "What I mean is that I don't want to lead people," I state, playing with the hem of his shredded shirt. My eyes are wide, but I can't find enough courage within me to face my mate. I can already feel the rejection seeping into my heart. "Of course I want to be your mate Damien, but I can't have people looking up to me. I don't want people asking me for advice when I can't even understand my own feelings. I just want to be your mate. Nothing else."

  Damien appears to have frozen. He doesn't move for a minute, unblinking in his stupor. I squeeze his arm gently until he nonchalantly bows his head. "That's ok." The corners of his mouth twitch into a toothless smile. "I understand."

  I crease my brows in surprise. I hadn't expected him to be so... accepting. "You do?"

  Damien nods once more, this time the movement much more rapid. "You sacrificed yourself in the Alpha Trials so you wouldn't become Queen. Why would you have changed your mind now?" he speaks, licking his lips. Perhaps he mimicked the habit from Josh. The thought of my best friend makes my chest ache. "I love you, Aurora. I understand because it will make you happy. And right now, you need to be happy."

  I blink away tears at the words. We have spent so long fighting a growing, consuming darkness, both in reality and in our minds, that we have forgotten what true happiness looks like. I rarely smile; I barely see Damien look comfortable in his own skin.

  Silence stretches around us, entwining with the light breeze as it flutters through the open window. Beyond the cobblestone thresholds, the trees shake. Shadows etch themselves into every nook and cranny as the sun begins to disappear behind the rotating world. But the darkness is beautiful. I welcome it. It is not putrid or diseased like the darkness Hunter created.

  "Josh left," I state, slicing apart a perfect moment.

  Damien's strong arms tighten around me, eyes trained on mine. "He'll come back," he reassures me, but I shake my head. I'm not so sure.

  "I hope so," is all I reply.

  Damien's smile grows, the orange light emanating from the fading sun scattered across his face, making his skin appear sun-kissed. His cobalt eyes fade to a deep brown in the lack of light, watching my every movement with each click of his working brain.

  The man abruptly leans in, placing a kiss on my lips. I welcome it immediately, our mouths moulding together perfectly like a complete jigsaw puzzle. Sparks ignite in my skin, trailing down my spine. I shiver at the overwhelming sensation, adrenaline flushing into my veins like a tsunami. I slide my hand into Damien's soft strands of hair. They remind me of delicate spindle spiders produced, but thicker. I yank on them, pulling him in closer to deepen the kiss.

  Unlike the numerous other kisses we had shared, this was in the light of a world that had been swept of most evils. The crushing pain that had once suffocated me no longer exists. I can finally breathe, even with Damien limiting my intake of oxygen.

  Finally, we pull away. A smile cracks onto my face, so wide that my cheeks hurt. I haven't smiled like this in a very long time.

  My mind flicks back to the people we have lost along the way. An image of my parents forms first, their faces distorted by time. But they still remain beautiful and everlasting in my mind, permanently plastered to my memories like a vice. Noah comes next, with his crooked smile and handsome face. He was taken too soon, from a life where he could've pro
spered. Finally, comes Azra and her striking azure eyes. She will never be forgotten, her bravely a testimony to this world. I will make sure that everyone knows about the sacrifice she made, even if I have to show my face to thousands. They will forever live in my heart, locked away in a small pocket that only I can fathom. And the only thought that makes me feel relatively ok is that they are in a better place; untouchable.

  But in this moment, I have to let go. Maybe for a few seconds. Maybe for my whole life. The dead are gone, and the living are still hungry for whatever power than can obtain. I will see them again, in the future.

  "I love you," Damien whispers, placing a soft kiss on my reddened cheek.

  I slide my hand into his as I watch the final glimmer of the sun being consumed by the horizon slide away into the abyss of night. I part my lips, smiling inwardly as my body buzzes like a hurricane of fireflies.

  "I love you, too," I whisper back.

  Epilogue

  ❝I had it all wrong. Before I found you, I thought the only way to hold on was to find something to live for. It isn't. To hold on, you must find something you're willing to die for.❞

  (About) One Year Later

  Rogue. It's a word that's been circulating this world for as long as I can remember. It's a word that keeps children up at night, swarmed by nightmares of feral crimson eyes and yellowed teeth. It's a word used to describe the beasts that walk this earth. It also describes the beast that lives inside all of us, raring to get out with each shuddering heartbeat.

  I have a different opinion.

  Yes, some rogues are bloodthirsty creatures stripped from their very humanity. Rogues like Hunter. But in the end, rogue is just another word for werewolf. I was once deemed a 'rogue.' I was once frowned upon for my very existence.

  But we are all rogues. We all have the capacity to do terrible things, but only some of us have the nerve to follow through.

  Now, it's different. The once feared rogues no longer patrol this earth, having scarpered after Hunter's death. I made sure that his body was burnt, where everyone could witness the fall of an insecure, psychopathic leader. It didn't sadden me to watch the flames engulf his body, eating away at his flesh as it hungered for more than just a body to consume. That was my monster - the living one he created inside of me. And I destroyed it.

  I almost trip as my feet stumble over the uneven cobblestone bricks beneath my feet. My arms pinwheel forwards, awkwardly hitting a woman to my left to regain my balance. Some things never change, like my inability to stay upright.

  The courtyard is bustling, with stalls surrounding the four edges of the square patio. The steps to the castle are only ten meters away, but I have no desire to go and find my mate at this moment in time. He is busy keeping the kingdom in order and out of the human eye. A man on my left waves a colourful piece of material in my face, wailing at the top of his voice. His words are lost amongst the crowd as I move forwards, weaving between people like an ant avoiding being squished. I feel tiny as the swarms of people swallow me whole, straight into the belly of the moving beast.

  I sigh, pushing past countless werewolves in my bid to get out of the square. I should've gone through the back door, but that would've taken twice as long. All I wanted was to be out of the city - to take a breath of fresh air and visit Azra's memorial.

  My eyes flicker ahead to the sturdy grey walls enclosing the city before me. They tower above the tents, elongated shadows forking out across the emerald grass and brown mud as numerous pack members tend to their daily chores. Life has once again returned to 'normal,' in the city of Arla, though I never knew what it was like before the rogue war.

  We told people to forget the tragedies that struck that day. Everyone was affected: whether it was a close relative, friend, or pack member, everyone lost someone. I can still the agony in people's eyes as they pass, seemingly dormant as they continue their day to day lives. Just like my pain, theirs will never dissipate.

  As I near the looming iron gates, the crowd disperses leaving me some arm room to walk comfortably. I exhale in relief as the rush of people thins out. The stalls are sparser here as I enter pack territory. A few men and women give me side glances as my boots meet thick mud, squelching in the product of melting snow and dirt. My heart hammers at the very thought that they're watching me, but I shrug off their tedious stares. I had grown used to the attention, despite my lack of a leadership role. I was the King's Luna, but not his Queen. I would never be Queen.

  I squint my eyes in confusion as I notice that the great wrought iron doors are already open. I take a step back, my boots once against meeting solid stone. Why were the gates open? They were rarely open. But then again, pack members had to enter and exit the city, and were allowed to do so as they pleased.

  I pause, biting my bottom lip as I place my hands on my hips. I suck in a deep breath, trying to reclaim the oxygen I was deprived from when I was weaving through the hordes of werewolves.

  But all my thoughts about going outside the city cease to exist as a lone figure marches into the city. My sharp canines pierce the skin of my crimson lips, drawing blood. The liquid splashes into my mouth, bitter on my tongue.

  His hair is ruffled, the light zephyr fabricating through his silhouetted locks as the sun slices the horizon above the man's head. A rucksack is adorned on his shoulders as he slouches, body rigid as he takes yet another laboured step forwards. The tall figure walks alone, his legs tentatively supporting him as the other wolves surrounding him stop their actions to stare. Just like me, they know exactly who he is.

  The boy finally steps up onto the courtyard, the once busy bustlers pausing their conversations to stare, eyes flickering to monitor the scene before them. Before I can divert attention away from myself and the boy, the courtyard has fallen silent. Nothing exciting ever happens in Arla, let alone the return of an old face.

  "Oh my God," I whisper under my breath, my hands shaking. They drop the flower I had collected this morning to place on Azra's grave. The violet pigmented plant flutters to the ground, twirling daintily in the breeze. I had never expected to see him again, especially after all this time.

  There was no mistaking the man's sharp, square shoulders, and mop of brunette hair. He still wore the same battered beige boots, the fabric dusted with dried mud and the odd blade of grass. As he stepped into the light, and out of the shadow of the castle walls, I gasped, my throat tightening. His face was much thinner, cheekbones prominent against his bronzed skin. The darker skin tone suited him, mocha eyes staring at me as his pale lips parted. This time he doesn't lick them. I watch nervously as his hands unclench by his sides, shaking steadily as his eyes widened, finally landing on my shocked figure.

  Before I can comprehend my actions, my legs sprint towards him. They have a will of their own as they leap over upturned rocks, still shifted out of place from the war. I don't look elegant in my endeavour, but I don't care. I don't care.

  My arms embrace the boy, enclosing him in my everlasting grip. His arms waver at my side, hanging in the air as he gasps, winded.

  After a second, his arms fasten around me. His chin rests on the crook of my shoulder, and I sigh as memories of past embraces flood back into my brain. His arms feel weaker than they were before, but his hold is almost suffocating, as is mine.

  God, I've missed him.

  "Josh," I sigh, pulling away. Strands of my brunette tresses interlink with the wind, obscuring my view partially. They blow onto the boy's face, a smile etching itself onto the corners of his mouth. A smile that cracks me open, tears flooding into my blurred vision.

  I haven't heard his voice in a lifetime. "What have I missed?"

  THE END

 

 

 
lter: grayscale(100%); -o-filter: grayscale(100%); -ms-filter: grayscale(100%); filter: grayscale(100%); " class="sharethis-inline-share-buttons">share