by Lisa Daniels
After a moment, Malek answered her question in his deep, gravelly voice. “It’s possible. But I think they were prepared for this to happen. I’m sure there’s a contingency plan…”
Geraline rubbed her eyes, unconvinced, but not wanting to bring down the mood any further. People didn’t want to hear negativity. It made them perform worse. “Let’s hope so.”
“Impressive fire slinging from you, though,” He said, a twinkle in his eyes. “I didn’t realize fire witches could be so skilled. I’ve seen a few from Moonclaw. But none know how to do what you did.”
“I was an overachiever,” Geraline responded, smiling at him. She noticed healing scratches upon his cheeks from the last clash, admired his form for a little longer, then sighed. Her life of abstinence, aside from the obligatory power unlocking, except in the case of Faith, who had the blood in her from birth – had left Geraline inexperienced to a good relationship. The werewolf she lost her innocence to never cared about her, aside from doing clan duty to “activate” a witch.
“Looks like.” Malek absently played with his hands, and she noticed the bulge of muscles beneath his clothes. “I was about the same as the others in Moonclaw. I trained, we held competitions against one another, and my father was dangerously proud and arrogant. He made the Moonclaw even more isolated under his leadership. There were other small clans around, but he obliterated their leaders and forced them to adopt the mantle of Moonclaw. They were only small, bands, really, of eight to fifteen werewolves. But he destroyed their former identities.”
“Odd that not more of them would volunteer to fight.”
“They’d be killed.” Malek sighed. “I was exiled, simply because I’m the son of the chieftain. No other reason. My father is not a nice man. My mother a weak soul. She is sycophantic to his ways.”
“Sounds like a bastard, to be honest,” Geraline agreed. Her eyes kept tracing the contours of his cheeks. Her mind kept wandering over to the realms of fantasy, wondering what he might feel like against her. What his lips tasted of. If he had a lot of chest hair or a little tuft. If all his hairs were the same color as his head. That sort of thing.
Malek smiled grimly at her scrutinization. “You know… we might be dead in a few hours.”
“Yes.”
Geraline’s answer seemed to be all the motivation Malek needed. He got up from the chair, dark yellow eyes devouring her from top to bottom, before he reached the bed, vaulted onto her, forced her to lie on her back and pinned her arms down. Her heartrate increased exponentially, along with a surge of adrenalin. Should she tell him she was inexperienced? Would he notice? Would he care?
“I’ve liked the way you look at me, Geraline,” Malek whispered into her ear, tickling her rust colored hair. “I’ve seen it over the weeks. I’ve been waiting for a moment to be alone with you… to find a chance before our window is lost…”
Oh my, Geraline thought, eyes popping in surprise. She shivered, and he took heed of that with a sultry, confident smile. One of his hands released itself from her wrist and instead trailed over her cheek, tickling the sensitive skin there. He continued his delicate caress, before pressing his lips against hers, indulging in the flavor there, and Geraline sighed against his mouth, body sinking into the touch. All her thoughts at this point didn’t matter. The battle, the chaos, the potential suffering that would follow, the fear of loss or the stringent hope of victory – it buzzed out of mind, allowing her to give everything to Malek. She stroked his strong jawline, let her fingers dig into his muscles, feeling herself heat up in need, her core aching for him. She tilted her legs wider, pushing her hips into him, eager for more contact, to let the fever rage in her blood. The rosy glow of lust infused her cheeks, and her eyes fluttered shut as if drunk, as she inhaled the sharp, hot scent of him, something that promised her soul pleasure. She anticipated being taken to the highest peaks with him, emotions soaring, until they fell down in an explosion of orgasmic ecstasy, wiping out all other thoughts.
Her hands clawed at his clothes, needing them off and needing them off now, and her heart raced frantically. Malek growled into her lips and bit down on the soft flesh there, before his tongue dipped into her mouth, brushing over hers, inviting her to open her mouth wider to take him in.
“Look at you, so eager,” Malek whispered, moving his lips to her neck and biting there, before ripping off her clothes, and leaving a damp path of kisses to her breasts, where he suckled on each nipple, sending wave upon wave of pleasure crashing into her. Delight surged as she felt his growing erection jut over her hips, and she rubbed against him in desire, burning with need, trembling from her excitement.
Whatever her lack of experience, it seemed Malek didn’t notice a thing, because his eyes had long since dilated in pure arousal, and he continued kissing and sucking at her, sometimes squeezing her in just the right spots, massaging her breasts.
The bed creaked underneath them, and the blankets became messy and tangled around, as the last of their clothing got peeled off and dumped on the floor, allowing them full access into one another’s bodies. He was stocky and big, several inches taller than her in height anyway, which meant in actuality, he was not so tall when it came to werewolves, who often towered above everyone else with their absurd heights. Geraline got tired sometimes needing to strain her neck to look at people – not that it made too much of a difference when it came to horizontal activities, but it meant a lot when she conducted her day to day life.
Really, he was just perfect in proportions for her. And, well, considering the rather substantial manhood currently pressing onto her thigh, his body wasn’t the only well-proportioned thing about him. His reddish hair gave him a rakish charm, a rugged and sexy aura that appealed to Geraline, and made her keep ruffling the fine strands every now and then, enjoying the small crinkle of annoyance that flitted across his features.
This close to her body, she again noted the fine, sharp curve of his nose, the indent between his nose and lips, the slightly receding chin before it formed outwards again, creating a tiny crevice in his chin. She also enjoyed sighting the moles formed upon his muscles, dark brown nuts on his otherwise pale northern skin. Her feet brushed over the back of his legs, against the solid calf muscles there, before he readjusted, positioning his erection against her entrance. She shivered in anticipation, resisting the urge to beg him to take her.
She breathed hard and fast, matching the pace of breath billowing out of his lips, and the pump of his chest from the huge lung space his barrelled ribcage offered. Then, with a furrowed look of determination, he buried his erection into her, parting the folds down there and stretching her wide. Her entrance was quite narrow, and it seemed to please him, and sent judders of delight as he began to slide in and out. His fingers now dug in the bedsheets on either side of her as he pushed backwards. He took himself away from her, so a huge gap existed between their chests, though they were still interlocked at the hips it changed the angle of how he took her, especially when he seized one of her legs and draped it over his shoulder. He held the other sturdy as he thrust hard into her, shaking her entire body, her breasts swaying in the motion.
He dug into her so deep, making her gasp in pleasure, eyes rolling backwards. Her gasps rapidly turned into moans as Malek flexed his awesome body, strengthening the thrusts. Sweat beaded upon his forehead, welled up from his arms and chest – thick chest hairs, she noted with a vague scan of her eyes – and he groaned as well, drowning in her reaction to him.
The delicious friction continued to stir emotions higher, and Geraline screamed when his hand removed itself from her other leg, and began flicking at her little bundle of nerves. Her body instantly began shuddering, her thighs clenching to the point where her stomach muscles hurt, before the feeling inside her broke out in a flood of climax, warm and shivering and wonderful.
He seemed a little surprised by her quick orgasm, and continued his thrusting until he came as well. Every sense of hers heightened from the climax, making each t
hing he did infinitely more pleasurable. She inhaled deeply the scent of his arousal and the sweat of his skin, whimpering when she already felt the stirrings of a second orgasm to top the first. Grinning, he extracted himself from her and fell between her legs, his mouth clamping onto her exposed, sensitive nub. His tongue flicked her, rapid and soft along her wetness. His deft work on her down there sent her crying out into another orgasm, brain melting in bliss.
When the burning heat between them eventually cooled off, it was about three orgasms later for Geraline, leaving her muscles thoroughly cramping and convincing her she’d never walk again. Malek merely lay by her side with a smug grin upon his lips, enjoying the way she pouted and complained about the cramp.
Of course, Geraline took ample time to run her fingers along his well-developed abs.
“How am I supposed to fight if I can barely move out of bed? Bastard.”
“I’ll carry you,” he replied, still wearing that irritatingly smug grin. She wanted to slap it off him. She also felt embarrassed, to have her body react so much. Maybe that was what happened when one went without sex for too long?
Not that Geraline knew much. However, all the things that transpired between them made her instantly regret she’d never spent much time trying to forge relationships.
Except, her hard training and her obsession with mastering her magic had led her here.
If she died now, at least it would be at one of the best points in her life.
Dying happy sounded far more appealing as opposed to dying in wailing agony.
“I hate you,” she said to Malek, who quirked up an eyebrow in response.
“Oh?”
“Why couldn’t I have met you in a better place than this? Why did you have to be born in that moon cursed clan with your bastard family?”
Malek chuckled, though it was without humor. “We can’t choose our family when we’re born.” His eyes skated over her body again, taking in the delicate, pale smooth skin, the sheen of sweat from their romp. The gaze calmed her, let her heart cool off into something relaxed and happy. A little bit of eye scenery went a long way.
“I suppose not.”
He closed his eyes, not wanting to speak, and they spent the next few hours drifting off into a peaceful slumber.
They needed all the rest for the battles yet to come.
Chapter Three – Malek
Stepping out into the Fractured City gave Malek a scene of disaster and ruin. Whole streets had been levelled and annihilated. Shops gone, people dissolved into bones, with the trail of bones indicating the dark path their main army had travelled. He padded along in his wolf form, Geraline snug on his back, keen yellow eyes scouring the landscape, the broken buildings, nostrils picking up on the scent of panic and hate. Only a hundred or so wolves padded behind them, the ones still healthy enough to continue the fight, who had not been crippled in the debilitating attack their tiny force had suffered against a mass of tireless Shadows.
They needed more to defend that point. Of course they did. But the more they sent to guard the tunnels, the more they siphoned off the main attack, allowing the Supremes and their superior-numbered army to have more chance of overwhelming, even in spite of the element of surprise they possessed with Erlandur’s undead legions.
Two thousand or so. We needed that number, and we might have done it. A couple more witches, too.
They did what they could. They had killed themselves upon the masses of enemy, bled for an almost impossible cause.
He was also no longer alone, either, in the way the Lunar Wastes formerly seemed to swirl through his heart before freezing it over. He couldn’t grow too attached. The woman who clung to his fur now might die soon. Her magic would make her a target. The opposing army would focus fire the biggest threats mustered.
Thinking about the enemy and their allies, it worried him to see no sign of anything. All he had was explicit instructions to reach the Black Tower, the central building in the Fractured City, and possibly the tallest structure in the world.
Unfortunately, judging by the state of battle, there was no way of telling if any of their armies had made it to the center.
When Geraline gasped above him, his heart thudded in panic, before he composed himself, noting the scattered werewolf bodies, and one dead witch.
“I knew her,” Geraline murmured, her hands clutching tighter into her fur. “She was one of my clanswoman. A Ghost Lake witch.”
“Apologies for this,” Yarrow said then, galloping on Vrin. She frowned, and the witch stood up, her eyes dead, a gash on her cheek. Black veins covered her neck, suggesting she’d been in the process of transforming to Shadow.
“I hate your power,” Geraline said.
“We have to use what we get. Now, what was this one…?” Bolts of lightning shot out of the witch’s fingers. “Ah! Like me.”
“She was called Herci.”
Yarrow’s response came out blunt. “I recommend you don’t think of her as anything, now. She’s empty.”
Malek felt the disgust emanating from Geraline, and he swiveled his head to stare at Yarrow, the witch who had gone from near death, fighting the voices in her head, to one who had two sets of powers – as if the undead possession wasn’t enough.
“Some of the ones I control beg me to kill them,” Yarrow informed them, as they continued padding along the ruined streets, their tiny army behind them. “The ones they call ‘mindless,’ all they do is scream. They used to be people. Before the corruption.”
Jael rode alongside them, mounted on a rather disgruntled werewolf, with Kain and Alyssa loping behind. “It’s one of the crueller things my kind does. They trap your mind in your body. And then basically set it on fire, so you’re in constant pain.”
She glanced back to Faith and her grandmother as she did so. Both combat witches seemed in earnest conversation, though the older Supreme had a hollow, listless expression, which Malek recognized as one that lacked purpose.
This whole place was bizarre. Malek wished he lived elsewhere, in a quiet place, not bothered by the betrayal of his family, perhaps with a nice, homely woman, and at least a dozen children scampering around.
Or, maybe he could settle for someone like Geraline.
Around one corner, the Black Tower loomed over them, tall and imposing, an impressive and ominous sight all at once. Here, they saw the werewolf army, with Helena and the clan chieftains milling in front of the entrance, having already set up camps. Despite dreadful losses, they had secured the perimeter. In the near distance, Erlandur’s army were pushing through as well, and Malek saw the battle rage.
What an eerie, ghostly image to see all these dead ancestors ripping into their foes, not making a sound, not bothered when chunks of them got torn off. Erlandur floated in the air, supported by Kell and an undead witch, who appeared to be shielding them from projectile damage from the Supremes.
“Some of the strongest witches of the ages were buried in the cradle of Crescent Island,” a soft voice said. Helena. She had seen where Geraline was looking. She greeted them, and guided each of the werewolves to their new assignments. “Though their magic is diminished from their long years dead, their bodies more fragile. It’s good to see you all. I heard you fought bravely.”
“We were overwhelmed,” Jael replied, her gaze flinty. “We needed far more than what we had. But you expected us to die.”
“Yes,” Helena said. “I did. But thanks to your stalling, we were able to get into a good position to fend them off.” She indicated the vast stretch of her army. “About eleven thousand of us still live. But right now, we need everyone to do what they did in the tunnels. We need to safeguard the Black Tower for as long as possible.”
“Why?” Geraline asked, echoing Malek’s silent question.
Helena’s responding smile was sardonic, dark. “You’ll see. I’m not sure if we can wait for Erlandur, though. We can’t lose the ground here, it’s everything.”
Dozens upon dozens of Shadows ooz
ed out of the ground. A blitz of different witch spells ended them, from fire to lightning to ice.
Malek snorted. Typical the armies would have had a big supply of witches. Though he understood on a tactical level Helena’s intent to sacrifice them.
Didn’t mean he had to like it.
They were lucky enough to escape as it was.
His attention got wrought again by a huge monstrosity, a hulking mass of Shadow with hundreds of little tentacles that seemed to instantly stab and kill whatever it came into contact with.
It belonged to that strange witch of the underbelly, who only referred to herself as Echo. She called her summon the appropriate moniker of Monster. A fearsome, impressive and disgusting beast all in one.
“Blasted skies,” Jael said, for the first time, sounding impressed. “Now that’s like the behemoths back on our home world.”
“Yes.” Helena didn’t bother elaborating. She scowled, impatient, her eyes constantly darting to the Black Tower. “We may not get another chance to do this…” She pondered for a moment. “Okay. I need Faith and… oh? Grace?” Helena now spotted Faith’s grandmother. “What in the world…?”
“Helena. Up to your tricks again, I see,” Grace said, with the ghost of a smile upon her lips. Her wizened face looked less hollow, and more infused with amusement. The combat Supreme tilted her head to regard Helena. “Though we appear to be on the same side now.”
“Hmm.” Helena inspected her. “No. You’re not the Shadow that’s wearing the body. That’s locked up. You’re the memories.”
“Perhaps.” Grace pointed to the Black Tower. “Well? What’s your dastardly plan, then? Obviously you haven’t been plotting the Fractured City’s downfall for the past five hundred years without a plan, right?”
Helena snorted. A mass of Shadows were accumulating on the edges of their camp, even as Erlandur’s surprise army struggled against superior numbers. Erlandur appeared to have extended the undead shield witch’s shield on Echo, since Supreme fire had been focusing on her, because of Monster’s damage and tendency to regenerate any damage inflicted.