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The Drakhyn moved through the woods slowly, keeping an ever-watchful eye on the Lycans ahead of them and behind them. The Lycans remained in their wolf form. Only one had changed to their Akrhyn form since the Drakhyn had joined them. They had been gathering in the Yukon for several weeks now, and an uneasy alliance with the wild and free packs had been tested more times than they could count.
If the Lycans had their way, the Drakhyn would be the ones left behind while they scouted the region. But the Drakhyn were here to aid them, not hinder them. It didn’t help that there were no female Lycan amongst them. Several Drakhyn had complained that their alliance was already flawed when the Lycan clearly didn’t trust them with their females.
That had been the cause of the first fight.
And the second.
And every fight thereafter.
He didn’t care, they could fight amongst themselves all they wanted. He kept a trail of wagons to the very back of the gathered masses in order to sate appetites of his kin. His most trusted Drakhyn got to taste the samples he provided, but he knew soon that he would have to share some of the appetisers among the many.
He could feel its presence beside him, although it had chosen not to take corporeal form this time. It was merely a darker patch of night in an overcast landscape.
“When do we move south?” an Akrhyn asked him impatiently. “My Lycans grow tired of marching and not fighting.”
He looked at the Lycan before he turned away again and continued, saying nothing.
“Listen, you may be the voice of the one in charge, but we grow impatient.”
He stopped. “The voice of the one in charge?” he questioned. “AmInot the one in charge?”
“You’re a Drakhyn,” the Lycan spat with disgust.
“I am.” He smiled, and then with a clench of his fists, he cast from the power he had been granted, and the Lycan was raised into the air as if being held by his throat. “What are you implying?”
The Lycan spluttered and gasped for air as it dangled in front of him at his mercy. He watched it for a while before he felt the presence stir beside him, and with reluctance, he dropped the insolent Lycan to the ground.
“We scout, as it will not take our enemies long to realise we move against them,” he told the Lycan that lay panting on the ground. “You are needed to go forward. There is a free pack to the north of here, turn them to the cause.”
He continued to walk on, leaving the Lycan lying on the ground, forgotten and humiliated.
That I cannot kill them all, pains me.
The Darkness fluctuated but was silent. He gave a heavy sigh before he turned to look at the faithful behind him. “We stop here. The Lycans have one more search, and then we gather.” His eyes scanned the faces of the true, the believers, the faithful. “We are close, brothers, we will destroy them all. Pass the word down: we stop here, and in the morning, we assemble.”
As he watched them scatter to pass the word and the Lycan staggered to his feet, he waited. The Lycans glared at him, thinking he did not see their hate aimed at him. When their eyes were turned from him, he shifted slightly to it. With a roll of his head, he willed the change. The pain was almost euphoric in its intensity. As it melted away, he flexed his claws. That he, a Drakhyn, could take the form of the Lycan, thrilled him.
On silent paws, he padded amongst them. The Lycans whined slightly when he passed, the gift of the shift considered sacred to Lycan. Blessed from the Ancients themselves. That a Drakhyn could shift made them uneasy.
He walked amongst the Lycans until he got to the captured Lycan that lay beaten on the ground. It had chosen to remain in its Lycan form, but even he could see the advanced healing powers of a Lycan were no longer aiding this male. Its golden coat was matted with blood and dirt, a talon had slashed across his eyes, and no healing power would repair them. A wounded wolf was a dead wolf, but he was keeping it alive. Barely.
He could change form, but he did not possess the ability to link to the Lycans. As he looked down on the bedraggled, miserable male Lycan, he realised he had nothing more to ask it. They had tortured the male. They had interrogated the Lycan until it looked as it did now. The Lycan really was of no more use to him or the free packs.
I should kill him, put him out of his misery.
His head dipped, and he nudged the unconscious wolf in the dirt. It was in so much pain. With a happy bark, he stepped back. He did not need to kill this Lycan yet, he was enjoying its pain too much.
“Little tiger,” Cord called softly as he walked along the hall of the Northern Headquarters. Tegan was ahead of him, talking quietly to Michael, the meeting dispersed, each member of the Prophecy knowing their role going forward.
Tegan stopped and looked over her shoulder to see the Castor waiting patiently. She glanced at Michael and saw Michael’s hard stare steady on Cord. “I’ll be along in a moment,” she told her brother with a smile.
“Tegan,” Michael began, but he met her gaze and knew he had already lost this fight. “He stays out of your bedroom,” he warned in a low whisper.
Tegan blushed but nodded as she waited for Michael to leave her. She hesitated a moment longer and then walked back to meet the Castor as he waited. He filled out his Sentinel clothing so well, she thought idly as she took the few steps to meet him. Dark fatigues, black long-sleeved shirt, and a close-fitting black hooded jacket. Even with all his power and the Mark, he still looked more comfortable in Sentinel clothing than his robes, Tegan mused.
“What is it?” she asked him when she was in front of him. “Is Marcus okay?”
“The alpha is fine,” Cord told her as he checked the door to one of the training rooms. “In here.”
