The Rejected Elemental

[26]

It was a dimly lit room, the walls dark and the aura foreboding. A thin, pale blonde werewolf sat motionless in a chair, the smoke from his cigarette floating upwards and choking the room. He seemed unaffected by the thickly swirling smoke, tapping his fingers against the desk.

The door opened, and a tall, powerfully-built werewolf entered the room. That this man was an Alpha was evident; he had glaring red eyes and a dominating stride. He beckoned towards the blonde werewolf. "Alpha Francis? They're ready."

The Alpha of Moon Stone stood up, flicked his cigarette to the side, and brushed past the other to get out of the room and into a narrow passage. The second Alpha followed behind him, footsteps silent like he was walking on velvet. The two Alphas walked down till they reached a small black door, covered in bolts and chains. 

The Alpha behind Francis stepped forward, unlocked the bolts, and bowed at him. "My men."

An inhuman shriek sounded from inside. A ghost of a smile flickered on Francis' face. 

He stepped inside, and walked boldly in, ignoring the morbid bloodstains splattered on the wall and instead focusing on the enormous cage in the centre of the dark room. A huge, towering dark mass was inside. On closer inspection, the mass could be seen moving to form three gigantic shapes. A glint of sharp, bloodstained fangs and a movement of deadly claws had Francis hastily stepping backwards. 

"The killer trio," The Alpha behind Francis murmured with barely concealed pride. "Alce, Trojan and Draco."

There was a deafening roar as the three demonic werewolves raised their heads - and howled into the darkness. Their dark eyes glistened with a strange, murderous light.

"We let Alce go for a little stroll near the borders last night," the Alpha continued with a malicious smile. "Think he met with a couple Black ice guards - there was a lot more bloodshed than usual."

"Lovely," smiled Francis as he quickly regained his composure. "Cole won't escape our clutches ever again."

• • •

"We might have a problem." 

I lifted my head from my homework to see Cyril at the doorway to my room, looking dead serious with a bunch of parchment scrolls in his hand. 

"You think?" I snorted. "The Academy west wing is undergoing repairs, my physics homework isn't writing itself, and worst of all... there was only salad for lunch. Yes, we have a problem."

Cyril looked at me like I was crazy. Yeah right, he didn't have to survive on asparagus and bell peppers or something like that for lunch, no, he went out for steak. Lucky asshole.

"No," Cyril insisted, speaking slowly as if to a child. "I mean we might have an actual problem."

"Like quinoa or something equally horrific for dinner, yeah? I get it."

He stared at me for a full two minutes before shaking his head and shoving the bundle of scrolls in my hand. "No, we need to fortify the grounds and forest. We've got reason to believe Francis might be moving his werewolves closer to our territory."

"So soon? Did he get allies that quickly after the last failed attack?"

"Seems like he did," Cyril nodded gravely. "But that's not the worst part. Two of our warrior werewolves are missing."

I stood up, scattering my papers everywhere. "What?!"

"Vanished into the night," Cyril muttered disbelievingly. "They were patrolling the grounds far south near Moon Stone territory last night - and this morning they were supposed to be back, but they're not. That's why I think Francis is moving up north... towards Black Ice lands."

I stared at him in horror, my hand absent-mindedly moving to the hilt of the dagger at my waist.

"To make matters more complicated..." Cyril continued reluctantly, going slightly green. "We came upon a gruesome sight as we were searching for the missing warriors. There is this small clearing near the boundaries, and the trees were viciously slashed apart with gigantic claws and some were even uprooted... there was blood and spilled guts everywhere, shards of bone and metal and definitely some human remains - I think those were the last bits of those two we'll ever find."

Upon seeing my pale face, he grimaced, "I don't blame you... my men who came with me vomited upon seeing their remains; I must confess I felt sick to the stomach myself."

I pressed my face into my hands, but it didn't help the sick sensation I felt. Cyril handed me a glass of water.

"Was that a werewolf's doing?" I asked weakly after I was feeling better again.

"I think not," Cyril said quietly. "I've never seen any werewolf do that in my entire life - not an average werewolf, anyway. And I most definitely don't think anyone in Moon Stone is capable of even fatally injuring one of our Black Ice warriors... let alone tear a couple to shreds."

"Exactly."

"Unless the attacker was demonically possessed..." Cyril trailed off, but shook his head. "Nah."

"What was that?" I asked.

"Demonic werewolves." Cyril explained, and gave a slight shudder. "The most violent and deadly type of wolf, born on Friday the 13th full moon. Serial killers, basically, with not a shred of humanity in them. But the last of them died out centuries ago, and there haven't been any since."

"But only a demonic werewolf would be able to cause this type of violent kill," I said slowly. "There must be one somewhere."

"That can't be right," Cyril said loudly, but looked as if he was trying to convince himself more than me. He looked panicked, his hands trembling slightly. "Demonic... nope. At least if there's one, I hope it isn't on Moon Stone's side. I really, really hope not."