Chapter Thirteen
1059 Words
Flint stood helpless as wave after wave of unfulfilled longing swept all over him and wickedly. Longings far too long denied. Longings, desires no longer comfortable being ignored and unattended to.
His sanity now was under live threat, malicious to the core and he knew without being told that he delayed, denied and ignored at his own peril. The titles ‘unstable’ and ‘raving mad’ won’t at all sit well on his resumé.
He pushed up from his seat, ignoring the squeaky complaint of the leather, and faced the fireplace that graced his living room.
He preferred it old school. He even had a couple candle bras to boot! He had fashioned his abode in a manner that appealed largely to his old soul; and had gotten no small pleasure from the warm welcome the house exuded. Okay act kart made him a a gallant, unbreakable king.
Today, that crown had been ripped and smashed under the gargantuan feet of his ignored and not-so-happy-about-it-all feelings and desires.
Even Bax had laid siege within. He was to be granted his rest, no respite.
Like he could even get one when all the rest and reprieve lay in the hands of one feisty red-haired.
She’s one of them.
One one hand was his mate.
On the urgent hand was the murderer of his pack members.
Flint gave out a harsh wet bark of laughter and bent forward with his fingers laced in his thick dark hair.
He let out a loud growl and mentally failed at the divine trick, all the while cursing his fate.
It just had to be him.
Unable to hold in Bax’s lashings, Flint grabbed his brown leather jacket and made a beeline out of his living room. Bolting past a baffled Ian and Derrick. Exiting the pack with one decisive twist if the ignition key and a thick plume of gray smoke, and swallowed whole by the howl of his motor bike engine.
He must find her.
He knew where to find her.
Something good had come out of having Ian tail her.
And he was ready to take at most half of the pack out to get to her.
Bax growled in agreement.
The sudden appearance of the border guard came as no surprise to him. He had come prepared to live or die.
He jumped from the moving bike and inwardly cringed at the crashing sound that came from his reckless action.
He heard the whipping sound of an incoming dagger before he saw it, and with a tight swerve to the side dodged it.
He was swiftly surrounded by wolves, bears, tigers, humans and foxes? At most thirty of them and they weren’t throwing out the warm carpet of hospitality.
And he was not backing down.
His joints crunched as he flexed and readied them for the assault soon to begin. His mind wheels screeching as he took in his contenders and their very distinctive characteristics that labeled them lethal each in their own.
The wolves he knew.
The Bears: a formidable contender. Their fluffy cuddly busy a façade to conceal the quick-in-a-flash reflexes, lethal claw that with just one swipe was enough to take man’s head, jaws and teeth that sank and tore with vicious precision. They were fast despite their body mass.
He was faster.
The Foxes - he still couldn’t believe they were here: smaller predators rat made up for what they lacked in size with clean devilish wickedness. They were lethal - precise and in point -, very calculating, and indeed very cunning.
He had learnt to always interprete their body languages in the opposite. The distrust of a fox is the beginning of pure wisdom.
They were fast and operated more wickedly as a group, not that singularly they should be any more underrated.
The Tigers: of all the wires he had met and exchanged both claws and blows with, he had found a lot of respect lay at the doorstep of the Tigers. To be precise: the white tigers.
And then there were the Cheetahs as well. Speedi-f*****g-est monsters.
He had joined hands one fateful night in hunt if a wayward vamp once with a white tiger and a cheetah; and it had been a thrill reeling with speedy bloodlust.
And then the humans.
He could have easily waved them aside if he had not seen some of those faces taking out the hearts of some of his pack members.
He craned his neck.
He’ld take more tanning a claw or three, he reckoned.
The distance between him and each curve of the circle pulsates with the surge of strength oozing from the impending breakout of kick-ass deadly combat.
His gaze fell on one that seemed far too burly to be nothing short of a wolf, and c****d his head at her. A slow smirk building on his lips.
Her eyes, the colour of one of the horrifying strident nights the Durrow Hills experienced, narrowed and drew into slits. Then fired up.
He hesitated.
He knew those eyes from somewhere .
She slapped the earth hard enough to cause a rumble and met out an ear splitting war cry.
He had seen them before…somewhere…
And all hell broke loose.
She leaped into the air.
His eyes followed her.
His heart pounding ferociously in his throat.
With one air-burned somersault, and a loud roar?, a red dragon appeared in the sky. It’s gargantuan wings covering more than half of the bright sky.
“Dear heavens,” he muttered, even as he dodged a claw and arched his back as he took another.
Bax howled and his change was swift.
Do not kill, he reminded Bax even as his claws scratched the dark earth littered with lush vibrant green grasses.
And when Bax remained silent, Flint tried to push a bit of his control. We are not here to kill.
Bax huffed and leaped towards the incoming missile of a red dragon.
The collision was monumental.
Knocked half the breathe in him out.
He held on, tenaciously, to the sides of her jaw. The spikes lacing the outline of her jaw footholds to hold tenaciously to.
At his peril.
If she opened her mouth, he would become very swiftly unseasoned barbecue reeking of - well incinerated fur and - well, fire.
Nobody, he hoped, wanted that.
- Writer
