The Guardian
1407 Words
I kept my breathing shallow and my senses sharp. Every turn, every bump in the road, I counted. Four hours. We weren’t headed for No Man’s Land. That much I was sure of.
The drug was wearing off slowly. I could twitch my fingers and wiggle my toes, but I needed full strength before I made a move. I couldn’t afford another mistake.
The vehicle slowed. I heard the grind of metal, a gate opening. Then another five minutes of driving before we stopped. Gravel crunched beneath the tires. The car door opened and then closed. The boot lifted. My blindfold was removed.
The first thing I saw was the rogue, looming over me.
“Well, princess,” he sneered, “how was the ride? Cozy enough?”
I didn’t answer. I kept my body limp, my eyes half-lidded. I couldn’t let him know I was regaining control.
He scoffed and hoisted me over his shoulder like a sack of grain.
We passed through a courtyard lit by torches. Guards patrolled the perimeter. This wasn’t a rogue camp. It was a pack. A real one.
The building ahead looked like a palace, stone walls, arched windows, banners fluttering in the night breeze. This wasn’t what I expected.
The rogue carried me down a long hallway. He kicked open a door and dropped me onto a plush bed with a grunt.
“Don’t get too comfortable,” he said, chuckling. “You’re not here to rest.”
Then he left. The door clicked shut behind him.
I lay still, my senses sharpening with each passing second. The drug was wearing off fast. My limbs were slowly regaining strength. I looked round, there was markings and strange amlets on the wall and something felt off. The air was heavy, thick with a strange energy I could not describe. Not just any energy. Dark energy
My skin tingled and I felt the hair at the back of my neck standing.
Outside the room, voices echoed down the hallway.
Then a sharp slap rang through the corridor. The sound was unmistakable.
“She is to be treated as a guest, not a prisoner!” a male voice barked.
Footsteps followed, drawing closer with each step. I turned my head slightly toward the door.
The handle turned.
A man stepped inside, and the air shifted. The energy grew darker and I became hot.
He was tall, pale, and broad-shouldered. His presence was like ice and blood—cold, commanding, and dangerous. His salt-and-pepper hair was swept back, revealing a face both regal and ruthless. He walked like he owned the world. The room seemed to darken with his arrival.
His eyes gleamed red when they met mine.
He stopped a few feet from me, scanning my face with quiet intensity. Then he smiled—a slow, calculated smile that looked far too pleased.
“Nice to finally meet you,” he said, voice smooth as silk dragged over gravel. “I’ve waited a very long time for this moment.”
I narrowed my eyes. “Who are you? And where am I?”
He chuckled, clearly amused. “Ah, forgive me. I forgot my manners.”
He gave a slight bow, more theatrical than respectful.
“My name is Alpha Elvis Costello of the Hollowblood Pack,” he said, his voice deliberate and rich with pride.
Recognition bloomed in my chest like a cold flame.
Hollowblood.
The name was whispered in bedtime stories and war legends. The original lycan pack. The first bloodline. Descendants of Lycans twisted by forbidden witchcraft. Ruthless. Ancient. Their goal was domination. Their path paved in blood.
And Elvis, the son of the first Alpha Lycan. A namesake, standing right in front of me. He looked to be in his thirties, but something about him felt older. Much older.
I didn’t flinch. I kept my voice calm. “Yeah. I’ve heard a little about them.”
Alpha Elvis smiled. “Only a little? That’s disappointing. I was hoping for awe.”
“I don’t do awe,” I said coolly. “Especially not for men who drug and abduct me.”
He stepped closer, the air around him thick with dominance. “Fair. But you’re not here as a prisoner, Ember. You’re here because your blood demands it.”
My heart skipped. My blood?
He saw the confusion flash across my face and laughed, low and amused.
“You don’t know?” he asked, eyes gleaming.
“Know what?” I snapped.
He dragged a chair beside me and sat down, legs spread, hands resting on his knees like a man settling in for a story he’d told a thousand times.
“When my men came back—beaten and broken—I was furious. Who could do such damage? Who could tear through trained warriors like they were nothing?”
He leaned in slightly, voice dropping.
“They said it was a golden-haired girl. Fast. Fearless. She fought like she had fire in her veins. Like she was born for war.”
My jaw tightened. I didn’t speak.
“They could only subdue you because of the drug,” he continued. “A full dose. Lethal to most. And yet you survived.”
I stayed silent, shielding my thoughts.
“They could only stop you before that meddling Reece came to take you away.”
He paused, watching me.
“But you survived it. That told me everything I needed to know.”
My heart thudded.
“I knew then,” he said, “you were the one the prophecy spoke of. The one the witches couldn’t stop ranting about.”
He stood slowly and walked to the window, moonlight casting silver across his shoulders.
“The golden-haired girl with green eyes,” he said, turning to face me again.
Then he looked me dead in the eyes.
“My queen.”
I blinked. Queen? Prophecy? Witches?
“What are you talking about?” I asked.
He stepped closer, his expression shifting from amused to solemn.
“You are the First Guardian,” he said.
The words dropped like stones in my chest.
“Guardian of what?”
He reached into his coat and pulled out a small, ancient-looking scroll. He held it out to me.
“Of the balance.”
That phrase meant nothing to me.
“I sent them to take you,” he continued, “because I knew you wouldn’t come willingly. I don’t need your cooperation. I have my ways.”
And that’s when it hit me.
The darts.
The bottle.
The sudden silence in my mind.
“What was in the darts?” I demanded. “And that liquid—the one that snapped the link with my pack?”
He laughed. “You could communicate with your pack? Without a wolf? You’re stronger than I thought. I haven’t been this surprised in centuries.”
Centuries?
He didn’t correct himself. He just kept talking.
“My witches cooked up something special. A blend of old magic and modern chemistry. Designed to suppress your senses and scent. Make you easier to control.”
He walked toward the door and leaned against the frame, watching me with a strange fondness.
“I was supposed to wait until morning to speak with you, when the effects wore off. But I couldn’t wait. I needed to see my queen.”
I didn’t respond.
He tilted his head. “You must be tired. Get some rest. Someone will come for you at breakfast. We have a lot to discuss.”
Then he turned and left. The door clicked shut behind him.
I lay there in stunned silence.
Queen. Guardian. Balance. Is he mad?
But the presence of witchcraft explained a lot. The drug. The broken link. The unnatural weakness. The burning within me. It was something dark.
Then I saw it.
A faint mark on my wrist. Glowing red. The same color as his eyes. It pulsed once, then faded.
I touched it, heart racing. Something was changing inside me.
I slowly stood, testing my limbs. No resistance. My strength was returning.
I scanned the room. Lavish, yes—but escapable. Heavy curtains. A fireplace. A carved wardrobe. A single door. A window.
I moved to the door, testing the handle.
Locked.
I turned back, eyes sweeping the room for anything useful. Anything I could use as a weapon.
If there’s a way out, I’ll find it.
- Writer
