Blood Queen

Prologue(III)

He tugged down his hat more securely. Already some of the wolves that had stopped in shock of the unusual protection that covered him were preparing once more to pounce. They were only hesitant because of the limp form of the yellow-eyed werewolf that had been thrown back against the tree.

Put simply, he had no time. If they wanted to escape the werewolves, every second put in widening the distance was precious.

“Ma'am,” he said, gesturing to the woods on his right, “this way.”

The Mistress nodded and they both, with the two kids, entered into the dark woods.

In that instant before the four of them plunged into the trees, the driver saw in her eyes a deep reluctance to leave her husband, along with fear and sorrow. He knew that it was only the safety of the two girls that stopped her from unsheathing her own sword and joining her husband in the fight.

The two girls, one of four years and the other of two, were mute with fright, their innocent eyes big and wide. The only sound that came from them was the occassional whimper, and even that was drowned out by the rain.

The driver led them deeper into the thickness of the woods, hoping that the charm necklace would be enough to make the wolves have second thoughts about following them.

A commanding howl cut through the rain.

Moments later, he heard the sound of werewolves bounding towards them.

The necklace was apparently not enough for the werewolves to ignore the orders of their leader. The driver remembered the boss mentioning something like 'Alpha.' What it meant, he could guess. After all, it was just like in a normal wolf pack.

Why in the seven hells will the gods create these monsters?

He collected the four-year-old from her mother, to enable the Mistress run faster. They pounded through the trees, breathing hard, completely drenched and soaked cold. At a point, his hat — the wide-brimmed hat that had served him for years — flew from his head as a cold wind blew past. He dared not stop to take it as he could hear the werewolves coming closer, gaining ground. They weren't going to make it; not with the speed at which they were moving.

He was surprised to feel the Mistress's hand on his elbow, stopping him. What's wrong?

He glanced at her questioningly, and she said through tired breaths:

“Ren, take...take her...take her and...and go left, I'll...I'll go right...with Shae.”

The driver wasn't sure he heard right.

“But— ” he began.

The look in her eyes stopped him. It was a look that tolerated no 'buts.' Her eyes were desperate, angry, scared, and resolved at the same time.

It was the look of a mother in distress.

With sadness in his eyes, he gave her a resolute nod, one that also held the promise to keep the little girl, Ayra, safe. She was entrusting the life of her first daughter in his hands, just like the boss had entrusted him to lead his family to safety. Why was it that life had to do this? To make him lose the two people in the world who truly valued him; separating a happy family, a family he had come to see as his own too.

And what about the little girls?

The Mistress gazed fondly at her four-year-old daughter, leaning to give her a peck on the cheek. Ayra looked up at her. mother, her red-colored eyes so wide with fear that the driver felt a sorrowful ache in his chest.

“Ayra,” the Mistress cooed, patting her daughter's cheek, even as a tear slid down hers.

Then her eyes grew hard with renewed resolve. She unsheathed her longsword and looked hard at the driver.

“No matter what, you mustn't let them take her.”

He could see from the way her voice shook that she was trying hard not to cry. His eyes too took on that infectious resolve. “I won't,” he promised.

Then they parted ways, she going right with two-year-old Shae, and him taking the left. Her plan clearly worked as the werewolves were forced to split up. New strength surged through his tired legs as he thought of the little girl in his embrace.

The poor girl was crying for her mummy, her whimpers and sniffles breaking his heart. He wished at that moment that he knew how to soothe her, but he had no experience with children. He was a solitary man.

A werewolf with shaggy, brown fur pounced from behind but was repelled by the magical shield that hovered around him. It was good to know the amulet was doing its work.

It was also bad to know the werewolves had caught up to him.

He righted himself from the resulting stumble and continued doggedly, even knowing the werewolves had inevitably caught up to him.

Another werewolf with a missing ear attacked, then was repelled.

He stumbled, and continued on.

Another attacked; was repelled.

He stumbled.

Two more pounced, then were sent flying.

He stumbled.

Then came four...five...six...

Gritting his teeth, the driver held on tightly to Ayra as the force of the collisions finally brought him to the ground, and all he could do was press the little girl closely to his embrace as the werewolves battered the shield again and again.

They were relentless, and even those that had been sent flying came back with renewed vigour. He heard one give a strange, painful howl, the smell of burning assaulting his nostrils, but he kept his eyes shut tight. Seeing all these monsters at so close a distance may break him.

As he held the girl in his hands, the only thing he could think of was how he had broken his promise to the two people he loved most in the world. The shield wasn't going to hold on much longer; he could feel it weakening under the onslaught, could hear the triumphant howls of the werewolves. He was dead, and he knew it.

Suddenly, the unmistakable whistling of something cut through the air, silencing the werewolves immediately. He felt hot blood splash on his face. What was happening?

The triumphant sounds of the werewolves were now anxious snarls and whines. He wondered what could have possibly been the cause of all this, but as he attempted to open his eyes, something fast — very fast — and heavy hit him in the forehead, knocking him out cold.

****

When he woke up, he was surprised to see it was already morning, and more surprised to see that he was alive and in one piece. Other than a slight headache, he was fine.

Looking around, he noticed different corpses of werewolves, some already changed back to human form, and some still in the form of wolves. The smell of burning flesh filled the air and he saw that it was coming from some of the corpses, each with an array of varying degrees of burns. It made him nauseated.

He was alive though. That was something to be thankful for, even if the events of last night were still not all clear to him.

He was about to wake Ayra, his hand moving to pat her and wake her so they could leave this nauseating place, when his eyes widened and he suddenly realized:

Ayra was no longer with him.

Tears of shame filled his eyes. He had failed the two people that had put their trust in him. He cried to the heavens.

And now he had also failed their daughter.