Enemies
1015 Words
Serenya’s chest still heaved from the fight. Blood streaked her arms, the scent of iron filling her nose. She clutched her dagger tight, refusing to loosen her grip even though her hand shook. The tall stranger who had fought beside her stood across from her now, silent, his chest rising and falling with the same ragged rhythm.
Their eyes locked.
The battle with the rogues had ended, but another one sparked instantly—this one fiercer, deeper, impossible to escape.
Serenya’s voice broke first, low and sharp.
“You…”
He didn’t flinch.
She took a step closer, dagger raised. “You’re not human.”
His silence was an answer. His posture shifted—slight, instinctive, predatory.
Her breath hitched. She saw it now. The strength he had shown, the savagery in his strikes, the speed that no mortal man carried. And when his lip curled, just enough to bare teeth not fully human, her stomach dropped.
“You’re a wolf,” she spat.
At once, the space between them burned. Witch and wolf. Two names that could never stand together.
Her dagger trembled, not from weakness, but fury. She wanted to drive it into him right there.
The man’s eyes, silver-bright, narrowed. His voice rumbled low, dangerous.
“And you are a witch.”
The words were poison.
Her grip tightened. “My kind should never have fought beside yours.”
“You think I wanted this?” His tone cut, sharp as his blade. He motioned at the fallen rogues. “You’d be carrion by now without me.”
Her pride burned. She lifted her chin, stepping into his shadow despite the danger. “I’d rather rot than owe my life to a wolf.”
The stranger’s jaw tightened, his chest heaving. For a moment, it seemed he might strike her then and there.
But it wasn’t just him she fought—it was centuries of blood between them.
Her voice rose, raw and bitter. “Do you even remember? Do you wolves even care what you did? How you betrayed her?”
His eyes flickered, the silver hardening. “Speak plainly, witch.”
Her hand slashed the air, pointing at the moon above, the eternal witness to their feud. “The Moon Goddess gave you strength, gave you a bond to your beast, gave you dominion under her night. And you spat on it. You turned against her, melted your loyalty into blood and greed!”
Her voice cracked, but her fury did not. “You broke the sacred vow. You betrayed Selora herself! And for that, witches and wolves will never be anything but enemies.”
Her words lanced the air.
The stranger’s hands flexed, claws half-baring, his restraint thinning. “You think your kind were saints?” he shot back. “The wolves turned, yes—but the witches poisoned the bond first. You whispered lies to Selora. You begged her for power she never meant for you to touch. You tore the trust apart long before the wolves made war.”
His voice thundered, each word an accusation. “Your betrayal came first!”
Serenya’s blood boiled. “Liar!”
Her dagger flashed. She lunged.
Steel met claw in an explosion of sparks. The sound cracked like bone breaking, echoing in the clearing.
They collided, not as two survivors, but as enemies born for this moment.
She slashed; he parried with unnatural speed. His counter came swift, claws raking air where her throat had been a heartbeat earlier. She ducked, swept low with her blade, forcing him back.
“Admit it!” she screamed. “Your kind were nothing but beasts too weak to hold faith!”
His growl rumbled deep, vibrating through her bones. “And yours were serpents, jealous of what they could never command!”
Their bodies crashed together, dagger against claw, sparks flying with every strike. Her wrist twisted, nearly breaking under his strength, but she held. He shoved her back, sending her stumbling over a fallen body. She rolled, came up ready, dagger poised at his chest.
Every breath was a snarl. Every movement a threat.
She hated him. Hated the silver glint in his eyes, the beast coiled inside him, the reminder of what she had become under Selora’s curse.
“You are everything I despise,” she hissed.
“And you are the same,” he fired back. “Witch. Thief of moonlight. Maker of monsters.”
Her dagger darted forward, grazing his arm. Blood welled, red against his skin. His eyes flared. With a roar, he surged, slamming into her, their bodies colliding with brutal force.
Her back struck the ground. His claw hovered at her throat, a single motion away from ending her.
But her dagger pressed at his ribs, angled to pierce.
Both froze, breaths ragged, weapons ready to kill.
The world shrank to that point: her blade, his claw, two ancient enemies caught in the mirror of each other’s rage.
Neither moved. Neither blinked.
Finally, she spat the truth like venom. “We will never be the same side. Not in this life. Not in the next.”
His voice came low, seething. “Then remember this night, witch. For the next time, I will not spare you.”
Her dagger trembled against his ribs. Part of her screamed to drive it in, to end him. To erase the shame of needing his hand against the rogues.
But another part—pride, fury, curse—held her still.
Slowly, his claw withdrew. He rose, silver eyes never leaving hers.
Serenya rolled to her feet, dagger still ready, heart hammering so loud she feared he could hear it.
They stood apart, yet bound. Witch and wolf, divided by history, locked by blood, destined to clash again.
The silence between them screamed louder than battle.
And for the first time since her curse began, Serenya realized—her fight was no longer only against Selora’s wrath.
It was against him.
The wolf.
The enemy.
And what he was doing near the forest of the coven is still unknown to her.
- Writer
