Grasping Fate

The night sky was painted black, lit only by the flames that danced and flickered, casting an eerie glow. Houses were already reduced to ashes, while others were still being consumed by the fire.

The heat was relentless, spreading along walls, catching onto trees and grass, leaving a trail of destruction in its wake. Crops were ruined, memories were lost, lives were shattered.

The air was filled with the sound of screams, echoing in the night. Bodies lay scattered on the ground, some burnt beyond recognition, others torn apart.

A woman held her child, their body twisted and broken, their stomach ripped open.

They showed no mercy, took no prisoners. That was their way.

The ruins echoed with their roars, the chilling sound of lives being snuffed out. These beasts, standing over seven feet tall, shook the very foundation of the town.

Their raw power and ferocity were enough to bring even the strongest faery to their knees. Those who survived their onslaught spoke of their terrifying presence and deadly aura.

Just being in their presence was enough to make your legs give out, your hands tremble. Their aura was so strong it could make you feel sick, dizzy, even drive you mad.

But their beauty, their grandeur, and their immense wealth overshadowed all of this.

Their lavish balls, sparkling chandeliers, and a formidable army that could bring down a whole country were enough to intimidate their neighbors and keep them in check.

They took whatever they wanted, including mates, or as they called them: inamoratas.

These were chosen specifically for them. To complement each other, to love and cherish till death do them part.

Usually, the connection was felt at the first meeting, but sometimes, it was the name that sealed the bond. But they couldn’t survive long without their other half.

When one beast died, the other followed. Death couldn’t separate their souls, for they were so closely intertwined that madness ensued when one was lost.

Once these possessive creatures found their destined mate, they would never let go, killing anyone who dared to stand in their way, no matter the cost.

A little girl stood amidst the destruction, clutching a worn-out teddy bear to her chest, tears streaming down her freckled cheeks.

A cut on her cheekbone bled, the blood trickling down her neck, staining her nightgown.

She cried not out of fear, but out of pain for her family, friends, and town that now lay in ruins.

She was too young to know the story of the beasts, but old enough to feel the crushing fear of losing everything she held dear.

Her eyes, still swollen from sleep, her pointed ears twitching at each roar and scream, each loss of life hanging heavy in the air like the smoke billowing from her destroyed home.

The place where she was born, where she took her first steps, said her first word, cast her first spell.

She knew there was no point in calling out for her parents, her friends, for she could already feel their life force fading away.

Her hands, covered in soot, rubbed her eyes, smearing her forehead and cheeks with dirt. The cut on her cheek still bled.

Her cat-like pupils dilated as she took in her surroundings, the only light coming from the burning buildings around her.

Her small body shook with sobs, her knuckles turning white as she clung to her teddy bear.

She sank to the ground, her knees and clothes getting covered in mud. She was crying so hard she didn’t notice the beast lurking in the shadows, about ten feet away from her.

Its claws, sharp as blades, dripped with blood. Its fur was matted with dirt and blood, and it reeked of death.

Its mouth was clamped shut, its eyes glowing a rich gold in the darkness, like two fallen stars.

Elijah stood in the shadows, fighting his instincts. He wanted to comfort her, to tell her it would be alright. But he knew he couldn’t, not like this.

Not when he was covered in the blood of her people. He shook his head, digging his claws into his palms to stop himself from reaching out to her. His mission that night was to kill the faeries living here.

Young and old. Anything with a heartbeat. Those were his orders.

He had always been one to follow orders, and that’s how he had risen through the ranks, becoming one of the most efficient killers in the entire army.

It had earned him numerous medals, a seat at the table with important people, and a say in what was considered a good opportunity for the kingdom. And how did he achieve all this? By suppressing his emotions and getting the job done.

But now, for some reason, his emotions were getting the better of him. He felt a pang of guilt.

Another sob from the girl snapped him out of his thoughts. He was so startled that he shifted back to his human form.

The girl’s ears perked up at the sound, her body stiffening with fear.

Elijah felt a sharp pain in his chest. He didn’t want this little girl to be afraid, especially not of him.

A warm sensation spread through his chest as he forced himself to step back, disappearing into the shadows. With each step he took, the pain in his chest intensified.

His beast was clawing at him from the inside, its claws tearing through his stomach, leaving a gash in his skin.

He growled, struggling with the beast within him. Blood dripped from his stomach as the wound began to heal.

A pressure was building in his head, making him wince. His body was losing control, and he didn’t know why.

His beast roared inside him, its claws slashing at him, causing Elijah to stumble. He might heal fast, but not this fast.

Elijah growled again, as if warning his beast. Each slash was painful, like being stabbed with knives. Each wound barely healed before another one was opened.

He clutched his stomach, trying to stop the wounds from getting worse, but his hands were soon covered in thick, sticky blood.

Lycanthrope blood was different from other creatures’. It was thicker, stickier, which helped the wounds close and heal faster.

Right now, Elijah was far from pleased. His torso was covered in a sticky substance that clung to his remaining clothes in thick, heavy patches.

His hands were smeared with bright red blood, his entire body slick with sweat. A force was pushing him, edging him closer to the little girl. His inner beast was relentless.

Each tear, scratch, and slash only heightened the panic in Elijah's mind.

Something was off.

The beast roared again, forcing him to lift his head at the sound of a small snap.

The little girl was still sobbing, her tears filling the air with a salty scent. But there was a new smell. Another beast.

His own beast went quiet, the pressure remained, perhaps even intensified, but the scratching stopped. The beast's focus was on the newcomer. He was here to finish what Elijah hadn't started.

The beast roared in his head, sending sharp pains through his body.

Lycanthropes and their beasts can't communicate with words, only emotions. The only recorded instance of a lycanthrope and their beast communicating is when they find their mate.

So, feeling such intense, heavy emotions towards a faery was unheard of... Unless. Elijah immediately shook his head. No. He wasn't worthy of such a gift.

His head throbbed again as his beast trembled with rage.

The pressure intensified.

His gaze snapped back to the new beast, silently lurking in the shadows. He knew what was coming next, and it ignited a white-hot anger in his chest.

The beast would do its job and then abandon the little girl.

Leave her in an unmarked grave, forgotten forever. The thought made his body shudder. There was something about her that intrigued him, and he was determined she wouldn't die tonight.

The beast was about to strike when Elijah stepped out of the shadows, his presence making the beast falter slightly.

He growled, his chest rumbling.

“Leave. Now.” His deep voice was filled with authority, leaving no room for debate.

The other lycanthrope shifted back, revealing Mason, a somewhat familiar face. They'd been in the same regiment a few years ago, but Elijah had proven himself more valuable to the higher ranks.

“Elijah, you heard the order. No one leaves this village alive.” Mason's eyes flicked towards the little girl, now as pale as a ghost and trembling with fear. He could feel her terror radiating off her in waves. Her wide, cerulean eyes were fixed on Elijah.

Alessandra was shaking with fear. It gripped her stomach, making her feel sick. The two men were staring at her, talking in a language she didn't understand. No one in her village did.

The only language she knew was that of her ancestors: Torobic. Everything else sounded like nonsense. Especially whatever they were speaking.

The man with the bright golden eyes suddenly tensed, his body shaking. His aura made her shrink back, forcing her to lower her gaze in submission.

Faster than she could follow, he was standing over her, facing the other man whose eyes had turned deadly.

Something about the man with the golden eyes made her feel safe. She didn't know why, but a sense of calm and peace eased her trembling slightly.

It enveloped her like a blanket, and she felt oddly... protected.

It was almost like her parents' embrace, the feeling of safety during the terrifying summer thunderstorms.

Tears welled up in her eyes as she remembered that their presence was gone, but she was confused that she still felt that strange sense of peace.

She felt as if she were being controlled when she moved closer to him, his long legs stepping back in response.

The feeling grew stronger as more unintelligible words were exchanged. She assumed they were arguing from the harsh growls, but somehow, she wasn't as scared.

She was no longer shaking with fear, but was now filled with confusion. What were they talking about? She might only be seven, but she wasn't naive.

Soon, the man standing in front of golden eyes snapped his jaw, growling loudly. Golden eyes said nothing, just glared at him. Then he turned and walked away, his body rigid with anger.

Elijah turned to the little girl, crouching down to her level. He'd just warned Mason that if he even thought about hurting her, he'd break his neck. Mason hadn't taken that well.

“What is your name?” Elijah asked in Torobic, knowing they wouldn't have taught Latin in this village.

Alessandra's eyes widened. He could speak two languages? Now she could see his face. The dried blood coating his chest and stomach.

He had a scar that ran from his shoulder down his chest and a tribal-looking tattoo on one side of his neck. His eyes were a bright gold that lit up his face in the darkness.

His teeth were perfectly straight, and his jaw was sharp.

“Al-Alessandra.” She stuttered nervously.

Elijah tensed, his beast went still. No. It couldn't be.

Then came that word. The word that sealed their fate.

“Mine.”