Blue Eyed Beast

Faster than the strike of a cobra, Adeline was swerving around Gene, her ears erect and her jowls pulled back in violence.

She was a machine.

A rabid, uncontrollable, killing machine.

And it was an eerily beautiful sight.

It was beautiful in the sense of an eagle diving down, talons arched and spread wide to encircle its unsuspecting prey. With a shrill cry, the great bird descended down, the light of the sun rippling through its powerful, splayed feathers.

Adeline, the deadly grey she-wolf, was beautiful in the same way.

A type of beauty that only dangerous, great creatures possessed.

It wrapped around her, trailing over her exposed teeth, along her back, down her legs...

Expelling from her flaring nostrils, her blazing blue eyes... her very soul.

And she was heading straight toward him.

That beautiful, mysterious creature with cold, guarded eyes-- her long legs making great strides toward him, her head lowered below her rippling shoulders.

The sunlight shining through the canopy above them encircled her, melting the blacks and greys of her fur into a vast sea of silver.

Just like an avenging angel dropping from the heavens, roaring a song of revenge and vengeance, the light surrounded her; nothing more than a halo of cold autumn warmth.

And it damn near blinded him.

Finnian's lips curled back a wicked smile once more as the witch behind him cursed, hands swarmed by wispy darkness shooting out, palms and fingers splaying wide.

Magic just like that of Belladonna's...

He was defenseless against her; his body nothing more than a pup's as she barreled to him, throwing most of her weight back onto her hindquarters.

But, would a little bit of magic stop her? After all, there were no wolves that would be able to retrieve wolfsbane or silver-- the only substances that could reverse a wolf to their human-skin in any state of rage.

And, as he turned his head to gaze up at the witch next to him, he could smell her fear... her inexperience.

Belladonna was the most powerful Bruja in modern history, so how much magic had she used to halt the wolves and him, to trap them in their own bodies? Could another witch use that same type of magic; and to the same degree?

The magic in the witch's hand flickered, a bead of sweat rolling down her temple, tracing along her sharp jaw.

He got his answer loud and clear.

"You are so, so screwed." Finnian panted through his teeth with a shake of his head. The numbness, the paralysis, was rising still-- its invisible claws ripping into his lower back, infecting every nerve and muscle with its horrible poison.

He could no longer feel anything below his belly button; and with that feeling of nothing at all, it brought a white-hot burning pain to his chest and back... the pain no doubt emitting from whatever poison Belladonna had hit him with, eating up his body, racing to his frantically beating heart.

It wouldn't be long now at all until he was completely crippled; his body ruined beyond repair... beyond saving.

Letting his head drop to the fried grass, Finnian shut his eyes, trying to keep the curse of pain from leaving his throat-- his broken and aching body. With his cheek pressed down on the ground, Finnian laid as still as possible, hoping to draw the attention away from him, and onto the witch above him, swirls of darkness licking up her forearms, the thick of it surrounding her hands.

She began to mutter under her breath, words so complex and mysterious, that it was nothing more than gibberish to the male. But, had he'd been human, he would've never had heard it.

If he had been human, he wouldn't have heard the crack of a spine, and the sickening sound of flesh tearing from flesh.

Cracking open an eye, he watched with a sick kind of fascination as the wolves piled on top of Belladonna, pulled back, surrounding the mangled and bloodied corpse in a circle of fur and flashing teeth.

The grey she-wolf in front of Belladonna's body, thrashed her head.

And, between her powerful jaws, was the head of the matron, the witch staring blankly at him with glazed, cloudy eyes.

Adeline jumped, her ivory white teeth flashing in the light, her beautiful, cold eyes nothing more than orbs of glowing violence.

The witch beside him let out a shrill scream as her matron's head was ripped clean from her shoulders.

"I'M GOING TO KILL YOU A-" But the witch couldn't finish her threat; it wasn't even possible for her to make a sound, as Adeline landed on her chest, her jaws of steel clamping around the Bruja's neck.

????

The moment that Adeline had lunged for the Bruja, passing right over the paralyzed male without a second glance, Gene knew what he had to do.

Forcing his wolf to the front, he forced its shift.

In the blink of an eye, Gene shifted from his human-skin, and into his wild one.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the two females fall back, the she-wolf going for the Bruja's neck, and the witch going to her magic that was clouding around her fingers.

Deciding to let Adeline tear into the young witch on her own, Gene turned his attention to the crippled male.

He crouched low, practically crawling on his belly as he met Finnian eye-to-eye.

The male's blood-crusted eyes cracked open, every aching movement speaking a volume of how much pain the male was experiencing.

The smoke billowing from his lower back was still there, but, as if the upcoming death of Belladonna had halted it, its wisps had begun to thin and slow.

Interesting...

Hooking his snout under Finnian's thick arm, he threw it over his head and onto his neck. Hopefully, Finnian would realize that he was going to try to drag him.

Keyword, try.

Finnian was a massive male in all aspects. His frame was well muscled, but, unlike the juvenile males, his frame wasn't thin. No, his body was powerful and well-defined. He was also well over six feet tall, and paired with long, heavy arms and legs.

And Gene was a much smaller wolf; he was a doctor long before he had been born, a title and profession passed down from his fathers' and mothers' long before him. He had been created for saving and healing, not fighting and killing.

To put it simply, he had been born a submissive wolf, not a dominant; and his body showed that.

Gritting his teeth, Finnian nodded once, his dark eyes glazed from the pain no doubt racking through him.

The male's fingers curled into his fur, fisting it painfully. Already, Finnian's weight was pressing down on him, clinging to his right side. Gene's claws dug into the earth.

Throwing his head over his shoulder one last time, Gene's eyes widened, attracting the attention of the semi-conscious male.

Finnian let out a slurred curse, so filthy that it nearly had Gene's wolf retreating into the depths of his mind, and, in turn, almost forcing Gene back into his human-skin. But, faster than the wolf could pull back, he leashed it in, encircling the coward in chains of pure will and determination.

Finnian released his hold, his body crashing back into the ground as he howled, his eyes melting into a crazed gold. "GET ADELINE! NOW!"

Gene didn't even think as he spun away from the crippled male, his body moving in a sweeping arc as he barreling towards the witch standing over Adeline's naked and bloodied body.

The young she-wolf was curled on her side, her thin arms tucked into her chest, covering her breasts from the chilly autumn wind that whispered of a frigid winter to come. Her legs were curled up against her stomach, feet covered in cuts and lacerations that leaked blood. A shiver tore into Adeline's frail body, shaking her very bones.

"Pathetic." The Bruja hissed, wiping at her bleeding nose with an equally bloodied hand.

He didn't even think as he barreled toward the Bruja.

He was a doctor, a healer. Someone that, for centuries, had saved and preserved lives. He had made an oath many years ago, promising to the moon that he'd fight to save a life, not take one.

He was a healer...

But now, as he slammed into the witch hard enough to knock the wind from both of their lungs, he wasn't so sure.

The wolves surrounding Belladonna stopped their snarls and growls, haunting eyes of browns, blues, blacks, and greens slicing into him.

Knocking the witch right off her feet, Gene's head was struck by a fist, but it didn't stop him. Balls of darkness as hard as softballs, hit him in his face, neck, chest, and torso, but the Bruja's frantic magic was undefined, sloppy even.

The strikes were nothing more than bee stings, the pain dulling into a slight throb as she howled and spat.

Gene might've been a healer and mender before, but the moment that Adeline had collapsed-- her thin, frail body lying motionless on the ground-- it had snapped something so deep within himself, that, before this moment, he hadn't even known existed.

She reminded him of his own daughter, Sarah; so innocent... the true victims of the harsh reality of the world they lived in.

And, right before he had lunged at the young witch, he hadn't seen Adeline. No; he had seen Sarah's body, his little girl.

So, he attacked, not giving the screeching witch a second to rally her magic.

If she had more time, he was certain that the balls of magic would be more powerful... more deadly, but as he bit and scratched at her, she had no time, or the concentration, to weld anything bigger.

And he thanked the Moon for that; especially the god of truths and miracles, Brudair.

As he tore into the witch's neck, trying to locate her spinal cord and summon enough strength in his body, and courage, to snap it, he couldn't help but ponder a question that had been rolling around in his head since Belladonna had been taken down...

Why were the witches so easy to take down? Weren't they the most powerful Brujas in the entire world, and in all of modern history?

It was as if they had been holding back on them...

It was as if they had allowed the wolves to tear them apart.

But why?

With a snarl, Gene's teeth hit the witch's spine.

????

Alexandra and Dillon nearly howled in triumph, their muzzles stained black from the witch's blood.

They wanted to tilt their heads up to the sky and gods above, and sing a song of determination, triumph, and so, so much love.

Their daughter's curse was broken; her fate a decided promise that they refused to give up on, especially now that they had practically carved it to stone.

It was broken.

The Rage Curse, was no more.

Flinging his head and letting his jaws go slack, Dillon watched as the head of Belladonna soared through the beautiful autumn air. It slammed into the dirt with a fleshy thud, her head rolling a few feet before stopping at the base of a sighing tree; dark, bloodied eyes staring up at the tree's twisting and curling limbs.

Dillon wanted to go after it, wanted to pick it up between his jaws once again, and fling it around a little more; to let his wolf and himself relish in the fact that their daughter's torturer, her executioner, was dead; the witch's limbs laying in a pile of intestines, flesh, blood, and gore at his feet.

The howl rose up in his throat, begging to be released, begging to be unleashed so that it could raise up in the sky, taunting the rest of Belladonna's coven.

But Dillon swallowed it back down.

They would celebrate later once they were in the safety of their territory... once their daughter was safe in her bed, never to be harmed again for as long as she lived.

Alexandra stepped up to him, and he expected her to lick at his mouth in happiness, to wag her tail in sheer joy, but instead, she growled at him, the wild sound rumbled deep within her chest.

Dillon nearly snarled back at her, his confusion flowing through their bond in a steady, torrential downpour.

Her head whipped away from him, her ears standing erect on her head, and toward four figures on the other side of the clearing.

A brown wolf was standing over a dark figure, the woman's chest obviously struggling to rise for breath. But... behind Gene's shaggy wolf form, was two other figures.

The massive figure was the Western Pack's Beta, Finnian Vogel. He was rising to his feet on wobbly, unsteady legs, a patch of black on his abdomen standing stark against the healthy tan of his skin.

The male's dark eyes weren't trained on the wolves surrounding the now dead matron, though.

Actually, his glowing eyes were zeroed in on the female curled on her side before him, her dark hair splaying across the ground in a sea of brown.

Dillon and the wolves around him, stood a step forward, as if in shock.

Finnian stood a stumbled step toward that familiar female, his hands reaching to her in a gentle, near loving movement.

"A-Addy," Finnian breathed, his face pale and eyes wide as he stared at the young she-wolf, his she-wolf.

His mate.

And she wasn't even eighteen yet, not for another twenty-four hours, and their bond wouldn't open until she turned mating age.

But Finnian knew...

He knew it in his very soul, that the female that he had come to protect Sasha from, was his.

And he her's.

The male standing over the woman Dillon now recognized as a witch, suddenly shifted, the sounds of bones snapping and skin ripping, the only sounds that dared to register in his ears.

Gene's bloodied and bruised face lifted to his own, the male's hazel eyes staring directly into Dillon's own.

A snarl vibrated in his chest, reminding the subordinate male that he had no right to stare into his eyes. It was an act that Dillon's wolf did unconsciously, and he hadn't been fast enough to swallow it back down before it had escaped.

Gene's eyes dropped to his shoulder, the male's fists clenching and unclenching at his naked side.

"We need to get out of here, right now." He panted.

The wolves surrounding Dillon started toward Gene immediately, heading straight to the staggering male that had nearly reached Adeline.

Alexandra looked at him from the corner of her eye, her tongue sweeping across her muzzle to take some of the blood off that had gathered in her fur there.

It didn't help.

With a yip and an order through their bond, Alexandra shifted into her skin side.

She moved immediately to their daughter, the grass crunching under her bare feet.

He followed suite eagerly, racing to their daughter's side.

As two warrior threw Finnian's arms over their shoulders, helping him to evenly distribute his weight so that he could walk easier, Alexandra glanced up at the western male, the sunlight causing her eyes to sparkle.

Silver lined those dark orbs, causing her cheeks to flush.

"You can sit in the back with Adeline." She whispered, her lips trembling with the force of a sob that wanted to be set free.

Dillon didn't argue with her, even though the instincts that had taken root the moment Adeline had been born, roared and snapped at him.

The alpha bowed his head once before sliding his arms under his daughter's prone form, one curling under her back, and the other under her knees.

Hoisting her up in his arms with a grunt, Dillon watched as the warriors holding Finnian up, eyed him warily.

He nodded once more, his jaw clenched tightly together.

Breathing in through his nose, Dillon was met with his daughter's scent, a scent that had arrived just as swiftly as she had.

It calmed him and his wolf greatly. It reassured them that she was indeed here with them... that she was alive.

Hugging her tighter to his chest, he started for the vans gathered behind the cabins, their doors open and ready for a swift exit.

Throwing his head over his shoulder one last time, he addressed the shell-shocked doctor that had been trailing behind them, his face drained of any color. "You can choose which van to ride back in. You earned it when you came with us without a fight, and saved our daughter."

And, with that, the wolves disappeared into their vans, wheels not long after kicking up dust as they raced out of the witch's territory.

????

Just as the vans crossed over the boundary lines, a handful of witches emerged from the trees, and were met by the sight of a pile of flesh that had once been their matron-- her head resting against the base of a tree-- and the bloodied form of a witch that was moments from rising up to the afterlife to meet with their Mother... their creator.

Eyes as stark as jade stared at the mound of limbs, the bruja's jaw hanging open from the shock of the horrific sight.

Just as more witches arrived, tearing through the tree line with a series of shouts and curses, the eastern wind picked up, ruffling her dark hair.

Belladonna, or what remained of her, disappeared. All that the witch had been, all the power that she had possessed, all that she had achieved... gone.

Replaced by a cloud of ash that, as the sunlight hit it, flashed red.

The eastern wind gained power, its fingers brushing against the witch's face as it powered forward...

Carrying Belladonna's ashes, her essence, far and wide.

Scattering it.