Book Two takes us on quite a different ride. Two years on from Gifted, Pearl and Sylar are asked to help The Kings Moon Pack. The oldest of all the Packs. Hidden In the heart of Kingshead, Montana, they live by the old traditions. But what happ...
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~ ~ The day of the Blue-Night Pack Massacre ~ ~
A young woman of twenty years exited the Blue-Night Pack house. Anyone looking upon her would only see the sweet and innocence of girlhood standing before them. Small in stature, unblemished skin with eyes of blue and hair of raven black.
But one could not be blinded by the outer shell. The young woman walked with an air of age and confidence. Her long-darkened cloak trailed the ground, covered in the blood of those lives she had extinguished only moments ago. And beneath her beautiful exterior was a wicca of formidable power, guided by an inner voice - one older than the bloodline of wolves themselves.
Stopping at the steps of the pack house, she turned to survey the outer exterior. Disgust twisted her face, curling her top lip. It had taken less than twelve hours to decimate the entire pack, using barely a flicker of magic to accomplish the task.
"Useless unworthy in-breeds," she muttered as the last remaining pack-member trailed behind, carrying what she needed. "Come shifter," she beckoned as she skipped down the steps, proceeding to walk West, close to the tree line.
The young witch would ensure all packs like this one would be wiped from the face of the earth when she was up front and centre, running the show. Long enough had this world of werewolves' —shifters, Alpha's ruled.
They had weakened females by the stupid curse of Mate's... curtesy of the one named... Luna.
But no longer would that be the case. She would end the curse and start a new world.
A world where they would no longer hide in the shadows.
"Stop!" she commanded.
Looking down to survey the ground. Here she could sense the subtle vibrations of the ley-lines which lay beneath them.
"Place the bags there," she instructed the shifter.
The shifter did not act under his own movements, compelled by dark magic, he fought each step - but to no avail. The young witch before him played him like a puppet, his body, a tool to be used to do her bidding.
His traitorous body may have failed him, but his thoughts were still his own. He recoiled at being so close to her. The power she radiated turned his stomach and no matter how hard he tried; every blink of an eye replayed an image of her slaughtering his pack... his mate. And did so without a shred of emotion.
Reluctantly, he placed each of the bags as instructed and hoped she would end his torture and kill him too. When he looked up, her brilliant blue eyes stared back, smiling. His mind balked; they held no warmth, only echoes of death hid in those icy depths.
"Don't look so unhappy, shifter." She chuckled. "I require you for one more task and then you will be dispatched to join your fellow pack members."
Those words should have driven fear into his heart. His wolf growled, demanding that they fight, but he was past caring. He longed to end his nightmare and join his mate and pup in the afterlife. He would welcome death.
The witch put down the bag she carried and reached inside to pull out three jars. One contained ash from the rare Baobab tree, one she had cut down herself and burnt to collect its remains. The second held Dying Breath and the third Tears of Sadness.
She swept her hand across the area within her line of sight.
"Terra ostende te." She repeated twice as the ground rumbled beneath her feet. The rich green grass browned as if burned and receded as the dirt charred.
"Sanctifica terra, benedicat mea terries." Sanctifying the earth beneath her.
Satisfied, the witch opened each Jar, emptying the contents spreading them out evenly.
Walking over to the first bag, she reached inside and pulled out two hearts and lay them in the middle of the ingredients. Each bag the shifter had carried contained parts of his fallen pack members... friends—family.
The witch retrieved lungs, intestines, kidney and livers, placing them carefully around the hearts.
She took three steps back and eyed the contents, gratified.
Rolling up her bloodied sleeve, she reached inside the long cloak and pulled out a blade, one of age and decorated with unknown symbols. Smiling at the shifter, she raised her arm, "Don't worry, your turn soon." Forearm facing up, she sliced cleanly through before angling and letting her blood run free as she created a circle around the waiting body parts.
Her veins burned; pulse throbbed as her liquid of life trickled from the open cut.
She looked towards the shifter. "Remove your clothes shifter and stand in the centre of the circle."
Unable to do anything other than obey, he removed his clothes and stood where requested.
The witch licked across her open wound, speaking hushed words as the cut healed.
Taking a measured step back, she chanted. The ingredients were important, but the magic was in the spoken spell.
Louder, she chanted as the clouds gathered above, the sky darkened. Birds fled as thunder rolled across the skies.
With darkened eyes, the witch called on the spirit of the soul she harboured within. As a crack of thunder lit up the sky, she stepped towards the shifter, inhaling the sweet scent of his fear. Tracing the blade across his bare chest, she admired the intricate design of his pack's insignia before plunging it smoothly inside his chest.
His eyes widened, and mouth parted. He was neither able nor wanting to stop her.
Tilting her head slightly, she marvelled at the ease the blade sliced open his chest, pulling it down as easily as cutting through cheese. His guts spilled to the ground below, seeping into the dirt.
Chanting over and over, her eyes fell closed as the winds picked up, the cold nipped at her cheeks.
The ground shook as roots erupted beneath the shifter's feet. They climbed, winding their way up his legs, twisting as they thickened and swallowed him in an almost carnal, hypnotic manner, dragging him down into the earth.
Rumbling thunder persisted as a sudden lightning struck the earth where the shifter had been standing.
The witch waited.
Rain fell, but something fixed her eyes on the ground. Excitement erupted as the spell gave the gift of life and a small hand poked through the burnt dirt.
The witch dropped to her knees and pushed the earth back, revealing a small female child, only eight years old. Hair black as night and eyes of sapphire blue stared back. The family resemblance was uncanny.
"Hello there, my pretty one," she whispered almost lovingly. "We are your Goddess, child."
