Heart of the Wolf Prince

Epilogue

Stormhound

******

The werewolf cities of Raelia spread out below me, endless and eternal. Rivers and estuaries wind through them, green pastures and wooden buildings spreading as far as the eye can see. I regard it all with a touch of distaste. Oh, how I wish to crush every inch of those cities to dust. To break them down, brick by brick, until all that remains is the skeleton of what once was.

Up here, in the mountain ranges of Drykmore -- the lightning territory governed by Fragor -- the world cannot see me. I don't want them to. Not yet, at least. When they do see me, I want them to be so paralyzed with fear they can't breathe. I want to watch the life leave their eyes, each and every one of them. I want them to suffer like I have, because they only care when they're the ones hurting.

And I will fucking revel in it.

I raise my hands to the sky, towards the dark storm brewing overhead. I've always had to rely on the skies to create storms for me. One day, though, I hope to conjure a storm of my own.

"Channel it, Stormhound," a voice whispers by my ear, sweet as honey and just as sickly. My eyes slide to the woman. Her white robes match the pallid shade of her skin, and her eyes are of darkest black, of the shadows that hide within shadows. Those eyes used to make me shudder. Now, I am unfazed.

My eyes dart to her hair, to the crimson strands pooling like blood around her shoulders. Usually, her kind is born with hair of purest white, the strands growing darker with every life taken, until it is wholly black. That is not the case for her. It does not grow darker. No, it grows redder, crimson like the blood of her enemies.

She flashes me a smile -- displaying rows of sharpened canines -- and I turn back to the storm overhead. I close my eyes and focus. I let my magic rise in me, prickling along my skin, calling to the storm--

I gasp, and suddenly I am whisked from here, away from this mountain range. A strange ache tugs at my chest, a kind of pain that is so awfully unfamiliar it strikes fear in me. Flashes of colour cross my vision, and as the scene materialises before me, I know without a doubt that this is important.

I am in a field. There are no storms here, no wicked women. Just a girl, standing in the middle of it all. Her skin is white as paper, and her eyes are the kind of red that you only see in paintings. For a moment, she takes me breath away. She's ethereal, like an angel; the embodiment of hope. She is staring down the large black wolf hurtling towards her, someone I instantly recognise as the king of Raelia.

Just as he pounces, flames explode from her body. The inferno is massive, and I suck in a sharp breath as it rushes out towards me, like a beast hurtling from its cage before streaming up into the air. The centre of the fireball glows white and blue, while the outer edge burns a bright gold, glowing in the sun that's rising over the horizon. It incinerates everything in its path, turning the King of Raelia to nothing but fucking ash.

It's beautiful. It's terrible. It's so mesmerising that it takes my ears a moment to register the high-pitched screech. She is screaming. Screaming in a kind of agony that has my blood curdling. An agony that inflicts a strange need in me, one I don't quite understand.

Then it's silent. The flames are gone. The girl lies in the charred circle of grass, her beautiful skin red and burnt. A male with inky black curls rushes to her side, but my eyes are fixed on her, on her broken body. An ache presses into my chest, and I realise I am feeling something I have not felt in a long time -- pain.

Something in the darkest crevices of my soul urges me to go to her. Some deep, insane part of me that doesn't make sense. Like I am tied to a string, and the other end is wrapped around her, tugging me closer.

I take a step forward. Smoke furls off her skin, rising into the morning light. I take another step, but my foot falls through the ground.

I gasp, my eyes snapping open. The magic in me rears like a spooked horse, and a fork of lightning spears from the sky with the force of a hurricane, striking the ground several feet from where we stand. I stagger back, withdrawing my magic, withdrawing everything. For a few moments, I just stand there, panting. What the fuck just happened?

"Stormhound?" the woman asks, and I turn to her, trying to banish the shakes in my hands. She stares at me with those dark, all-consuming eyes, and my panic eases a fraction. She assesses me for a moment before offering her hand. "Come, dear. Let us retreat. You are exhausted."

I take her hand, pressing my lips to the back of them. "Yes, my love," I say, the words so rehearsed that my tongue sounds them automatically.

She gives me a seductive smile, one that promises something carnal later, but it's nothing out of the ordinary. I am her lover, after all, and I've never been one to disappoint my master. Though, I think we both know what I feel for her isn't real love. In fact, I'm not sure I feel anything for her at all. I haven't loved in years.

As she walks us down the mountain, I fail to banish the strange tightness that has taken residence in my chest. The image of that girl's face flashes through my mind. Her small stature, her flames... I know exactly who I just saw.

And, for the first time in years, I am shaken.