Mated To The Thorns

THE CLAMOR of the gongs, lost its harmony. The beating drums were shut as the pointed obsidian pour down like heavy rainfall under the sheen of the blue moon. The lanterns that lit the once lively street of a petty dominion- reigned over by the other two nations- arose into flames as it silence the dead corpses lay before the cold pavement. The stench of her Lycanthropy kin's blood numbed into Yseah's wrinkled nose. Her pair of lilac eyes were unbeknownst of the tragedy that occurred in a leap of her heartbeat.

A minute ago, smiles of her people glistened under the radiant cyanic full moon. Sound of hands clapping, plaudit their annual celebration of Crystal Moon festival- a lunar bloom where the orb above them gleam into bright blue on its highest peak. It was their pack's notable festivity, served before the goddess Selene for the good tidings of their rare kin.

For a thousand blue moons that their mirth was held, Yseah and her lycan people never witnessed bloodshed before their pack. No wars but serenity prevailed since the archaic times of their kin. But now.... why?

Huffled breath steamed into Yseah's chapped lips. The red hue shrunk and paleness only remained forseen at her dainty face. Her trembling hands slowly slithered to clasped upon her father's fleecy palm. He was lying- hovering between life and death. With blood oozed from the gaping wound, stabbed by arrows that pour down earlier, her grip tightened as she bit her rosy cheeks.

"Father... please don't die." she weep in sheer agony. "Your the only one I have. Please don't leave me be." Yseah's tears cascade from her eyes as she loomed into her Father's face. Slowly, soft plump wool touched her wet cheeks. As she opened her pair of lilac orbs, she was lulled by Alpha Owen, her father, whilst it's raspy voice.

"Y-Yseah, live for m-me."

Tedious beep defeaned her as hands clasped with her father withered into crumbling sand. With her heightened senses, Yseah can audibly hear the rhythm of her father's heart ran stale as blood of her own kin ran cold. Her eyes dilated into fleet when the thought flashed across her mind. He is dead- their Alpha and his father, in a cold corpse before her. It was a horrible.

The known Lycan Alpha Owen of Crystal Moon Pack, ruling over a petty dominion- only a quartile denizen of the second kingdom- died only to be shot by a few arrows. It was not like her father at all. Not unless, it was poisoned.

"He is Here!"

Admist her pensive thought, she was awakened from her reverie of sorrow as Mildred, her wolf, speak through her mind.

"Who is here?" She asked in raw sheer, creating a soliloquy in the middle of grief.

"Your Mate."

Her heart throbs as her vim lit, slowly regaining hope to the melted candle. If her wolf sense her fated mate, could it be possible that one wolf of her pack have survived the massacre? And would turn out to be her awaited partner?

That would be destiny.

Yseah can hear it. Myriad pair of boots that trudge against the cobblestone path- aisle with the waves of flames. But why does the echoes of these footsteps gave her anxiety instead of thrilling butterflies that would swarm at one's stomach when you meet your wolf- or so as what they said. The audible it seems it felt nearer that her heart palpitated in a racing pace.

Those footsteps belongs to.... my enemies.

And there she could see it. Yseah swallowed her lump of anxiety as the man before the myriad soldiers let her wolf howl. She was struck- taken aback from the twisted red strings her fate had landed upon.

How can she exactly be mated upon the person who was rationale behind the deaths of her people?!

It is the most treacherous feat she can ever envisage. To love the person who slaughtered the lives of her people.

The first pair of boots that lead the throng of soldiers stood before the kneeling she-wolf. His pair of orbs swarm with crimson specks that gleamed contradiction to the hue of the cyanic moon. It was dull and blunt as it gaze with piercing bodkin through Yseah. But somehow in the dept of his eyes, awakened the long slumber of her wolf, Mildred, that want her to be marked by it's fated mate.

"I don't seem to recall that I left one soul untouched with my blade."

Such husky voice, with a glacial touch to its tone. Yseah gnawed her teeth in perplexion. Moiety of her want to charge into the man with trenchant canine teeth and keen talons to avenge her people and father's death but... why does halfway through -she only desired nothing but lust and want pull him into a void where nothing will left behind. Swallow all his breath and let his body intertwine with hers.

Yseah's racing breath stuck at her throat to such absurd thought she just had at her mind. She then lift up her gaze as she did not let her eyes wavered and pinned in elevation at the man stood before him. She must resist and must plant on her mind that he is not his mate but a murderer who carnage innocent lives.

As what Yseah have anticipated, the man pulled out his blade of silver from his leaden sheath and pointed it's tip in an itching centimeter of one at her trickling neck. She gulped. Indeed such treacherous love it is.

"You...." the man spoke at his quotidian tone. "Are you a visiting wolf at this pack? You don't seem to be one of the savages."

A leer Yseah gave off at the offending word he delineated to her kin. To the new era of wolven dynasty were power and beauty tier to be a must in one individual, Lycans who known to be thick of fur and with beastly features- bestowed upon them as savages whom where unable to shift to the new civilization. It was common knowledge in the whole map that a lycan who cannot turn back to it's human form is a savage- a nescient.

"Are you from the second kingdom, Xehoulasva then?" the man aksed his query again, elevating one his perfect carved brows. "You surely aren't from one of the packs of Elodnia. You're scent isn't one of ours."

My... scent?

Yseah diverted her gnawing, coherent to a hopeful mate.

"Don't tell me he still doesn't smell my scent?!" The sudden holler of Mildred at the back of her mind. Yseah was about to open her sealed lips when the keen tip of the blade buried in her neck in a spare of second of acting so, creating a streak of blood - trickling together with her sweat.

"You must be a half blood, since your able to maintain a human form." The man ushered again in sarcasm. "But still, that doesn't change the fact that death awaits you at the end of this nightfall."

As what he stated, he swing his sword right to execute a clean cut when the words whom pent up by the maiden finally uttered in fleet.

" Your majesty." The sword halted an inch before her slender jaw. "Are you really going to let your hands tainted with blood as per bringing reverence to your kingdom by slaughtering your mate from a savage dominion?". Yseah stare with an enigmatic stance whilst kneeling before him. She cannot die yet. She won't die not unless she can justify her people's death and avenge their Alpha's disdain slumber of eternity. So as bringing downfall to the kingdom whom the man before her, will rule.

The clang of the silver blade against the cobblestone pavement played a slow motion rate at the spectators of the scene. The crimson eyes of the one and only Ruvillous Vel Nur Eldonia was struck with lighting as he can feel his wolf, Zafron, howled - awakened from it's long slumber. The once named mate less Crown Prince of the first nation was gone.

"I Am Your Mate." Yseah spoke with firm but a hollow meaning behind it.

Greetings! This is my first ever werewolf story. I really was looking forward writing this. And if there are wrong typos and grammars, that I deeply apologize. I am sorry in advance. By the way, if you're enjoying the story, please vote gems for Mated to the Thorns. Thank you!!

-Note: From Author, MysticGrace