3- The Southern Nightmare

Maera 

I kept running, never looking back. The sounds of howls in the air indicated one thing—I was being chased. I could feel the stitched part under my belly rip open. I had never fully healed, but that did not stop me. I ran until I passed the borders of my pack.

It never really occurred to me that I was deep in another wolf's territory. I had only realised that when they howled. I knew one more second would definitely lead to my demise. But where else did I have to go?

I crossed from one wolf border to another, skillfully evading being sighted, eating whatever carcasses I had found, trying my best to stay alive. But death seemed like the better option. 

I shifted back to myself, as being in wolf's form drew too much attention. I kept pacing about looking for where I could lay my head and die in peace. Then it snapped. 

I had ventured into a wolf trap. The two curved steel jaws slammed into my ankle, tearing my flesh as it pierced through my bone. Every twitch sent a fresh wave of pain screaming down my nerves, down to my brain.

I screamed at the pitch of my voice as the bones in my ankle shattered instantly. The pain was a hundred pounds. It was like my ankle had been disassociated from my leg. All I knew was pain at that moment.

Seconds later, the numbness had started to set in. My entire body went into shock as I began losing consciousness. I prayed to the goddess to let this be my final day on earth as I never desired ever waking up again.

****

The bed creaked as my eyes opened. I could see red flames burning from the hearth. My body felt healed. No pain or cut. I wondered where I was. But one thing was for certain, I was alive.

“Finally, she's awake,” a voice said. 

I turned my head around to see who was talking, only to be met by a woman. She stood tall with a broad shoulder, almost that of a man. Her posture was straight as a blade. But she looked old, giving her a fearful nature. She looked like she could snap a man in half.

“Where am  I?” I asked.

She scoffed.

“It's not where I am that you should be asking. Rather, what's next for me?”

“Poor thing,” She continued. “They should have left you for dead. Rather they saved you, only for the Queen to assign you as their personal maid.”

“Now you have a choice,” She said. “You can choose to serve them, or you can choose death. But the latter would do me a whole good. I won't have to be responsible for you.”

I was confused. I kept staring at her fearful figure like the answers were written on them. I had only just awakened, yet I was presented with a do-or-die matter. Given a choice as if I had such at all.

“Do not waste my time little girl,” She raked. “I'll be pleased to inform the Queen you reject her command.”

“I'll go with the first choice,” I replied quickly. Something told me she wasn't bluffing, and I was in no mood to find out. 

“I'll serve,” I said. It was better than being dead. “At least I get to live while that monster that killed my pup is dead,” I said to myself.

“Good,” She responded. “Now wear those clothes quickly and follow me.”

She pointed to some clothes that lay beside me. I got up and wore them as she started leaving the room. She was a no-nonsense woman, and I certainly did not want to get on her nerves.

“Listen attentively,” She said, walking down the hallway, not knowing if I was behind her at all.

“My name is Krishna, your housemistress. I am responsible for your well-being. If you play your role well, you get to stay longer than the others. And by longer, I mean alive,” She said.

“There are rules for you to follow,” She continued. “Break these rules, and you would wish the Lycans had left you for dead.”

“The Lycans?” I muttered to myself. 

Lycans were a rare and powerful breed, with a clear distinction from normal shifters.

But she continued.

“You try to seduce the Lycans, I'll have your head.”

“You steal from them, I'll have your head.”

“You leave or run from the castle without my permission, I'll have your head.”

Fear began to creep inside of me. I wondered if I had made the right choice or if death would have been more merciful. I screamed to the goddess why she would not let me die, rather endure a life of torment.

“Why would I want to seduce the Lycans?” I thought to myself. “And what pack had Lycans in them. More than one.”

Then she said, 

“Welcome to Vargthorn.” I paused.

“Vargthorn? It couldn't be,” I said to myself. 

The Southern tribe packs of vile wolves. Known for their brutal nature, under the fierce rule of three Lycan brothers, and their evil Queen-mother. 

“The Lycans,” I exclaimed. 

My mother used to tell a tale of a pack down in the southern part of the realm, which had seized control of all the southern packs, ruling over them with an iron fist. These tales were meant to stop us from wandering out of our pack. I had mostly considered it a myth and nothing more.

Not until I had witnessed firsthand what they were capable of, when they crossed the border, slightly into the northern tribe. They had massacred an entire pack of wolves, driving them into extinction. Those that had lived were captured and taken as slaves. This made Ulfsang move further north to avoid meeting with them.

Krishna had stopped walking when she could no longer hear my footsteps. 

She turned, slightly. “Would you mind giving me a reason why you stopped moving?” Her voice was low and deep.

Now, I saw her differently. The killer she bore on her face. Now her threats were real. And death seemed closer than ever.

My body twitched. My blood pulsed. My heartbeat paced, as sweat broke from my skin. This was worse than death. The Vargthorn pack didn't just kill their victims. They skinned them and hung their bones for all to see. This I had witnessed with my own eyes.

It finally registered to me how deep and far I had run. But with them, death would have been a mercy.

I stood still, shaking, having no idea what to say.

She turned, fully this time.

I could see her eyes clearly for the first time. Dark eyes that sunk into the back of her head. The sharp and long cut on her chin gave her a frightening scar.

I sank down to my knees.

“I'm sorry mistress,” I said, shaking. “It won't happen again.”

“Who asked you to kneel?” She responded. Her voice was cold and demanding.

I got up quickly. Something told me she had only spared me because she saw the fear in me.

“Repeat that again and you will beg for a quicker death,” She snarled.

I had heard of the temper of the Vargthorn Queen—merciless and dreadful. But this was worse. It got me wondering. If that of a common housemistress was like this, what would the Queen look like?

But I was about to find out.