9 Into The Forest They Go

STEPPING INTO THE FOREST ROBBED HIM OF THE ONE SENSE AND HEIGHTENED THE OTHERS. It was disorientating to be almost blinded but given the ears of a wolf. Even the soft susurration of the branches felt heavy in his ears.

The sense of smell was sensitised, the loam in the the earth and the decomposing leaves made the atmosphere close and thick.

The blackness nurtured a sense of claustrophobia inside of him even though the woodland stretched unbroken for miles. The narrow path, which was made uneven by the knotted roots that crossed it, branched at intervals. There was no map to follow, but even if there was the perpetual dark would prevent him from using it.

On that long trek through the woods it was made all the worse by the mud. Thick brown paste was not cold enough to freeze, yet clung to his feet sapping what little heat they had. Icy brown water soaked into his socks so that in not long his feet were as sodden as if he were in a rain storm.

He'd been walking for quite a while now, there was a certain level of tiredness that equates to insanity; for him it's when he'd like to temporarily disclose his spirit from his body.

The werewolves moved by the twilight moon, coordinated, but rarely in company. Grayson knew they had followed him, he was aware of their presence. He was practically surrounded. Grayson was their only target at this moment and that was the only thing that mattered to them, confirming the capture of their prisoner, or their kill. They had been following Grayson, since he'd first step foot within the forest that surrounded the large palace.

They lurked in the shadows just watching, studying him as he trekked through the woods with a rhythmic ease. Unfazed by it all, he had been in a worse position in the past, but this time it was different. Grayson didn't want to hurt anyone, he had caused too many deaths in his life, he wasn't attempting to add more to his numbers, even if he had lost count.

The inky darkness engulfs the frail light, diminishing all the happiness and bliss that had risen with the sun. Now only silence lingers in the air. He kept on shivering at the claustrophobic feeling but he waited, waited for them to make the first move. This wan't his first fight.

He continued to walk, where he was going, he wasn't so sure but he thought better to keep on moving than wait for them to have their way with him.

He paused right in front of the brown werewolf that sat in the semi-shadow, his heart a steady rhythm. He knew no fear; he liked it that way. To be at the top of the food chain was his peace of mind, his warped versos of serenity. Every movement he made was slow, deliberate. It seemed the type of wolf that thought killing was such a sweet pleasure it had to be savoured, to hurry was bad form, like eating fine food too fast. No doubt his victim was Grayson.

So Grayson did the one thing the wolf before him waited for, he walked into the open. His long canine tongue licked his jowls, it closed its eyes, the joy clearly on its face as the wolf imagined Grayson's blood almost overloading his senses. His golden eyes followed his path, so many tracks, so easy to trace. This was one pursuit he would enjoy remembering forever, no hurry, no hurry.

Between that frozen second between stand off and fighting Grayson saw its eyes flicker to him. When it comes to the fight there's no honour, no code. All that mattered is the win and they took nothing for granted.

Grayson stood, folding both arms over his chest. He didn't fear the wolf in the least, werewolf or human. The wolf approached Grayson with a face of unreadable face, no fear, no invitational smirk. Grayson was close to changing that disposition when the made its first movement, striking at Grayson's throat as it surged forwards. Grayson flaying his neck backwards like a willow caught in the wind. As he stumbled, he nearly fell over the branch behind him.

The fight is a choreographed dance of destruction for so long, tearing each other apart, where they both needed healing. Grayson had managed to dodge anything the wolf had thrown at him, the wolf used its claws, gushing it through Grayson's stomach tearing away the flesh that laid upon his body.

The pain throbbed in his guts it's deep and warm, but not in a nice way. A deep wound is sliced upon his stomach, it's heavily oozing out the blood and there's a bluish-purple bruise forming around it already.

It felt like someone had their hand in there and are squeezing his organs either gently or as hard as they can. But he couldn't wait for the pain to wane away, there wasn't any time in lingering on the pain or wound.

The beast within Grayson edged to surface, as a rumbling growl escaped his mouth. It was rich and low, a simple warning for the wolf to back away, yet it didn't but only circled Grayson, just like a predator would do to it's prey. Watching his every move, its face etched into a snarl as it growled profoundly at him.

The struggle to tame the beast within him was a harder task, its heart was cold and its mind had no room for pity or mercy. For the beast's "heaven" was one with many victims to consume, but the one he wanted dead was snarling right at him.

Grayson had lost control, the beast consumed his every movement he did, every thought he thought. The cold look that reflected on Grayson's face was not his own no more. A slight shudder ran through the wolf, as it stared at Grayson's hands that were closed tightly into fist, for them to only open as his fingers turned into sharp, inky claws.

The beast's heart was made out of stone, the way he had brutally lurked forwards towards the wolf with no mercy grabbing its neck with his deadly hands, strangling the life out of the wolfs body. Grayson's claws dug into its neck, deeper and deeper. As he watched the wolfs panicked eyes, terrified and almost drained of life.

Just as he was about to end the wolfs worthless life, his head throbbed. The pain felt like someone had taken a knife to his skull. Squeezing his eyes shut, he willed the pain to go away but the rest of world became detached, all he could concentrate on was the pain rooted deep in his head. Tearing him inside out. All he felt, all he knew was the pain of that moment. What was happening? Where was this pain coming from?

"Grayson! Let. Him. Go!" Someone spoke behind him, for them to only answer his question as he took a whiff of his surrounds, Witch... the beast seethed at the thought of a witch using her magic on him, he turned his head slightly towards the person.

Emily stood there, angry. But the anger that lingered within the beast was nothing compared to hers. Every time she opened her mouth he got angrier. The beast didn't want to follow her request, it hated being told what to do. He just stood there in the same position he had been, looking just as merciless as before.

"Let him go." She said lowly, desperation evident within her features, as she push the force of her powers, increasing the throbbing pain within his head, but that just angered the beast even.

"Please..." it was more of a whisper, but he heard her even at the low tone of her voice.

But he didn't do what she asked. He did what he always did.