The Real Last Laugh

What a lovely night. The moon was high above the mountains, and fall was on its way out - so the air was extra chilly (but Myranda liked it that way), but at least the wind was calm as snow started to trickle down from the heavens for the winter solstice.

Myranda felt pride and stubbornness as her eyes scanned Harbinger's ugly face - and for once; she felt powerful, even if she was staring death in the face.

"Where are the rest of them?" The cruel 'leader' asked as he glowered at the couple.

"The rest of who?"" Myranda lied easily.

"Don't give me that you idiotic bitch - I saw that dragon with wolves with my own eyes." Harbinger spat and lowered his face so he could stare into her eyes.

"What dragon? What wolves? We've been here all by ourselves. Maybe the other nations aren't happy with the fact you've disrupted things?" The Luna continued with perfection as though she had rehearsed this lie every night before bed.

Harbinger wasn't buying it regardless, and bopped his fist down onto the top of Myranda's head, which caused her to whimper in reflex.

"Don't touch her-" Metas growled, and attempted to lunge forward, but the ropes and chains that had been tied around both he and his wife make it hard to do anything other than fall forward, and earn him laughter.

"Don't touch her? Hah! Metas; that's the least of what I am going to do to her. You'll be begging me to kill her by the time I'm done with her." Harbinger bragged and stayed knelt at Myranda's level as he gave her a wide, sadistic smile that showed all of his canine teeth.

The lovely Luna merely darted her eyes and stared back at the madman in front of her unafraid. She had survived so much. There was nothing that could break her anymore - and no one was going to steal back all the strength she had gained.

"Don't give me that look. It makes your ugly face more unbearable to look at." Harbinger sneered and once more bopped her on top of her head as though she were a mole in an arcade game.

That one hurt enough to make her dizzy.

Harbinger just laughed as Myranda shook her head as though it would wake the silly out of her.

"We're done, Metas. It's over. I want you to have one last dying thought, though. Once I slit your throat, I'm going to lock your mate up for the rest of her days to use as my own personal pleasure slave."

The large, black wolf opened his mouth to growl out a reply, but he was given no quarter. Harbinger reached out and clawed the Alpha across his neck with silver-tipped claws - and hot blood spewed out with force that splattered all over Harbinger's pretty white fur.

He turned to Myranda to grab her and literally rub her face in his blood, but  just as his hand grasped the back of her neck, he was blasted in the face with her own insides as her neck mimicked the same wounds as Metas'.

"Oh for fuck's sake!" Harbinger cried out in anger. "They were fated mates!? You little bastard. You little fuck!" He screamed and kicked at Metas' corpse. " I should have realized when your eyes didn't widen with fear that there was something you were hiding."

The white wolf was positively enraged as he kicked the body over and over again as white dust of cold ice began to collect on their bodies.

"Sir. What would you like us to do with the bodies?" The Captain asked suddenly as though to snap the old General out of his rage.

"Ahg, just leave them here. I know they're dead now - and their bodies will be taken care of by our feral allies. Let's go before they come out and decide to eat one of you lot, too. You can never trust a Feral when they're hungry."

The General turned his back to his small troop of males and commanded them with the same anger he had just held. He had truly looked forward to the spoils of war, and had dreamed of placing his hands on that little female of Metas'. To not be able to do so now was infuriating beyond belief.

He just wanted to go home and solve said frustration on someone else now.

"We will search for the others tomorrow. Let's get into the mountain before my rage rises further."

"Sir. Yes, Sir." The band of brothers replied in unison, and each took their turn walking over the bodies of Metas and Myranda who were left in the heaps they had fell in.

One or two of them would even spit on them in disgust and then howl out in disrespect as they celebrated the death of the leaders of the faction that resisted them so strongly.

Harbinger understood that everything else would fall into disorder now that they had no one to guide them.