by Ross Turner
Kaylm appeared out of the blackness, his clothes saturated in places with a thick, dark fluid.
Without the gloom of the snowfall and the thick cover of cloud, even though it was still the dead of night, the air was illuminated by starlight and looked almost as clear as if it were day.
But all at once, despite her best efforts, Marcii wished with all her heart that she had remained blind.
Alongside Kaylm, Alistair appeared before them, holding the young Evans hostage with a knife pressed harshly up against his throat.
The old man grinned lavishly, drinking in the expressions of his audience as they materialised before him, completely at the expense of Marcii’s remaining strength.
With every movement and even just the slightest shudder of a breath the knife at Kaylm’s throat cut into his pulsing skin. Each touch drew fresh blood that seeped down his neck and chest to saturate his clothes dark red.
Alistair had Kaylm’s life, quite literally, in the palm of his hand.
Marcii daren’t move.
She daren’t even breathe.
Her exhausted, racing heart fluttered over and over again like a fleeting memory of her once dearest friend.
Looking on helplessly, her entire world seemed to come to a standstill.
Even the slow spin of time halted, as dread consumed her.
Fresh snow began to fall fast and heavy.
Chapter Forty-Three
“Please…” Marcii eventually managed, taking a step or two forward as she spoke. “Let him go…”
The old man Alistair smirked again, thoroughly enjoying himself.
Suddenly his wolves were everywhere.
They melted from the streets and the buildings and somehow even from the dazzling white snow itself, swarming in upon Marcii and her friends. Enormous as ever, teeth dripping with rotten flesh, they ploughed through the snowdrifts in silent motion, circling tightly around their prey.
The bite of the cold seemed to barely penetrate their fur as the snow drifted off their huge bulks and onto the floor. They passed by Marcii so close that she could feel their hot breath on her face as their black eyes bore ceaselessly into her.
“Or what?” The old man Alistair finally challenged, relishing at long last in the sight before him.
“What do you want?” Marcii half begged, pouring her eyes into Kaylm as he struggled not to move. With every breath that he took the cold blade cut again and again into his neck and by now his whole front was stained blood red.
“You know what I want.” Alistair replied viciously as his fierce, black eyes wandered purposefully to his older brother.
Marcii followed his gaze and looked pleadingly at Midnight.
Without a word, or even a second thought, the old man stepped forward.
“Have me then, brother.” He spoke calmly. “Kill me. It’s about time we put an end to all this.”
“Oh, my dear Jenson…” Alistair breathed menacingly, smirking delightedly. “I don’t want to kill you. I want you to suffer.”
“I already have.” Midnight breathed his reply on a heavy sigh. “More than you know. You can’t make me suffer any more than you have already…”
His older brother’s eyes flashed and glinted cruelly.
“We’ll see about that…” He grinned.
Marcii’s heart skipped a beat.
What in the world did he mean by that?
But there wasn’t time for her to think.
Midnight was already making his way across the street towards Alistair.
The snow made not a sound beneath his feet, though it clumped thickly atop his shoes. The wolves snapped tauntingly at him as he passed, mocking him.
The snow beneath Kaylm was already stained red. When the old man Midnight reached him he halted, silently refusing to go any further until his brother released the boy. Alistair sneered one last time before eventually complying.
He lifted the icy, bloodstained blade from Kaylm’s throat, moving his hand very slowly. Then he released his other hand that had been pressed against Kaylm’s forehead, and all at once the boy was free.
Stumbling forwards slightly Kaylm staggered into the old man Midnight’s arms. He caught the young Master Evans to save him tumbling to the ground.
Kaylm grasped him by the shoulders and shuddered with relief.
Marcii let out a huge breath.
She didn’t hear the hushed words the two of them exchanged.
“What are you doing!?” Kaylm breathed, hissing the question upon a whisper. “He’ll kill you!”
“He’s done much worse to me.” The old man Midnight replied, just as quietly. “And besides, better me than you.”
A sharp snapping at their backs and heels suddenly separated them, as the pack forced them to keep moving. Kaylm hurried back to his friends, falling immediately into a tight embrace with Marcii.
The old man Midnight turned to face his younger brother, straightening to his full height.
Alistair smiled and his fierce eyes glinted with cruel glee.
Oddly, his expression almost exactly matched Malcolm’s, who stood just behind Marcii and Kaylm and the rest of their friends, where only Alistair could see him.
The troubled Evans slowly clenched and unclenched his fists, for his fingers tingled with an aching yearning that was growing evermore familiar.
Marcii could do nothing but look on as the two, aged brothers finally faced each other. Their feud had been evolving for so long, churning and changing into something so different and so complex, that they both seemed lost amidst the never ending black and white all around them.
As they all watched, the two ancient men encircled each other, both assessing one another in silence.
Kaylm realised all of a sudden that he’d never needed to prove his worth.
Clearly his friends thought more of him than even he did of himself.
Midnight wouldn’t have given himself up otherwise.
The young Master Evans felt suddenly very foolish, guilty even.
His emotions continued to consume him, thrashing and writhing inside of his chest.
All the while Alistair and Jenson continued to hunt each other, growing ever so slowly closer and closer.
It was time to end this, one way or another.
Marcii had seen Midnight fight and knew without a shadow of a doubt that he was ruthless.
But she couldn’t imagine for even a second that his younger brother was any less so.
In fact, if anything, she imagined Alistair would be even more brutal.
She took a deep breath and swallowed hard, allowing the icy air to pinch and bite at her lungs.
They were about to find out.
Chapter Forty-Four
Seconds later, snow sprayed in every direction, showering the wolves in red and white slush.
Alistair moved like a wolf himself, weaving and striking out at his older brother with the speed and strength of an animal. His years spent as Alpha out in the wilderness had changed him; he certainly did not fight like the aged man that he was.
The old man Midnight, impressive though he might have been, was slow and weak in comparison to his younger brother.
That wasn’t to say he couldn’t hold his own. Marcii knew first hand that he was both fast and strong.
Unfortunately, pitted so against his brother, without the strength of the pack within him, Midnight was faltering.
Thankfully, through either pride or entertainment, Alistair had discarded his blade. That didn’t impede him from landing his every strike upon his older brother however.
Soon, no matter how hard Midnight tried to duck and weave and fight back, having already been disarmed, he began to grow weary. One by one his injuries began to stack up, as Alistair delivered yet more and more blows.
“Come now Jenson…” He taunted, sneering mockingly all the while. “Surely you can do better…?”
Midnight found himself down on one knee clutching at his ribs. He ground his teeth fiercely
and looked up at his cocky younger brother with a level gaze. Pushing hard from the ground, grunting with effort, the old man forced himself back to his feet.
His legs were warm despite being covered in slush, though they ached from his younger brother’s strikes. His ribs were battered and sent regular shooting pains dancing through his chest, causing him to wince with every breath.
The pack continued to circle and Marcii was convinced that, if they could have done, they would have grinned from ear to ear with delight.
At last, they had him.
The coward was finally at their mercy.
“I’m sorry…” Midnight breathed.
Alistair only laughed.
“No you’re not.” He replied harshly. “Not yet.”
“Brother…” Midnight attempted, but Alistair cut him off.
“You’re no brother of mine, Jenson!” He spat, throwing his words at the feeble old man before him, limping round in bloodied circles.
He was practically a wolf walking on two feet, stalking his prey for the final time.
“My brother was lost a long time ago.” Alistair went on.
His eyes narrowed shrewdly.
“The man I once knew would have fought for his family.”
“You weren’t fighting.” Midnight pointed out, knowing he was only sealing his fate further. Every word was a painful effort, but he spoke them nevertheless. “You were murdering.”
Alistair seethed and burned his gaze into his brother’s with vengeance anew.
“So now, because of something that happened so many years ago, you’ll kill me, and all of my friends?” Midnight asked then, gesturing expansively behind towards Marcii and Kaylm, Reaper and Malorie, Raven and Vixen, even Malcolm.
Alistair smiled again, though this time with more malice than Marcii had ever seen.
“What about my friends?” He breathed.
“Your friends?” Midnight asked, confused. He glanced around at the wolves encircling him even still. “They’re not your friends.” He eventually replied, frowning. “They’re you pack. You control them.”
But the aged, wolfish man’s grin only widened and his blackened eyes glinted once more.
“I’m not talking about them…” He replied maliciously.
All of a sudden, before anyone could say another word, his eyes fell upon Malcolm and the troubled Evans spurred into motion.
Marcii gasped in horror, but it was too late.
Malcolm wrenched Kaylm backward and out of her grasp. She cried out desperately and struggled to cling to him, but her efforts were futile.
He wrapped one arm around Kaylm’s neck, forcing him to cry out in pain, for his skin was already cut and damaged. All the armour in the world could not save him that day it seemed.
With his free hand, from seemingly nowhere, Malcolm produced a blade, not dissimilar to that which Alistair had used, and pressed the point of it sharply into Kaylm’s side.
“No!” The old man Midnight cried out, turning in horror towards the young Master Evans, realising all at once what his younger brother had done.
But it was too late.
In an instant, with the imagine of Kaylm once again being taken hostage fresh in Midnight’s mind, a cold, hard, steel blade was pressed to his throat. Without chance to even think he felt Alistair’s strong hand upon his forehead, forcing his head back and exposing his neck.
Fresh blood trickled down his chest as the knife bit harshly into his exposed, fleshy collar, stealing his breath away in the harsh winter’s night.
Chapter Forty-Five
There were still a dozen and more wolves between them and Midnight, for Alistair had ensured he had the old man well and truly within his grasp.
Kaylm was much closer.
The only thing that stood between the young Master Evans and his friends, stopping them from throwing themselves forward to save him, was the blade that his brother Malcolm held poised so carelessly between his ribs.
“One step closer…” Malcolm warned, hissing the words between victorious, clenched teeth. “Come anywhere near me and I’ll gut him…”
“You wouldn’t…” Marcii replied in a shaky voice, unsure whether her words were a statement or simply a desperate plea.
Malcolm smiled cruelly.
The sight was hauntingly similar to the grin that Alistair always wore.
“Wouldn’t I…?” He jested cruelly, jabbing the tip of the blade just a little harder into Kaylm’s ribs.
His little brother cried out as yet more fresh blood saturated his clothes.
Marcii opened her mouth to reply, but couldn’t find the words she needed.
There were no words she could use.
“Don’t underestimate us…” Malcolm warned.
“Us?” Malorie asked in reply, speaking for the first time since they’d arrived. Reaper looked on with an expression that asked the same question.
Malcolm just laughed and turned his eyes to Alistair.
They followed his gaze to look upon the wolf of a man, holding his older brother hostage, knife pressed still to his throat.
He stifled a laugh and caressed Jenson’s neck with his blade.
“Us…” He mused, grinning once again. “In a way…”
And with that, revelling in every moment, Alistair drew his arm around in a slow, meaningful arc, slicing his brother’s neck wide open with his blade as he did so.
Midnight’s black, all seeing coal eyes widened in both horror and relief as he was sent immediately into shock.
His body convulsed horribly as blood poured and spurted from his throat.
It doused his clothes and stained the snow at his feet blood red for half a dozen feet in all directions.
“NO!!” Marcii screamed, horrified by the dreadful sight. “MIDNIGHT!!”
But it was too late.
There was nothing any of them could do.
Within mere seconds all the life had faded away from the old man’s face. His eyes lost their colour and glazed grey as his motionless body slid sickeningly to the floor, slumping into the red, melted slush with a disgusting squelch.
Marcii and her friends looked on, mortified as Alistair stole Midnight’s life away right before their eyes.
Perhaps the only notion more dreadful than the sight before them was Alistair’s intention. He had ensured beyond all doubt that his brother’s last thought, in his final moments, was that his only remaining friends in the world would be soon to follow him to death, and there was absolutely nothing he could do about it.
Alistair’s grin spread to consume him and the terrible sound of Malcolm’s laughter echoed out from behind them.
Even his wolves that had seemed to stand by so calmly revelled in their Master’s long awaited success.
It pleased them greatly to share in his delight.
But, as perhaps would always have been the case, Alistair’s elation all too soon subsided.
He found himself feeling suddenly empty and hollow. The desire returned to him once again, only now it was stronger than ever.
He turned his eyes upon Marcii and all that remained of her friends.
Shaking visibly, the young Dougherty met his dreadful gaze with all her might.
Somehow she’d always known that killing Jenson alone wouldn’t be enough for him.
It never could have been.
He was too far gone.
Too deep.
His bloodlust was too vast to ever quell his endless hunger and craving for death and suffering.
Even after all these years, it seemed time had only driven him further and further into his own insanity.
He was a Storm Born.
Ekra’s warning floated in her mind.
For them, nothing was ever enough.
Chapter Forty-Six
The night seemed to have darkened considerably. Nonetheless, Marcii could still see perfectly well by the unrelenting starlight, regardless of how badly she might have wished not to.
She turned her gaze upon Kaylm and his older brother once more, horrified by what she might find.
Now that Alistair had proved more than just their meagre intentions, Malcolm’s dark eyes were alight with fire afresh. He laughed again, savouring the moment.
“Now that we have your attention…” He breathed, his voice dripping with malice like poison.
He drew his arm up in the same motion that Alistair had, only moments before. The troubled Evans fought to control his shaky hands and gripped the blade more tightly in his fingers, pushing it close into his younger brother’s neck, forcing Kaylm to wince and shudder as his skin sliced slowly open.
“No…” Marcii gasped, unable to find her voice, her eyes brimming with desperate tears.
Kaylm’s eyes widened as he fought the temptation to struggle. He knew that would only make the whole thing that much worse.
Malcolm pushed the knife harder into the side of Kaylm’s neck.
Instantly blood began to flow.
He curved his arm slowly forward and round, pressing harder and harder as he went, dragging the knife through Kaylm’s flesh.
He was barely half an inch from his younger brother’s throat.
His only downfall was that he savoured the moment for too long.
From somewhere amidst the vast night, whizzing through the air with perhaps more luck than skill, but then again perhaps not, a single arrow soared high and struck true.
The stray arrow sunk into Malcolm’s leg and plunged straight through it, cutting sharply between flesh and bone alike.
The shaft split on impact and Malcolm cried out in sudden, unexpected agony. Staggering forward in shock, he was thrown to the floor.
Forced by streaking pain to release his younger brother, Kaylm found himself all of a sudden free.
He just about escaped with his life as Malcolm’s blade skittered out of control, slicing his cheek as he leapt desperately to get away.
“Kaylm!!” Marcii cried, scrambling forward to reach him.
But she wasn’t quick enough to get to him. Instead, Reaper was the first to dart in and scoop the young Evans up into his protective embrace.
