Prompt Fiction

PROMPT : TYRANT

“Just wait until I get my claws in him, the bloody tyrant!” Maura raged. “How dare he!” She shrieked.

The twins behind her, winced in tandem.

“Gee, Maura, I don’t suppose you could be any louder, could you?” Stephen joked.

“Ask me again and I’ll screech in just the right tone to make you deaf,” she hissed, voice significantly lower now. Her shoulders had arched halfway up to her ears, bristling with fur that was not visible from beneath her heavy duty adventuring vest.

“Your compassion astounds me,” Heron deadpanned. “Look, if you’re just going to get all hot and bothered, maybe you should-“

Stephen grabbed him from behind, one hand conveniently slapped over his mouth. “What part of don’t antagonize the ticked off werewolf girl is so hard for you to follow?”

Heron jerked and twisted away, scowling darkly at the twins. “Stay away from me, you-!”

“Shut up back there!” Maura growled, unable to keep the rasp out of her voice. Her pack had been kidnapped by a certain tyrant of a king who had decided they would make perfect trophies after he’d made an example of them.

Sort of.

She wasn’t about to let that example happen if she could get her claws anywhere near him. They were a peaceful enough pack, able to run wild and free beneath the moon, without a single quarrel between their sections.

Heron was one of the neighboring Alpha’s from another friendly pack, while the twins headed up their own mismatched group of half-were creatures—aka, not necessarily wolves.

She’d known them since their turning, for while Heron had been made, she was a natural-born wolf, much like the twins.

“Any plans?” Garret asked in his quiet way. His eyes had already begun to bleed black in the way that meant his wolf was riding too close to the surface.

“The bite is a gift—and a curse,” Maura said, darkly. “I’ll just make sure he eats his own words. We’re not animals and we’re not—we’re not what he thinks we are.”

“Good enough for me,” Garret said, yawning to show gleaming white fangs. “I’ll go on ahead, if you don’t mind.”

Maura blinked at him, then shifted a half-pace to the left. “You asked,” she said, pink-cheeked. “Happy hunting.”

Stephen’s bushy eyebrows arched clear up to his hairline. He had not seen that coming in the slightest. “You can’t go without me-!” he began to protest and stopped with both of them growled at him.

Stupid age gap, he sulked.

Maura half-smiled though, as Garret shot off into the darkness, blurring into his true form seconds after his hands hit the ground. Her smirk matched the new energy in the air. The king would never know what hit him…

(c) S. Harricharan

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