Khunya dreamed of terror, of death, of destruction. Across the table Khunya sat in the council room, begging his King to take action, to do something, anything that might salvage the remaining members of the royal family. He had risked everything to bring the King’s attention to the treachery that was being plotted between Ather and her brother Eko. It was too conveinet. First Edward’s death at the hands of a slayer in his own bedroom within the palace walls. And the guards had just let him walk out. The King had been stricken with grief but Khunya had seen to it that they had been punished for their negligence with their lives. He had not especially liked Edward but such insolence was unforgivable.

And then at Edward’s funeral, a lone slayer gunman had appeared at the edges of the crowd and had aimed for Leonardo DeNoire on the arm of Princess Giada, thinking he was Prince Kristopher. Giada had stupidly thrown herself in front of her lover’s body taking the bullet coated in werewolf saliva straight to the heart. She had died almost instantly choking on her own blood and the poison that coursed through her system in her lover’s arms. Khunya had thought Giada was prudent. She was the most capable in the event of the King’s passing. She had a head for business, a ruthlessness for detail, and more importantly, was able to see out difficult situations, disregarding emotional attachment. But that was blinked away. The slayer had been killed almost instantly by Leonardo himself.

On that day in the rain, Khunya had looked into Ather’s eyes. There was a time when the sight of her eyes on him would have thrilled him to the core of his being. He would have breathed, fed, and lived off of one look from his Queen for months. Her ebony eyes, the flash of her raven hair over her smooth, high cheekbones. But in that moment, as they stood beside her dying adopted daughter, he could see only glee.

It wasn’t difficult to put the pieces together after that, to remember the whispers, the hushed conversations, the way in which Ather and Eko behaved now in public, almost flaunting their sexual encounters. He should have realized so much sooner. It was what he would have done after all, make a grab for power when the vampires were at their most vulnerable, their most weak. At least it was what he would have done once upon a time. Now there was only Zoya…

In the nightmare Zoya was safe for the moment, in the sense that she was secure in his room within the palace walls. He had seen fit to have her near him at all times. He needed her, couldn’t think straight when he knew she was out there vulnerable and on her own. And he would never, ever push her away again. Thus in the dream Khunya did not fear for his human heart sleeping in their chamber as he pleaded with the King to see who lay behind the mysterious murders of two of his children. But the King was broken already, crippled by his inability to protect his family and his grief. He could not set aside his love of Ather to see her betrayal. He could not set aside his emotions to rise to what needed to be done for his people. He was weak…pathetic…and Khunya hated him for the first time in centuries.

The world exploded amidst his pleading. The palace walls of veiny marble shattered to the floor, the gold and crystal chandeliers came crashing to the tiles and wood as they exploded upward. He looked into the eyes of his King one last time before the walls of the council room that had heard a thousand secrets suddenly imploded around them. The King did not look afraid. It was almost as though he expected it, welcomed it even. It made Khunya hate him so much more when he would find out the worst part of it all.

For after the chaos and the confusion Khunya found his angel, broken and bloody, pinned beneath the elaborately frescoed ceiling of their chamber. The very place where he had put her thinking her so safe had been her prison, but not her tomb. Thank God she lived. He could hear her heartbeat from outside the door, though it was faint and irregular. But the image of her so still haunted him like a ghost; a ghost of his guilt.

He sat up with a start, sucking in air that he did not need, for he had no heart that beat within his chest. Khunya sighed, his shoulders slumping forward as he took in the room that he was in. It was the same room they had called home in the weeks following the palace’s explosion. It was a cabin, but an elaborate one by normal standards. He was given only a moment of peace to come out of his nightmare before a new one began. Silence.

Nothing, no breathing, no rustling movements, more importantly, no heartbeat. Silence. Panic welled up urgent and sharp. He could smell her everywhere, in the sheets beside him, even on his own skin, and it was a fresh scent, she had been there recently. Khunya pushed the covers aside impatiently and threw on the closest things nearby which turned out to be a sweatshirt from Andorra High and a pair of sweat pants and moccasin slippers. He threw out his senses, tracking her smell through the house, compartmentalizing them by their freshness. It was difficult she was everywhere. He stepped out onto the porch and almost crumpled to see that the Jeep was gone. A million thoughts ran through his head: Zoya kidnapped, Zoya stolen, Zoya leaving him, sick of hiding, Zoya gone to get fresh air and killed by an animal, or worse.

He dropped any guard any sense he might have and chased her. He followed the scent of her until he had to shift and follow the scent of the jeep’s tires and diesel fuel, barreling through the forest at inhuman speeds. Once he reached the city of Andorra he slowed and worked harder to stay to shadows and side streets, but he was beyond any reason. Vampires were weak now, hunted, and if he revealed himself and someone recognized him they would not be safe. But she could be hurt…what if…

It became clear once in the city where her path was headed, to Azazeal’s Club Hex. It had survived of course, Azazeal operating in that place between businessman and vampire that seemed to be forgiven by all of the groups involved in the war. It was the place they had first met, the place where he had first laid eyes on Zoya and her ridiculous drunk friend. He had saved her that evening as well and had been doing so ever since.

As he reached the club the bouncer attempted to block his passage muttering something about his attire but Khunya hardly had time for him now. He pushed him aside roughly and to damn with the consequences. It took him less than three seconds to see her at the bar. He stopped for a moment caught up in her lovliness as usual. She was dressed in crimson which offset her blue-black hair beautifully in the multi-colored lights of Hex. Her pale skin flashed in the low lights and her blue eyes were crinkled with delight. Again Khunya marveled at his luck to have found her and to have convinced her to love him. He still had no idea what god had favored him. No one was near her, looking at her, or speaking to her, which set him at ease.

Khunya forced himself to move at a reasonable pace to her side. ”Zoya are you alright?” he asked, his voice hoarse and betraying his newly wakened status, his worry, as well as his thirst, which only now began to claw at his throat with the scent of her surrounding him and unavoidable as well as the pulsing rhythm of her heartbeat pushing life through her veins. He placed his hands on her shoulders, turning her to face him and because he needed to feel her, to know that she was safe. She was so warm where he held her and he couldn’t resist pulling her against his chest and burying his nose in the crown of her hair inhaling deeply. She smelled like heaven and hell so that he didn’t know where one started and the other began.

Northern lights dance above the heads of multiple wolves. Colors race across their fur, none of them seem natural. Some of these lupine wear armor of gold or silver with beads tied into their pelt. Faces scarred, ears torn. Were these warriors? Or wolves? In a land where wolves posses strange attributes - the wings of a bird, the horns of a ram - and incredible power, the balance has been broken. Two ancient spirits no longer hold the power to maintain the peace, and so God's were appointed to help. Strange markings cascade across their pelts, thus showing their diversity from the others. But are they so different? Do they hold the power to create the balance once more?

Will they do more harm then good?

----------------------------------------------------

Faylihmes is a fairly new fantasy wolf role play in need of members. Moderator positions are open, though staff Spoon and Alliete will need to see if you are worthy. There are also multiple God/Goddess tryouts going on. We have a strong plot going on, please find a way to take place in it! Thank you!



RULES -- PLOT -- GOD TRYOUTS -- PACK INFO