12Blaze your own path find your own way and gain recognition. The fact is when my readers on read my stories they know that they are mine, hell I don't have to sign them anymore because my style is so unique and identifyable. Plus this style has worked far more for me then against me. I'd rather be different and remembered then the same and passed over, see the mohawk, see the tattoos, I ain't your normal girl so why would I create in a normal way?
This Chapter is for WriteKindOfLove who's review was spectacular and everything any writer wishes for. And Michele Blair who will forever be the first to review this story. The first is the most important. No one reads a story with no reviews, so thank you. If you two are the only ones to R&R I'm blessed.
"Ah, home. Hey, men look! Home!" Damon cried as Hell Gaite loomed over him tossing his short golden locks back out of his eyes.
An answering laughter accompanied by cheers arose from behind and ahead of him as the heavy elaborately carved gates opened slowly to admit them to the main fortress.
Zaros inhaled the scent of home deeply as he passed through those gates, filling his lungs and straightening.
It was much the same here, never changing overly while they wandered. A large village, or even a small city, surrounded by thick walls, vast fields, and then all of it encircled by rich forests.
When they had come here all those years ago it hadn't been like this. But Damon saw the future and built his fortress to allow for growth in the coming years. Only now were the walls actually filled with sturdy structures.
Yes there were the usual things one might find in a fortress of a war lord. Training grounds for recruits, barracks for said recruits, a vast food hall where everyone, soldiers, servants, officers, even the bakers family could come together and eat, at respective times of course.
Other essentials such as storage houses always stocked for winter with a variety of goods to feed the entire population, not just the warriors. A separate set of dorms for servants who came and went throughout the entire city. Some had specific skills or were training in certain trades, others who did just about everything.
Many of the officers and commanders had larger estates outside Hell Gaite but a few still dwelled in the small structures that could serve as office and home, at least until their mistresses of wives bore them one too many children and they no longer fit into the small cottages.
Near to the centre of it all stood a slightly larger well made home, though still not large enough to waste the limited space within the walls, stood the home he shared with their lord.
Man, women and children, the elderly and some outsiders lined the roads to Hell Gaite for the last few miles. All of them coming from the fields and villages to greet the homeward bound army in the last length of their journey.
There was always some sorrow amidst the faces filled with joy and hope. Loved ones fallen to the sword. It happened, an inescapable happenstance of war, though it never made it easier.
In fact it may even be harder given the fact that although it did happen in Damon's name it was always less then one might think. He was not one to sacrifice men to win battles, in fact he planned them just so casualties were minimal.
Some saw this for weakness, for everyone else though it sparked hope. Men flocked to his banner seeking service, and their women allowed it knowing the chances were better here then in any other army.
And to make war, it was the best paying job many of them could hope for. Living through it was the trick. Damon simply made it a very possible reality.
Widows didn't last here anyway. There were always more then enough willing lads to fill their beds and take a wife.
Women had more power here then anywhere else, Zaros like to think. Most places they were forced into a marriage given little of no choice in the matter, but here, here they could pick from a wide assortment of men. Men from across the country none given leverage except with the color of their skin. The men lived the same life, got the same pay, and had the same chances. To choose one is choosing them all.
This was why many women fled their home villages and families when the prospect of an unwanted marriage arises. They arrive here, marry quickly and when their kin come to call there is nothing to be done.
Sure some tried to steal their daughters back, but it was a thoughtless act. Damon believed in his men and would ride to their aid for any matter. And having the army of Hell Gaite master and all arrive on one's doorstep in the dead of winter inclined one too give back one lowly daughter.
Zaros thought of the wolf girl. One that pretty didn't last long either. Within days a woman of that nature would interest many of the men. This would then be settled by a series of combat trials, if the winner is found worthy by the woman there is no questioning it. It made for a fair of sorts and the surrounding villages leapt at the chance to see their men test their blades, and profit off those outsiders who came to see as well.
But no, that was not for her, not yet. Damon had made her off limits, so to speak. Not orally or officially but the men knew.
He allowed an inward sigh; it would certainly be something, to tame a Lycan. Such a thing was rare but not entirely unheard of.
The wolf people did tend to stay together and breed in packs, but once in awhile a lone wolf is born, so to speak, and ventures forth in search of something, no one really knows what; sometimes it's simply a new pack.
Though it is usually males who break out on their own, for their women are fiercely guarded for breeding purposes and allowed little freedom but renowned for their untamed beauty and wild nature. One rarely saw a female Lycanthrope, and never without at least two male companions.
But on the occasion, the rare occasion a woman of theirs does venture forth. Whether they are driven out by the male dominate society for being too willful, they simply leave said society unwilling to submit, or it's just instinctive for them to seek new blood and expand the already thin and tightly wound bloodlines, it just happened sometimes.
If one could tame such a Lycan, the lone wolf of the decade this person would be fiercely guarded. They'd also be given a choice of remaining human with all its safe mortality of daring the change and attempt to become a nonhereditary member of the wolf clan through a bite. If they chose this more dangerous and more often then not deathly decision and somehow survived they'd be granted all the gifts given to the half beings; prolonged life, strength, speed, animalistic senses, fast healing flesh, and the chance to change form.
Yes it would certainly be something to tame this wild child of the wolf but Zaros knew Damon would want the opportunity for himself.
Zaros could demand it as his due for nine years service but it would only breed bitterness and resentment. He valued his friendship with the Hell master far too much to let a mere woman spoil it. Even this woman wasn't quite enough.
Most of the men milled outside the gates, unpacking any loot they'd carrier knowing they'd get most of it back, making theft a pointless risk, and waited for a swift dismissal to return home to wives and children, which they got soon enough.
It all took a few hours but soon most veterans were on the last stretch home and only one hundred new recruits hurried to finish their duties and get some well deserved rest in their actual beds. Or hurry to one of the many village taverns to spend their hard earned wages, or persuade some more then willing bar maid into their beds.
"Well then, shall we see about our wolf cub?" Damon asked a familiar gleam in his eye.
Zaros smiled back instinctively and followed his lord to one of the covered wagons.
Through the chaos of horseflesh and stable hands, servants carrying goods and supplies, young soldiers fully armed with metal and leather joking and moving about at leisure, she sat kneeling in the center of her prison.
Her hair fell in waves casting her features in shadow but a slight glint darting from within told him she was taking it all in. Other then that though she sat still and silent, her hands clasped in her lap looking for all the world like a pretty little maiden. Nothing near a wild untamed wolf being.
But looks are certainly deceiving.
Damon nodded his consent to the nearby soldier who had the keys to her moving cell.
One inaudible click later and hell broke loose. The cage door swung open.
The once peaceful maiden, quiet and submissive flew out inhumanly fast slitting the throat of the soldier with her fur covered viciously clawed hands.
Her jaw jutted out ever so slightly as a fearsome grin exposed a row of long canine teeth, her wild eyes darting around the madness she'd just provoked.
Two more men fell to her quick enough. One had his throat ripped clear from his body; the other suffered a swipe to the abdomen tearing the flesh asunder exposing internal organs splashing out onto the ground. It happened in seconds but the men quickly gave her a wide berth.
Damon smiled back at her snarling face. The short beginnings of fur rippled up her arms to her elbow in some strange parody of the elegant gloves noblewomen wore. It also etched around her deep brown eyes.
She stood in their midst leather clad, blood dripping from her finger tips, her ears tipped and poking gently through her hair.
Her feet were bare and easy on the ground leading up to toned calves tensed for flight. A loose skirt of tanned leather barely covered her sculpted thighs, riding low on hollows of her hips. A halter top of the same leather would have covered her torso rather well except for the abundance of rips and slashes revealing the skin that lay beneath. If it wasn't for her thick mane a good portion of her breasts would be clearly visible.
Thin leather strings fluttered in the breeze from both garments of clothing, if one could call them that, promising for easy removal if need be.
"Hush beauty, you're all right," Damon cooed stepping into the circle of iron his men had formed instinctively. An average sized man, six feet and some, he'd usually disappear in a crowd but in the open ground he looked taller.
She turned her wicked brown eyes on him slowly, a snarl revealing those abnormally long teeth.
"What's your name pet?" Damon took another daring step towards her.
Her eyes narrowed suspiciously for a second and they she barked out a short spurt of laughter.
Damon's smile only grew, "You know you won't get out of here alive."
She knew it. It didn't show on her face but Zaros didn't expect her to be stupid as well as wild. The two just didn't go together.
"I am Iyadar." She said simply, her voice forced through changed features.
"Iyadar," Damon repeated thoughtfully, "Pretty, it suits you. Not why don't you take off the fur and let's talk."
"About what?" She replied innocently though her eyes said something of a different matter.
"The weather," Damon replied smartly, "it looks like the cold will come sooner then I expected this year."
His unpredictable comment shocked her enough that the changes receded, as Damon has asked of her.
"Are you mad?" She asked abruptly her voice softer now, moving easier through strong white human teeth.
"Probably." Damon replied stating forward again ignoring how she tensed. "That is what the world outside these walls say of me. Fuck they say it in these walls half the time. It's something of a running joke."
She lunged at him eyes wild and fierce, fingers curled into claws reaching for his throat.
Ignoring the collective gasp and Zaros' urgent surge forward Damon displayed the economic precision he was born with.
Some were just born to the blade.
He stepped out of her path and stood behind her, a smirk playing on his lips waiting for her with unconcealed amusement.
Iyadar may have had inhuman speed but Damon was a demon in his own right.
His blade was at hand, flat resting on her left shoulder, edge pressed lightly at the side of her throat.
Astonishingly she paid it no mind and came at him again anger clouding her movements, pride taunting her on.
Damon's eyes actually widened with shock at her blatant disregard to his blade. Yet he still managed to get around to her right side. Unavoidable his blade rounded the front of her delicate neck leaving an angry red line on her tanned skin.
Ripping his blade away he left a second gash deep into her right shoulder as he spun to face his adversary.
She turned slower this time knowing his game.
It was her undoing as a fast hilt struck her in the back of the head, forcing her to the ground, rendering her unconscious at his feet.
Damon's eye all but glowed as a smile graced his features.
"That was fun!" He chirped turning to Zaros.
"Fun?" The giant raised an eyebrow in skepticism.
"Oh yes, she meant to kill me. Even you hold back in sparing my friend." Damon's eyes sparkled as he looked up at his companion, accustomed to craning his neck to see the 6'9" man's features.
"Only you my lord," Zaros shook his head and came to his master's side.
"Thoran!" Damon called cheerfully.
An older man, muscular and large despite his graying hair stepped out of the crowd, "Yes me lord?" The man's voice boomed like far off thunder, accustomed to having to be raised in the smithy.
"Make a leash and collar for my new pet good man. Make it pretty for the lass would you?"
The old blacksmith's eyes shone with amusement accustomed to Damon's sometimes odd behavior.
"Good then. Zaros, how about we take this wolf bitch home?" Damon smiled and strode off looking for all the world as if a Lycan did not just attempt to rip his throat out.
Zaros stooped and plucked the girl off the ground. He was momentarily surprised by how heavy she was. She was barely 5'8", but she was sturdy, and solid. Felt like she was made of stone. Womanly curves she had yes, but toned muscles men would pray for made up her tight frame.
For the size of the house Damon and Zaros shared it was sparsely laden. One might expect mounds of treasure strewn across the floors or trophies of victims, but no. money was divided, shared, invested, never hoarded or carelessly shown in boast. Trophies of war usually consisted of the heads of enemies, which neither man wished to collect, or the blades made for other men, which neither man could wield as well as his own.
It wasn't to say that the men dwelled on the edge of poverty, far from it. What little they did own was the height of luxury. Woods were of exquisite quality and elaborately carved. The beddings and clothing were all made of the finest fabrics made to last.
"Just on my bed for now Zaros," Damon said absently as he carefully removed his armor placing it aside to be cleaned and tended.
Zaros hesitated uncharacteristically looking down at the girl in his arms.
Damon raised her eyebrows unnoticed before the goliath moved into the larger of the two bed chambers.
The war lord watched curiously as his loyal friend deposited the wolf with the utmost care. He even brushed auburn hair from her face.
On other occasions when Zaros was carrying one of Damon's numerous mistresses in such a manner they woman was usually dumped unceremoniously on the bed.
Zaros moved to exit the room as Damon sought entrance.
They stood trapped in the doorway Damon saw the flash of worry and slight reluctance pass through his companion.
"Worry not my friend," Damon laughed outside his body. "I'm no rapist, I'll wait until she's well awake and willing."
With a clap on the shoulder form Damon Zaros returned to his usual obedient state and moved aside allowing his master entry. Then the giant made a quick exit from the house he shared with the hell master.
Damon watched him go silently a slight pain of doubt and concern coursing through his body before he lay on his bed next to the wolf girl.
On other occasions if Damon saw desire or concern in his lover's eyes he usually sought to relieve it by giving whatever the other man wanted without thought.
"Interesting isn't it?" He said quietly to her unconscious form. "Who would have thought, Zaros, who doesn't even like most women overly well would take a liking to you. But then again you and I are the same are we not, the only difference is you become your animal. Why not I ask? He loves me, of course he would take interest in another form of myself. How not though, for I think I have as well." He rolled onto his side taking a lock of her silken hair between his fingers.
Damon momentarily worried that Zaros would for once demand his due, which he himself could not dispute. He would have to acknowledge his brother's claim no matter how much this girl intrigued. But no, Zaros would not.
Damon could offer her, really he should, but he didn't want to. How often would a lycanthrope cross his path.
"What to do about you pet?" He whispered.
"Let me go…" she groaned her eyes squeezed shut then opened.
Damon chuckled, "No pet, I don't think so. Not yet anyways. What kind of gentleman would I be it I put such a pretty thing like you out so close to winter?"
"An alive one," she snarled lifting a hand to the back of her head.
Damon laughed again, yes she was fun, "No pet. I'll tell you what though. I'll house you until spring. After such you're free to go."
"I'm not a season whore." She snapped sitting up slowly.
Damon rolled onto his back and placed his hands behind his head, "I should certainly hope not. But you'll be dead before you reach the wall even if you do kill me."
She glanced at the door.
"Come now Iyadar, play nice. What harm could it cause for you to winter here. You have to winter somewhere, even wolves have difficulty in the cold, especially by themselves. You've already proved that you're off limits to the men."
"And you."
"And me, yes of course. So I'm asking what harm? A warm place to stay, and food-"
He was cut off as she lunged at him. He though, was evidently prepared for it and used her force against her yet again. They rolled until the edge of the bed he on top.
"Let me go!" She screamed in outrage.
"Remember my offer. One winter. Free in spring. It still stands." He replied calmly before striking her back into unconsciousness.
"Thoran had best hurry with that leash," Damon mused lying back on his bed fingers gently laced into her mane.