A wide river dominates this section of the forest. Romance is in the air, and wolves of all ages come to search for their mate.
IP: 140.106.192.35
Posted on November 19, 2012 at 05:35:28 PM by VLADYA
NU. SHUT UP. KUSHI IS SEXY YOU CLOSE YOUR WHORE MOUTH. <3
 | Those old pieces of warrior advice were such bullshit. Vladya had listened to all the best methods for ignoring pain since his ears had opened. Focus on another point of your body. Focus solely on the exact location of the pain. Think of something different. Bite yourself. Bite someone else. Chew on wood. Eat grass. Each and every last suggestion—from the homeopathic to the healing to the heinous—all of them were bullshit because not a damn one actually worked, not for Vladya’s pain, not for (more accurately) his seething agony. Nothing mitigated the deep aches in his bones; nothing soothed the lacerations burned across his hide; nothing tempered the tortuous twisting torment that seemed to sit in his chest with claws outstretched, raking against his ribs from the inside. Daydreaming: bullshit. Gnawing on your own leg: bullshit. Eating random seeds in hopes that one will be a painkiller strong enough to numb you or at the very least kill you: bullshit. Vlad was in so much pain he couldn’t remember what feeling normal was. Did he ever not hurt so badly that he could move without screaming? Was there ever a time his tongue wasn’t heavy with the bitter taste of blood and vomit? Those times must have been awesome—he wanted that life back. Except . . . the arctic dragon couldn’t have peace anymore. He didn’t deserve it. Not after the sin he’d committed. With a pitiful sound halfway between a growl and a whimper, Vladya lurched over Abendrot’s invisible fence into the sliver of no-wolf’s land just before the great river. He technically wasn’t permitted to stray from pack territory; however, Kershov knew just as well as Vlad that the beaten brute wouldn’t make it far if he tried to escape. He’d die first. That was a fact. Starvation, shock, or infection would cut him down before Vlad made it back to the mountains he’d first called home upon entering this mythical world. Seriously, the tundra-stalker was a mess. Kershov had fucked him up something fierce when he finally found his old gangmember wandering around. See, the thing was, Ker didn’t believe in desertion; nothing was worse in the warlord’s mind than abandoning one’s pack and abdicating one’s responsibilities. After the war that tore Ker’s tundra gang apart, Vladya had done just that. He gave up on searching for his lost gang brothers. After he’d learned of Kershov’s new position as Abendrot Alpha, Vlad resorted to becoming a recluse to avoid ever seeing his former black-eyed leader ever again. Vladya was the worst kind of scum. And now, after approximately two weeks of unending torture, he looked like it. Gashes, cuts, and lacerations dug trenches over every inch of Vlad’s pitiful frame. Old blood and filth fouled his alabaster pelt, making the small patches left untouched by wounds hang limp and matted by his injured sides. One eye was swollen completely shut; the other, blood-red from vessels burst by a past blow, glared lurid and haunted from a gaunt, hungry face. The idea that Vladya had ever been strong—hell, HANDSOME even—was laughable now. Him? The broke-ass looking wolf? Yeah. Right. Breath hissed into his lungs as Vladya’s stumbling paws tripped over a mess of twigs and pebbles. So much for secrecy; the clumsy screw-up would be easy pickings for any bear (or vulture) lurking around. “Fuck it.” He spat out the words—along with a mouthful of blood—and continued to limp along the riverbank, searching for a place where he wouldn’t drown if he accidentally fell in, which was an embarrassingly probable event. Especially in this darkness . . . god. Vlad felt so freaking miserable he barely heard the snarling femme until he was practically on top of her—so to speak. His one good eye picked out a bristling crimson form a few yards off, her entire being tense and crackling with tension. Another wolf in Vladya’s horrid position might have turned tail and fled in fear, wishing to escape further damage. Not Vlad. He could give two shits—this bitch wasn’t going to hurt him in any way he hadn’t already experienced. “Me,” the ivory warrior answered bluntly, stepping away from deeper shadows into brighter starlight. “What the hell are you so freaked out about, anyway? Fish swim up your ass?” Trust the arrogant, reckless gangbanger to be a crude bastard. Whatever. Maybe he wanted the wine-painted fae to kill him. It would make life a whole lot simpler. |
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