Meeting the Leader
If you are under the age of 18, do not read any further, nor read the additions to come, all that legal stuff.
Rampant & its characters are (c) to me. Thank you. Please enjoy.
____________________________________________________________
=Prologue=
It was dark---it was late. Dumpsters and piles of refuge created eerie shadows on the brick alleyways. The city of Angels had long been in peril, terrorized by both the normal and paranormal of old legends.
Werewolves had the underground and deserted warehouses. Vampires did what they did best---rise above all and become the richest species, dominating even demons who illegally crossed the realms. Humans were food, but still tried to regain their populace and power, creating a militia of armed forces to take out, or at least keep in check, the other creatures.
The assembly of not-so-supernatural and unsupernatural creatures were in a team called AOP: Assurance of Preservation.
It was a small group, one very few had the gumption to join. It was started in the year 2009, and stayed active to the current date of 2090, gathered by the man Cristie Flager.
Now, one of the members whom had been born into the slavery of the group, was second guessing her choice---her sacrafice.
=Chapter 1=
AOP captain Sham Onopore exhaled raggedly, exerted, her breathing coming in short, hard pants. Her supernatural stalker was still after her, and she, while not human herself, was no match for its heightened speed.
Granted, she was quicker, more swift, more agile, more lethal than her teammates, she had her limits---ones easily preceeded by werewolves, vampires, and demons.
Her chest aching, her head thumped back against the wall, eyes squeezed shut. She was dehydrated, she knew that much. And in a losing battle, she added. Her scent was too strong not to track. She had tried to convince her boss that, but it was a no go.
"Idiot," she whispered softly, cocking the gun, bringing the barrel up to greet her forehead for a moment. Just what she needed, being tracked by a werewolf while her scent was off the charts due to a heat.
Her chest was heaving, try as she might to regulate her oxygen intake, which didn't at all help her situation, the scratchy lace of her undergarment rubbing against a highly sensitized bosom.
Boom. Schrapnel sizzled away from the brick wall, lancing at her cheek, making her face scrunch up with a wince. No noise escaped her, however, inhaling through the spike of pain. She was becoming steadily angry at the barrage of bullets being pumped in her direction by her foe. Anger could be used, though, she assured herself.
Holstering her weapon, the fox-woman turned to catch a glimpse of an apartment complex, the rickety metal ladder still lowered to greet the pavement. She took a glance back in the general area of her attacker, then bolted forward, a simple blurr of motion in the moon-illumed night. She hastily climbed up the fire-escape, deftly ascending through the obstacle course of litter left outside the apartments and twists and turns of the stairways to the roof top. From the vantage point she could get a better idea of where her enemy was and how she could do her job correctly---a.k.a terminate him.
Fiery amber eyes slitted, sight sharpened on cue. Russet-hued ears, that of a fox on an otherwise human head, lifted upright, picking up various sounds---all except the ones she was hoping to find. Silence greeted her in that moment. Did he flee? she wondered with curiousity.
No such luck. A black shape down below in the heart of the city was coming up fast. Dust billowed almost like a jetline in the sky from the speed exhibited by the beast. Oh, shit. She was spotted. Maybe getting off the ground was a bad idea. Her scent was being wafted down from the building by the slight breeze. She was by far too easy to track.
Sham snatched the gun from its holster on her hip, followed by its twin on the opposite side. Cheap deaths caused by not-so-cheap ammunition. Silver-blasted cartridges would have to do the trick... She hoped.
Two rounds went sizzling through the distilled air, aiming directly toward the hulking shape below. It took cover, giving her just enough time to, perhaps, make her disappearing act possible.
She pivoted to the side, taking off toward the back of the building to nimbly sail south to land on a lower roof, tucking and rolling with her loss of balance caused by the exhaustion of the hunt. Gun barrels holding her upright, she gives herself a few moments to regain composure before shooting upright and setting into a joggy run.
A multi-hued creature of black, grey, and a subtle hint of brown below paused, footpaws skidding to a halt, claws almost screeching in protest. It inhaled slowly, deeply. The air was poisoned with the scent of gunpowder and the metallic scent of the silver used to lace the bullets... but the intoxicating scent of its would-be assassin was strong in the air, unfortunately with the breeze it was hard to distinguish just where she had gone, but it knew she was close by somewhere, hiding, waiting for the opportune moment to pounce.
Forking paws---paws that were more human than actual wolf paws, thumbs quite adequate for manual work---through a mane of raven, it snorted with disgust. Why did the humans want the werewolf kind dead and non-existent?
It sniffed again. And, it wondered with a dark, hateful growl, why did they corrupt other species into beliving that they had to kill them?
Sham puffed a strand of wine-red hair from her face, wondering just how much trouble she would be in if she just left without completing her mission. A lot, she imagined, bracing her spine up against another wall, attempting to ease the aches in her body. Her team had long ago went home to celebrate the victory of downing a few werewolves themselves, mounting the heads on wooden plaques for ornamental decoration. She, however, was stuck hunting the leader---the smartest and most dangerous.
To destroy the alpha would leave the underground werewolves defenseless and scattered until they could vote in another to take his place. At least, she prayed that it worked that way... killing the leader might collect all of the werewolves together and create a hellish rebellion.
Her heart sank. The wars would never end, not with the human's greed. It didn't matter how much she did for them, for she was a monster that would eventually lose her worth and point to go on living among their ranks. She was a creature that would be disposed of once her work was complete.
She was an expendable asset that meant absolutely nothing to the man who had raised her---the man who had started this little group to defeat the rising amount of beasts and 'unnatural' creatures. She was an animal; at least half. She was just like the things she hunted, and in the end she would meet the same fate.
With this realization, her fire, her fuel, her ambition to do her job was gone. All that was left was an emptiness---a loneliness.
Suddenly, the air rushed from her lungs as something heavy slammed into her side, forcing her roughly to the uneven, rocky asphalt, skinning several points of her lithe body. Her guns clattered a significant distance away. Claws gouged in two places---one was the creature's hand---or paw?---immobilizing her wrists above her head, the other trapping her side, keeping her from moving as the beast's legs kept her own from defending herself out of instinct. All she could do was perform a meager wriggle which did nothing to escape the band of steel wrapped around, almost crushing, her wrists together.
She whimpered. She couldn't help it. It was out before she could silence herself. The grasp on her remarkably loosened, the eerie blue eyes that penetrated her very soul going unnaturally soft. Was it sympathy she caught a glimpse of? Surely not. However, she could not dismiss that emotion was there, broadcasted as clear as daylight.
"Your name." It wasn't a request.
What she did was dirty, and the act surprised even herself. She spat in its---no... no, that voice was pure masculinity, and the scent he reeked of and clearly stated that this thing was very much male---his face. For a brief moment, horror overtook her features, twisting them in a mask of fright, her breath caught in her throat. She covered it up quite simply with a look that spoke of ferocity and warning. That fuel---or perhaps just her temper which she had a large quantity of---was back.
The werewolf snarled, twisted his enormous head away to rub his offended cheek against the tattered sleeve of what might have been a dressy button-up shirt. Once upon a time. "Your. Name." He repeated coolly---too coolly. From that tone she was able to decipher she was on very thin ice, and that with one swift movement of either arm he could easily break her in two. His too-soft voice held a single warning: He wasn't joking around.
"Sh-Sham." First name basis would do if he liked it or not. She hated the fact she stuttered like a fool.
"Well, Sham," he drawled her name in a baritone burr that sent a chill up her spine. "Welcome to the underground where few leave breathing." The werewolf had wanted to appear, to sound, to radiate a daunting aura---one of which he saw through on the outside, but on the inside he felt... hollow somehow. The stark glaze of fear written in the eyes of his captive female made his gut churn. Why did she have such an effect on him?
Sham stared up at the behemoth of a werewolf, her unorthadox eyes wide and wild. This was just great... she was going to be a hostage in the underground world of werewolves and other nighttime beasties. She was going to be drug through a sewer. She was going to---why did he not seem as nasty as she would have figured a great werewolf leader to be? Why was her throat still intact? Her body unmutilated?
"Come." The tone had turned gentle and he rose, the warmth of his body gone and somehow... missed. Her alabaster skin broke out in waves of goosebumps, among other effects the cold did to her anatomy---things that were not unnoticed by the man hovering over her with his half-paw outstretched as though in an offering to aid her to stand.
Striking azure set of eyes flicked not once, but twice at the magnificent swell of her bust. Sham's cheeks burst into a riot of red, making her face hot and her temper even hotter as a certain primal heat pooled inside her. She slapped away the offering and gimpily got to her feet on her own, unaided.
The werewolf... gentleman shook his head, wrapped that band of iron for a hand around her wrist, and struck out on a mission-like walk, all but dragging her thrashing, fighting little body behind him. It didn't matter how much she clawed, bit, or twisted, there was no escape from the male's grip. It seemed as though he were unhindered despite the way blood dripped from open wounds.
Thunder rolled in echoing booms overhead, only helping to make her mood more foul. Not only was she now abducted and about to be lead underground to join the rest of this werewolf's pack... but it was going to rain on her head as it happened. Just. Her. Luck.
And how was she taken so easily, anyway? Did she not have any fight in her? Was she really that washed up?
Her thoughts were interupted as she was yanked down to a kneeling position, the wolf-man in front of her having hunkered down to lift off a lid who's only destination through the portal was south, into the waste of the city. Her freckled nose wrinkled with distaste, her heels planting themselves firmly into the pavement as though that would solve all of her problems when, even in her fantasies, she knew better.
Down into the pitch black interior of the sewer did they go... Sham first. She thought if she could skitter down the slick ladder fast enough she might have a chance in hell to get away. She skipped rungs, slid, and landed ass-first into the gooey, tainted water below with a splat. Now, not only was she in heat, tired, achy, wet, captive, and in a bad mood... she was now covered in muck.
A deep rumble came from behind her, then two solid plops as the werewolf's legs entered the water in which she sat. He was laughing at her! That bastard!
"Arryn!" A man's voice echoed. Sham's ears flattened. More werewolves... many more. A knife-like stab of sheer unadulterated terror. Thirteen werewolves, some in human form, others in that hybrid between wolf and human, stalked closer And closer. Her mouth fell open. Her airways closed. Darkness crept into her vision. This was it, it had to be it... she was going to be tortured and killed.
"Shh-shit." It was all she could muster before she swooned.
______________________________________________________________
This is my first story (the first of a series, I might add) to have been submitted to anyone or any site, so I apologize for the slow and possibly boring start. Critique is welcomed, but, please, be kind. I appreciate your time and advice.
Thank you.
Rue