Chapter 1
“Chaya Mishelle Denefer”. The name fell from the queen’s dry lips as she looked into the jade eyes of her newborn daughter. The little princess stopped her mewls as her mother’s voice caressed her ears as soothingly as the fingers that brushed her black curls. They looked at each other for the space of a few heartbeats, green eyes to green eyes, before being interrupted by the king’s sudden presence. “Oh, Allona, look how perfect she is!” King Tyron whispered, his own green eyes misting with emotion. Picking up his tiny offspring, he looked down at her with a huge smile creasing his chocolate skin, and turned to his older half-brother Jenadab, the general of the Balanthian armies, “Is she not beautiful, Brother?” The hazel-eyed man, smiled, indulging his younger brother’s happiness. “Not a princess in the four realms more lovely.” he finally ceded, and with a bow, backed out of the room.
King Tyron and Queen Allona Denefer ruled over Balanthias, a world occupied by mystical warriors who could transform into beautiful, but fearsome wolves. They were a diverse race, although most of them had darker skin. Their eyes glowed in all colors, but only royalty bore green eyes. A wolf’s form broke free on their tenth year of life and they remained in that form for a month so as to learn how to fight and survive as a wolf. Another month was spent in isolation for training in combat and weaponry. A weapon’s master was always with the young wolf as they transitioned and the lessons were brutal and merciless, but afterward, the young one returned home a true warrior and earned their armor's runes and element. Each wolf could master a certain element and each wolf’s spirit had a color that helped to focus their energy. The wisest or strongest could possibly master two elements, but no one has ever been able to master all of them. The colors were red for strength, white for bravery, yellow for speed, black for stealth, green for endurance, and purple for agility. The runes were burned onto their armor and their essence's color could be seen glowing around their hands when summoning their elements.
There were three other realms besides Balanthias. Faerenshie was a forest world where the Fae lived. Fairies, elves, sprites, and other magical beings called this world home. Ruled by their queen for thousands of years, they were a peaceful, although isolated people. The world where humanity lived was simply called, Mortalis, for everything that lived there was mortal and soon would die. There lived no mystical creatures there, only man and animal. They were frail and weak and simple, only caring about the few pleasures that could be gained before their short lives were snuffed out by age, illness, or war. The last world was dark and dead. It was called Brethesdae, and no one dared venture there for fear of the creatures that inhabited it. They were the Hecatae, children of the mysterious Hecate. No one knew anything about her except that she was born many years ago, long before the mortal world had existed. Coldly beautiful, the Hecatae had the perfect face of humanity, but none of their frailty. They were extremely strong and fast but had no heart and no blood. To survive, they must siphon the blood and life force of their prey. Having long exhausted all resources on their world, the entire race lay desiccated and asleep, protected deep within the caverns of the rocky and mountainous world. And deep in the heart of the mountain, Hecate sat sleeping, waiting for someone to wake her.
For the past hundreds of years, the wolves of Balanthias had been at peace, led by their green-eyed King and his mate, who would live a normal life until the young king came of age; the unsuspecting young woman would suddenly wake up bearing the same jade green eyes. The green eyes and therefore the crown were almost always hereditary, with the exception of Jenadab, who was born of an affair between King Tyron’s father and a girl he loved before his mate was revealed. Sadly, the girl died birthing Jenadab and the young king fell into a deep despair. Three years later when he turned twenty, he watched as a young woman played with his young son. As she turned around to greet him, he saw with surprise that her eyes blazed green. His sorrow was forgotten as he instantly fell in love with his shy new mate, and of course, she fell in with him in return as she already loved his son and mothered him as if he was her own. Everything was perfect, but to his confusion, the boy had hazel eyes instead of the green eyes that the royal family was supposed to have. Two years later, Tyron was born with dark curls and emerald eyes, and a bond was forged between the two brothers that was stronger than even those of Tyron’s younger brothers who were born in the following years.
While it was rare for a princess to be the firstborn and Balanthias had never had a queen, as they gazed at their new daughter, Tyron and Allona were overwhelmed with joy and love. As soon as Allona had recovered from her delivery, she and Tyron presented the princess to her awaiting people, while in the shadows, General Jenedab watched his family with pride and love in his eyes, his hand ever on the hilt of his sword. All over the world, Balanthian wolves tuned into their holo screens to see the new princess of Balanthias. As a loud cheer went up from those close enough to the palace, the sleeping princess opened her eyes. At the flash of green, the crowd began to cheer even louder. Elona prepared to soothe her, but Chaya did not cry. Instead, she smiled a sweet smile and threw her arms out as though reveling in the applause. As the royal couple ushered their baby back into the palace, no one saw the hooded figure clench his fist in anger and shoulder his way out of the crowd. Tsura Denefer, banished Prince and brother to the King had returned.
‘I am Tsura Ruhmansin Denefer. Fiercest of the Balanthian wolves. I wear the black and red armor and carry the fires of the sun. My broadsword has drunk the blood of thousands and still it thirsts. I will have my vengeance!’ The tirade ran through Tsura’s mind as he raced to his hut in the wastelands. Once honored Prince and General of the armies, many years ago, he plotted to assassinate his brother, Tyron, and take the throne for himself. He was stopped by Jenadab, and Tyron, rather than have him executed, stripped him of his title and banished him from the capital as a show of mercy. For years, he stayed in the wastes of Balanthias, stewing over his failure and dreaming of retribution.
Three weeks later while hunting, he came across a smooth jet black stone. The moment he held it in his palm, a current ran through his body so that he could not release the stone. It began to heat up until he feared that his hand was on fire and electricity crackled around him, and then suddenly, his world went black.
It was cold when he opened his eyes and Tsura’s keen sense told him that he was no longer on Balanthias. The only source of light came from the stone that he had managed to hang on during his ordeal. Inspecting it, he saw that it was now streaked with red that glowed bright and throbbed like a heartbeat. Pulling the stone from his palm, he saw that it was indeed blood, his blood. There was a large circular wound in the middle of his hand that was half of a crescent moon and half of a star. Stranger than the lack of pain was the fact that his body had not yet started to heal the injury. Drawing on his energy to calm himself, he held the orb above his head and began his trek to find the reason that it had brought him here.
He walked seemingly for days until he came to a castle set high and deep in a large black mountain. Taking his knives from their sheaths, he began to scale the face. The snow swirled around him and blinded him and his hand oozed blood onto the clothed hilt of his knife, but he climbed blade over blade until he reached the top where he collapsed in a frozen heap gasping for air. As he caught his breath, he noticed what looked like a woman shrouded in dark mist walking towards him. As she got closer, she held her hand out and a red glow bled from her palm. “You have come far, Wolf.” Tsura heard the voice both in his ears and echoing in his mind. “Yes, Tsura Ruhmansin, mighty bearer of the flame. I can hear your thoughts as clearly as you can hear my voice.” Standing, he looked at her more closely. The mist that surrounded her was in actuality the translucent white of her hair. Her face was white and clear, her lips as red as cherries, and her eyes, an empty, yet shimmering black. He could feel the power emanating from her that far surpassed his, and it took all of his willpower to not cower before her. Forcing himself to look levelly into those eyes, he inclined his head, just low enough to show respect as to another equal. “Lady Hecate.”, came out convincingly smooth.
Hecate looked at the wolf appraisingly. Her supernatural eyes could see him as both a wolf and a warrior and as either, he was formidable and attractive. He stood at 6 feet and close to 9 inches and every inch of him was hard muscled and lean. His eyes were a glowing warm amber and his hair and beard were a curly black. As a wolf, he was the size of a large bear and his black fur moved as though alive with shadows. His amber eyes were red and glowed with fire. His fangs were like knives and each paw was tipped with razor-sharp claws. ‘Yes,’ she thought to herself. ‘Handsome and powerful. A beautiful death to his enemies. With an extra dose of power, he will do nicely.’ She extended her hand to him and his warm skin closed over her cool hand. Giving him a reassuring smile, she led him up the mountain into her fortress.
Inside the black fortress, the air was surprisingly warm and it was well-lit. Hecate led him to her chambers where she sat on a curved ebony chair. She motioned with a slender hand for him to sit in the seat adjacent to her. Cocking her head, she looked at him with all the appearance of a seductress contemplating if a man is worth her favors. Or maybe a cat deciding if the bird is worth the snack. He stared at her unflinchingly. He was not weak-willed. She enjoyed that, yet she could sense the undercurrents of anxiety and that all of his senses were on high alert. She nearly laughed. The wolves of Balanthias were all but immortal. Most wounds would heal, they were never sick, and they aged outwardly much more slowly than their human counterparts. She doubted, however, that their entire admittedly impressive military forces could stop her children were they awake and fed. The life force and blood of a wolf must be so energizing.
While Tsura did not know why Hecate had brought him here, he did know that he had no chance at all. Her powers were unlike anything he had ever sensed, but it still did not stop him from keeping himself firmly under control. One wrong move and the very powers of the sun would be unleashed to burn this place down, with himself along with it. Even as he thought it, she looked at him with those fathomless eyes and half smile, and he knew that she could sense his thoughts and that she was silently warning him not to be rash. He let his powers diminish and forced himself to calm down. “Why have you brought me here, Lady?” he asked. She smiled. A sweet smile that did not hide the flash of fangs. “I want my children to awaken.” Tsura involuntarily gasped. He remembered the stories that were told to him when he was a child of how a group of Hecatae descended upon the world of man and the horrors that they wrought. Warriors from Balanthias were sent to destroy the rebels, and the humans, who were never to know about the other worlds, soon began telling stories of the creatures that they called ‘Vampires’ and ‘Werewolves’. “They would bring destruction to everything and expose us again to the human world!” he exclaimed. “Why would you wake them?” Hecate stood suddenly and her expression was so awful that Tsura couldn’t help but cringe. But as soon as it had appeared, her expression was cheery and friendly. She manifested a pitcher of water and a bowl of Balanthian fruit and cheeses. With a smile that never penetrated her eyes, she offered them both to him.
“When I awoke here, I was alone. No pack. There was no one else like me.” She started slowly. Sensing that she would not welcome an interruption, Tsura helped himself to a cut of cheese and a melon-like fruit and listened to her story. Brethesdae was not always a planet of death and emptiness. It was once green and lush, teeming with wildlife and gorgeous plants that did not grow anywhere else. Hecate was only a child and had woken with the knowledge of the ages, but no clue as to who or where she was. Her only clue was a half-crescent/half-star necklace around her neck that bore the inscription Hecate. She survived by eating the fruits from the trees and drinking the water from the crystal springs. When she was tired, she would lay amongst the animals for warmth. The years passed and as Hecate grew, so did her loneliness. She found that she had the power to create things, so she would create illusions of herself to play with. Eventually, they too were not enough.
When she reached her majority, she was approached by Darkness itself, who in exchange for eventual sanctuary on Brethesdae, would give her the power to create a people of her own. She originally created twelve beings known as the Hecatae. They were meant to be companions for the lonely young woman. However, they began to produce other Hecatae amongst themselves. While the original twelve were staunchly obedient to Hecate, their children were more prone to destruction and had no desire to learn self-control. They discovered that they could use their fangs to tear into animals and absorb their very life force along with their blood. All was well until Darkness arrived. The animals began to die off as the grass perished for want of sunlight. The starved Hecatae began to fall into a deep slumber. Afraid that she would once again be left alone, Hecate began to look to other worlds for sustenance for her children. On her silent command, a small group of her hoard went to Mortalis. Tsura could only stare at her in horror. “You want Mortalis. You would plot against Darkness itself.” She smiled at him indulgently. “And you want revenge.”
Tsura took a deep breath as he was bombarded with memories of the many times that he was overshadowed by Tyron while growing up. He deserved the crown, but his brother’s green eyes earned his father’s love and favor. His anger mounted as he remembered the day when he attacked Tyron as a wolf while the young king was still in warrior form, backturned while he sat in meditation. He was knocked aside by his bastard brother who was patrolling in wolf form. The king only received a gash on his back from an errant blade, while Tsura was stripped of his titles and banished. After a while, Hecate tired of watching him fight for control over his anger and stopped the stream of memories. “I will give you Balanthias and I will also help you to secure your revenge on your brother.” she calmly said as she inspected a silvery strand of her hair. “All I ask is that you give me your aid in waking my children.” She waved her hand over him and he was instantly encased in black mists and his eyes turned jet black. When his gaze returned to its amber fire, shadows of black laced throughout his irises, she continued. “Bring me a suitable offering. I have given you a share of my powers. I trust you will use them and choose well.” An ominous light glinted in Tsura's strange eyes as the darkness consumed him.
