The Legend of Wrath

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Chapter 9

Wrath rose with the sun. The two giant angry bodies produced waves fiery heat, though for completely different purposes. While the sun energized and allowed growth, Wrath consumed and destroyed whatever was exposed to him.

True to his name, he was furious. Furious with his nature. That morning, the second he opened his eyes, he searched the poorly ventilated room for the girl. He knew that his fixation would slowly inch toward obsession. History would be repeated and a second undeserving woman would wind up with a blade in her chest.

Remnants of the storm still trickled outside. Curiosity had the audacity of tempting him to peek out of the window and check if the raven had flown away. Did she leave to find shelter or did she stay outside all night?

Wrath shook his head disapprovingly and picked up the latest book that would aid his distraction. The pages served their purpose for some time but lost their captivation of him around noon when his stomach started to rumble. Wrath’s cabin was rich in filth and stockpiled with books, but free of food.

Being the only predator in the area, he would normally comb through the forest in search of game whenever the urge struck. The food chain crowned him as the king of the small batch of nature. He used to stroll around carelessly but was now too ashamed to walk outside.

In the eyes of werewolves, he was not a worthy male. He was abomination considered lower than any omega. Lycans were an embarrassment of the breed. Mentioning their mere name would make any murder, rapist, or thief scrunch their nose with disgust. They were mistakes of the moon goddess; undeserving of trust or respect.

Wrath looked down at his unclothed, dirt-streaked chest when the area bellowed again. He noted that his skin hadn’t met water in over a week. Being closer to beast than man, he had little to no regard for his hygiene.

He pushed his scent to the back of his mind and focused on the issue at hand: hunger. He placed the book down and his body up. A deep breath was taken before his eyes went to the window. With everything in him, he hoped that he failed to find the girl. For once in a long time, things went his way. She was gone.

Relief- a feeling nearly alien to him, flooded his senses. She was gone. She was safe.

Wrath pushed the door aside and entered the outdoors. The soil was cool and muddy. The air refreshed and promising new beginnings. His bare feet met the soil and drove him through the forest. Although he had food in mind, he somehow ended up by the lake.

Realizing that he had been thinking of the girl the entire trip, he growled agitatedly and stripped free of his single piece of clothing.

The water was chilly, rebellious of the sun’s dictating rays. But Wrath didn’t mind this. The temperature cooled the storm in him which had been swirling for endless years. The peace lasted seconds but these sweet moments were his most treasured possession.

Now fully blanketed by the temporary salvation, he closed his eyes and enjoyed the slice of happiness.

If only this feeling could last forever.

Raven black hair burned his thoughts.

Wrath’s fingers went to his hair and pulled in an attempt to drag her out of his mind. “No!” he growls, but the sound got drowned out.

A mate could make this feeling last forever.

That thought had him breaking the surface. He gasped for air and flailed his arms around, momentarily forgetting to swim. He eventually managed to push and kick his way to the surface.

“Like hell she will,” he tells himself.

With hands digging into sand and self-hatred seeping into his stomach, he thought of the girl.

“She’s gone. This is good. Now you have to be gone too,” he continues.

This is bad, Aphrodite countered as she watched the suicidal lycan walk toward the cliff he planned of leaping from.

“Luna!” she summoned. But the other goddess who was busy tending to other matters didn’t hear her.

Aphrodite knew that she had to act before Wrath crossed onto the underworld.


“Of course, you had to get lost,” Artemis grumbles. Her eyes dug into the tree that she could swear she passed twenty minutes ago.

Her feet pointed in a new direction. She needed to find that man and continue her probing if she wanted to get home... wherever that was. Before she could take her first step, she heard a snap.

Her curious eyes located a branch cleanly snapped in half a few feet away. But she couldn’t smell anyone around. A second alarming snap followed by a third rung out. Artemis, completely bewildered, managed to connect that the broken branches were aligned.

As the magical snapping continued, she started following the trail of possessed wood. Her confusion multiplied when the snapping stopped. Was she hallucinating? Maybe the brain damage was worse than she imagined.

Her confusion was killed, buried, and replaced with shock when the very naked chest of a man became visible through the bushes mere yards away. She was close enough to identify him and most importantly, pick up his scent.

She knew the warm smell of lavender was emitting from him. What she didn’t know was why her heart was rocking in her chest and skin growing cold, unknowingly preparing itself to be warmed by his promising arms.

Her lips answered her question. And so she found herself uttering the following word:

“Mate.”

The whisper did not fly over Wrath. His wide eyes found an equally horrified Artemis. Regret, an emotion which had become his closest friend, encased his bones to the point of immobilization. All he could do was stand there, completely off-guard, as he calculated his error: Now that he was clean, the repugnant smells of sweat and grime was gone.

She knew.

Wrath’s face fell along with Artemis’ body once her brain overheated and forced her body to shut down. The poor girl fainted.

The only conscious werewolf in the forest growled; enraged with the moon goddess and the lake. Yes, including the lake. Because although it had brought him much tranquility, it betrayed him in the end.

A taste of your own medicine, Wrath mockingly thinks.

He looked in the direction of the cliff and then back at the girl. And for the second consecutive time, he chose her over his beloved demise.

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