The Devil's Wolf

The only sound as Ashlynn made her way across the carpark to where her blue Audi waited for her return, was her heels against the cement and the distant howl of a lonely dog. She was not afraid of the quiet dark, she told herself, but knew it was a lie. Since leaving the protection of her werewolf pack three years before, the world had become a lot bigger and a lot scarier.

And that was without taking into consideration the risk of the Wingless, the Nephilim that survived the amputation of their wings and were outcast from their realm, who hunted Ashlynn s family line because their blood had the ability to make vampires stronger and faster – a mutation that had occurred when a pregnant Nephilim had her wings severed, changing the unborn child within her.

The Nephilim were the creators of the Others, the werewolves, the vampires, and many more. Created as slaves, and then discarded as failures, the Others lived hidden by glamour spells amongst the humans, fiercely guarding their secrecy. Being born amongst the werewolves, however, Ashlynn knew the secrets of the Other world, as it was her world too.

Ashlynn s car beeped as it unlocked, and she slid into its safety with a sense of relief. She hated late client meetings, but it was part of the job. She activated the internal lock and started the car, connecting her phone. There was a message from her father. She selected it to play through the car speakers as she reversed out of the car park and listened to him run through the happenings of the pack, and the world in general.

"Your mother says to remember to ward yourself every day," her father Raiden s deep voice held his affection for his only child and his worry. He did not like her being away from the safety of the pack. "Don t forget. It is very important. The Wingless are still out there. We miss you, your mother and I, and the pack. When will you come home?"

Home, Ashlynn thought ruefully. It had ceased to feel like it three years before when she had performed the full moon ceremony with the other cubs, and they had transformed into their wolves around her, whilst she had remained as she was. No matter how she tried, no matter how she had envisioned her transformation as she had been taught by her mother and grandmother, she had remained human.

Something that was not entirely unexpected, admittedly.

Like her mother, Lia, Ashlynn was a hybrid - the result of the Nephilim mutation blending over generations with Others of almost every kind. She had the potential, the abilities of the Others dormant within her, but unless that potential was activated, she could not be turned.

They had tried turning her; she had the bite marks to prove it.

Her mother s potential had been triggered by a fall that would have ended her life, causing her instincts to react. Raiden had sternly forbidden Ashlynn, his tone heavy with alpha command, from trying that, but he had not forbidden Ashlynn s lover at the time, and the subsequent attempt had placed Ashlynn in hospital, and had almost seen Raiden tear Archer s throat out.

Her mother could transform into a wolf, and that was the hope that Ashlynn clung to. After the fall had enabled Lia to access her abilities, Raiden s bite under the full moon had turned her.

After Ashlynn failed to turn, the pack had never excluded her, but she had not belonged anymore, caught between child and adult, without the coming-of-age ceremony of turning and when Archer had met his mate, she had taken her broken heart and left.

The message ended, and her music resumed, filling the cabin with sound. Her father s voice lingered, however, in her heart, the sadness of a distance that was far more than physical, along with a side serving of guilt that she had enforced that distance when her parents had never wanted it.

She had been the only child born to them, something unusual amongst the werewolves. Not through lack of trying, Ashlynn knew. There had been a series of miscarriages, and one cub lost at birth, which had been devastating to both parents. For her to leave, and separate herself so totally, was like losing another, she knew, and hated herself for doing it to them.

Ashlynn turned the volume of her music up as she whipped her Audi through the narrow streets that had been built before cars existed and put her foot down as she pulled out onto the open road, where the speed limit was a suggestion only. A suggestion, she smirked, well beneath her speedometer.

She raced herself, mentally. There was a straight of road, where no others turned onto it, that she particularly enjoyed. And it was along this stretch that something struck her.

Her scream cut over the music, as she fought to control the car. She could see through the windscreen, that the front corner of the Audi had crumpled under the impact, though she had seen nothing that could have caused it to do so.

The car spun, and her hair blocked her vision. She saw smoke as the tyres burnt under the friction of the spin. Her hands fought against the steering wheel, but steering was unresponsive, jerking the wheel painfully out of her hands. The car might as well have been aquaplaning.

Her screams were broken by the jolting of the car as it slid off the tarmac and into the embankment, kicking up soil and greenery. She heard something explode, and the impact of the airbag, spilling out powder like flour. The smell of burnt rubber, petrol, and the powder bit the back of her throat and she coughed, her lungs protesting.

There was a buzzing in her head where shock and pain combined in an inaudible scream, its inhalation foreboding. When that inhalation was exhaled, she knew she would be in f-king deep shit.

She watched a drip of moisture run down the driver s side window, her head cushioned on the airbag an inventory of injuries running through her mind, all minor but painful, starting from the bite across her chest from the seatbelt, through to the bruise of her cheek where it had struck the airbag.

When had it begun to rain? She wondered vaguely.

And then sound returned, a roar of it on the edge of painful, and she dragged herself up off the airbag, aware of flame in the corner of her vision, and knowing that its presence did not bode well.

She felt for the door handle, but the door would not open, the handle springing uselessly. "Shit," she exclaimed, tugging against her seatbelt as she mentally thanked her father for drilling into her its use. For a moment it would not give, locked into place as a result of the collision. She felt for the release catch and managed to get enough slack to unclick it.

She coughed dryly on the fumes as she fought against the door. It was not going to open. She managed to get her legs under her on the seat and slithered through the gap between the front seats into the back, bracing against the car seat so that she could drive her heel against the rear window, feeling the bite of the impact sting up her heel into her calf. She tried again and felt the heel of her shoe snap.

"F-k it!" She cursed.

The roof of the Audi peeled back like the lid of a tin, and she looked up.

A man s face appeared above her, impossibly beautiful, his golden hair sucked forward in the vacuum created by the flames. The stubble of his beard pierced like gold metal spikes through his cheeks, and his eyes were otherworldly in their blueness. He had wings, white and feathered, held semi-open behind him, balancing his pose.

His expression as he looked down at her was caught between revulsion and horror, and yet he held out his hand. "Stupid human," he said quite clearly. "You are going to die if you just lie there. Take my hand."

She reached out her hand in wonderment and felt the warmth of his palm against hers.

He pulled her up, catching her against him so that they were poised for a moment on the frame of the car, and she felt the powerful muscles of his thighs tighten a moment before he leapt, the sudden motion snapping her head on her neck painfully. His wings caught the air, the strike of the feathers loud and forceful. They lifted from the car, as the flames leapt in ferocity.

For a moment, they hovered, and she felt the rise and fall of his chest, the beat of his heart against her cheek, and then they sank to the ground, and he laid her out on cool wet grass, crouching over her.

His face lifted and the golden light from the burning car played across the planes of his cheeks, the white feathers of his wings, as the car exploded. He opened his wings over them both, shielding them from the small metal bits and embers that rained over them, and as he looked back down at her, the golden flames in his blue eyes, she reached up to touch his cheek, feeling the bite of the stubble against her palm.

"Mine," she told him. "My mate. My… angel."

His laugh was without joy or humour. "I am no angel. And I am not your mate."

"Yes," she felt the darkness edging in, her hand too heavy to continue to hold against his cheek. "Yes, you are. Mine."

"Shit," she heard him sigh, and for a moment he rested his forehead against her chest, between her breasts, and she smiled at the surrender in the gesture. And then, he eased his arm out from under her and she felt the strike of wings and the whip of her hair over her face, as he took to the air.

She fought to open her eyes, and saw him above her, his white wings and blonde hair stark against the night sky.