WOLF'S CULT (The Circle of four)

The storm ripped over the mountains, gushing torrents of rain that struck the ground with the sharp ring of metal on stone. Lightning strikes spat down, angry artillery fire that slammed against the cannon roar of thunder.

There was a gleeful kind of mean in the air, a sizzle of temper and spite that boiled with power.

lt was grief that flashed in his eyes, as bold and as blue as those lighting strikes. And the rage from it spit from his fingerstips, jagged red that split the air with thunderclaps that echoed like a thousand airstrike.

Then, there was a storm in him, as black and vicious as that which bullied its way across the moon, the air and the land. lt whipped inside his blood, outside in the air, battling within and without as he stood on the slickened valley of the Eire mountain.

Rock rang, as the weather went black as the mouth of hell, and still he raged, and still he grieved. The moon turned fell red as blood and sizzled, burning on land, so that air smelled of its boiling.

The Night of Sorrows, it would be called, ever after, and those who dared speak of it spoke of the sorcerer who stood tall on the high cliff of the Eire mountain, with blood running down is face like death's tears as he dared both heaven and hell.

His name was Hunt, from the great family of Anyeraoh, who were said to be descended from Mayra, faerie queen and goddess. His power was great, but still young as he was young.

What he called in that terrible storm was death.

While the moon, the air, the land shrieked, he turned, putting his back to the tumultuous Eire mountain. What he had called stood on the high mountain.

She, for she had been a woman once, smiled.

Her beauty was impossible, unimaginable and cold as winter. Her eyes were black, her lips pink as rose petals, her skin milk white. When she spoke, her voice was music, a siren's who had already called countless men to their early doom.

"You're rash to seek me out. Are you impatient, young Anyeraoh, for my kiss?"

"You are what killed my brother?"

"Death is...." She pushed back her hood. "Complex. You are too young to understand its glories. What I gave him is a gift. Precious and powerful."

"You damn him, You evil."

"Oh, really." She flicked a hand in the air. "Such a small price for eternity. The world is his now, and he takes whatever he wants. He's mine now, more than he was ever yours."

"Evil, his blood is on your hands,"

She laughed very loud.

"Laugh all you wish evil, his blood is on your hands, and by the goddess, l will destroy you."

Again she laughed, like a child promised a particular treat. "On my hands, in my throat. As mine is in his. He is like me now, a child of night and shadow. Will you also seek to destroy your own brother? Your twin?"

The mountain fog boiled black, folded away like silk as she waded through it, towards him. "l smell your power, and your grief, and your angry. Now, on this place, l offer this gift to you. l will make you once more his twin, Hunt of the Anyeraoh's. l will give you the death that is unending life."

His face starts to turn into his alpha wolf, his eyes narrowed, as he stared at her viciously.

"Give me your name."

She glided over the fog now, her red cloak billowing back. He could see the white swell of her breast rounding ripely over the tightly laced bodice of her gown. He felt a terrible arousal even as he scented the stench of her power.

"l have so many," she countered, and touched his arm, with just the tip of her finger. "Do you want to say my name as we join? To taste it on your lips, as l taste you?"

His throat was dry, burning. Her eyes, black and narrow, were drawing him in, drawing him in to down. "I want to know what my brother knows."

Again she laughed, but this time there was a throatiness to it. A hunger that was an werewolves hunger. And those soft black eyes began to rim with red. "Jealous?"

She brushed her lips to his, and they were cold, bitter old. And still, so tempting. His heart began to beat hard and fast in his chest. "l want to see what my brother sees."

He laid his hand on that lovely white breast, and felt nothing stir beneath it. "Give me your name."

She smiled and now the white of her fangs gleamed against the awful night. "lt is Lisa who makes you. lt is Lisa who takes you. The power of your blood will mix with mine, and we will rule this world, and all the other."

She threw back her head, poised to strike. With all of his grief, with all of his rage, Hunt struck at her heart with his left arm, which has turned into an alphas craws.

The sound that ripped from her pierced the night, screamed up through the storm and joined it. lt wasn't human. Here was the demon who had taken his brother, who his her evil behind cold beauty. Who bled, he saw as a stream of blood spilled from the wound, without a heartbeat.

She withdrew, flew back into the air, twisting, shrieking as lightning tore at the sky. The words he needed to say were lost in his horror as she writhed in the air with steam of blood.

"You would dare me!" Her voice gurgled with angry, with pain, with outrage. "You would use your young clouness power, your pitiful magic on me? l have walked this world a thousand years." She threw out her bloody hand.

And when the drops struck Hunt's arm, they sliced like a knife.

"Lisa! Lisa!! You are cast out, Lisa! Lisa!! you are vanquished from this place. By my blood." He used his alhpa wolf's crews, scored his palm. "By the blood of the gods that runs through it, by the power of my birth, l cast you back,"

What came at him seemed to fly across the air, across the ground, and struck with the feral force of fury. Tangled, they crashed over the mountain cliff to the jagged ledge below. Through waves of pain and fear he saw the face of the thing that so closely mirrored his own. The face that had once been his brother's.

Hunt could smell the death on him, and the blood, and could see in those red eyes the evil Luna his brother had become. Still, a small flame of hope flickered in Hunt's heart.

"Dave. please help me stop her. We still have a chance, please."

"Do you feel how strong l am? Dave closed his hand around Hunt's throat and squeezed. "lt's only the beginning." He leaned down, licked blood from Hunt's face, playfully. "She wants you for herself, but I'm hungry. So hungry. And the blood in you is mine, after all."

As he bared his fangs, pressed them to his brother's throat, Hunt thrust his left arm craws into him.

With a howl, Dave reared back. Shock and disbelief and pain and angry rushed over his face. Even as he clutched at the wound, he fell. For an instant, Hunt thought he saw his brother, his real brother. Then there was nothing but the screams of the storm.

Then, he crawled and clawed his way up the Eire mountain cliff. His hands, slippery with blood and sweat, groped for any hold. Lightning illuminated his face, tight with pain, as he inched his way up the great Eire mountain. His neck, where the fangs had scraped, burned like a brand, while clutching at the edge.

lf she waited, he was dead. His power had waned with exhaustion, drained with the ravages of his grief, angry and shock. He had nothing but the his strong powerful left arm crews, still red with him brother's blood.

But when he pulled himself up, when he rolled to his back with the bitter storms, he was alone.

Perhaps it had been enough, perhaps he'd sent the demon back to hell.

Rolling over, he gained his hands, and was viciously ill. The power had gone out of the storm as it had gone out of him. He smelled home, horse and hay, the herbs he'd used for protection, the smoke from the fire he'd left smoldering in the hearth.

As he limped toward his cottage, his breath whistled out, hisses of pain that were lost in the rise of the wind. He knew if the thing that had taken his brother came for him now, he was lost. Every shadow, every shape cast by the storm tossed trees could be his death.

Hunt continued shakily to the small cottage, dragging himself to the door and through.