Circle of love

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.