The Bark and Bite of a Very Angry Warg

“Ah, it sounds like Chey’s about to have her chat with the pack — let’s hope they keep their heads,” Adelia chuckled as the howl subsided. She made to stand up but staggered as she did, barely managing to catch herself on the bed with one arm. “My apologies, would you be a dear and help me downstairs? I’ll need to be there to give my support.”

“Oh, sure,” John said as he supported her with an arm. He wasn’t at all happy that Cheyenne had chosen to confront the wargs. It was clear as John awkwardly helped her down the staircase that Adelia hardly had any strength left in her, and it was likely Cheyenne was in a similar state. He feared that, if it came to confrontation, he’d be the only effective fighter. Alas, he had **** but to go along with it now.

They found Cheyenne standing in the centre of the entrance hall, tapping her foot impatiently as the wargs guarding the household hurried inside. Confusion sprouted on each of their faces as they saw her and Adelia free from captivity, before their eyes turned to John and Saccharine who nervously stood (and hovered) by the stairs.

Cheyenne didn’t say a word as they filed inside, and her stern glare seemed to freeze the wargs in place, quelling any aggressive response to her freedom. Five whole minutes passed in tense silence, until Cheyenne was seemingly satisfied that all the wargs had arrived. Most were surprisingly young, a mix of boys and girls ranging from John’s age to mid-twenties. Yet dotted among them were some more senior members, including one who was three sheets to the wind and could hardly keep himself on two feet. ‘Carl’, John guessed.

“What do you lot have to say for yourselves?” Cheyenne began quietly, but her tone hungered for blood.

Her question hung in the air as the wargs shifted uncomfortably from side to side, the hairs on their bodies bristling with high-strung tension. No one dared to vocalise a response, and when it was clear that she wasn’t going to get one, Cheyenne continued.

“I trained you. I hunted with you. We ate together. Drank together. Laughed together. Some of you whelps I’ve even slept with.” Her cold words caused many nervous and guilty glances to pass around. “We ARE family. I would have lain my life down for any of you. Yet NONE of you limpdick milk drinkers lifted a claw in my defence. So I’ll ask once again: what the fuck do you have to say for yourselves?!” she demanded, her voice fluctuating as she audibly wrestled with her fury.

It was clear to her audience that silence would be met with a very unpleasant sentence, yet at the same time, nobody wanted to be the first to volunteer a response.

“DON’T JUST STAND THERE LIKE A BUNCH OF GORMLESS TWATS! IF ONE OF YOU DOESN’T ANSWER ME THIS FUCKING SECOND, I’LL MAKE IT SO YOU ALL HAVE TO CHOOSE WHICH BLEEDING ARSEHOLE TO SHIT FROM!” Cheyenne roared; the venom in her voice was jarring, even to John.

“W-we were s-scared,” a young warg, barely older than John or Red, stuttered.

John saw Chey’s fist clench at the young warg’s words as she struggled to reign in her temper. It was a battle she evidently lost. With a flash of movement that John’s eyes barely registered, Chey leapt forward and seized the young warg by the back of the head.

“You were fucking scared?!” she laughed throatilly in the boy’s face, fangs wet and gleaming with saliva. “Waltzing around up here on sunlit days. Hunting on moonlit nights. Free to sleep in your own bed, play with your mates, eat whenever you desired? Don’t you DARE-” she paused as she viciously pulled the warg’s head downwards to meet her rising knee square in the nose. The room resounded with a sickening crunch that caused John to cringe, as blood burst all over the warg’s face and Chey’s knee. “-tell me you know fear, boy,” she finished, letting the boy fall back to the floor. “Fear is being gagged and chained by the neck. Fear is being unable to fight back as you’re **** and brutalised by someone you once loved and trusted. So don’t give me this nonsense of being scared. All you felt was weakness.”

She looked about ready to tear the young warg’s throat out with her teeth. But as the boy blubbered and bled on the floor she wavered. “I’msorry, I’msorry, I’msorry, I’msorry,” he cried, seemingly forgetting how to breathe.

Cheyenne looked down at him with disgust and growled before turning sharply to the nearest bystander, a young girl who looked to be the boy’s sister. “You. Fetch him an ice pack,” she snapped. The girl was quick to obey, understandably anxious to avoid a wrath like that which had been inflicted upon her brother.

“Forgive us, Chey,” another warg spoke up. He was one of the few middle-aged wargs in the small crowd. “We wanted to help—truly—but as you said: we were weak. We did not know what to do, so we bent to him. He slaughtered three of us the day he became the Alpha.”

“Whom?”

“Ylia, Axel, and Eisgar. They were the first and last that refused to submit when we learned of your defeat,” the middle-aged warg said with eyes downcast. “It was a harsh lesson, but we learned quickly that Vulpis was a heartless and ruthless pack leader.

“I see,” Chey dipped her head in sorrow. “They were honoured in **** at least?”

The warg shook his head sorrowfully. “Vulpis demanded they be treated as exiles, but we held a private wake at the forest’s edge; buried them there.”

“Once we’re done here, you will show me where; I would like to pay my respects,” Cheyenne said through gritted her teeth, before pausing and taking a deep breath to calm herself… followed by several more. The room’s eyes were on Cheyenne.

“We are going to kill Vulpis,” she said, her tone matter of fact and her eyes flaring with vengeful rage.

Her words were somehow unsurprising and yet stunning at the same time. Again, the room was filled with an awkward and guilty silence, as Cheyenne glared at the wargs before her.

“You all must have sensed it by now,” Adelia stepped forward, breaking from John’s supportive arm to stand as tall as she could. Her eyes were filled with determination but her tone was somber and quiet. “My husband is no longer wholly a warg. He is something else now… something twisted and corrupt without a trace of compassion or benevolence left in him. I stand by my sister. We must put him down.”

“B-but, what chance do we possibly have? He’s insanely strong now… and you couldn’t even beat him.”

“Are you a wolf?! Or are you a sheep?!” Chey roared back, causing the whole group to flinch. At least she didn’t hit him; that was an improvement. “Wolves do not hunt alone. A lone wolf is weak, but together, as a pack, wolves are strong. We are a pack, but Vulpis is just one man. He may be stronger than us individually, but together,” she paused and gestured around the room, even looking at John, “together we will tear him to pieces. So... WHICH OF YOU SORRY LOT FANCIES THEMSELF A WOLF?!”

The wargs murmured among each other for a several moments, though some immediately stepped forward, much to John’s surprise. “I’m with you Cheyenne.”

“Aye. ‘Ad enough of that fowl tempered mutt anyway.”

“I won’t fail you again.”

Gradually, more began to step forward. Whether it was guilt over what they’d let happen or a profound loathing of Vulpis, they all had their reasons to rebel. Maybe Cheyenne was too violently emotional, but it was clear she was strong and cunning. As far as John was concerned, and seemingly the wargs as well, she would be a clear improvement on the current pack leader.

Cheyenne grinned as the wargs vocalised their support with bloodthirsty howls, filling the room with a chilling chorus and making John very glad they weren’t about to go hunting him. “Dear oh dear,” Chey chuckled. “What a racket you lot are making. Save your cries — I say — for we will let the world know my dear brother has been slain, when we paint the sky red with his bastard blood!”