The Sword of Power
Prelude: It was the end of the Bronze Age; the beginning of great deluge, the time when Zeus strode to ride the world of the corruption of man. The worst of all the Grecian kings was Lycaon, King of Arcadia. Seeking to test the true divinity of Zeus, Lycaon offered his grandson Arkas to a ritual feast to the Greek god, an act deemed sacrilegious by the gods. As retribution, Zesus changed Lycaon into a wolf, executing most of the royal family, leaving only a few of his 50 children alive.
Moving between wolf and man, Lycaon continued his sadistic lifestyle, providing a living example of debauchery and evil for his son, Nyctimus. As cruel as he was handsome, the prince’s wrath knew no bounds. That is for everyone but his youngest sister, Laurel. Born after the great deluge she was the first full-blooded Lycan.
Through her beautifully brown childish orbs, her view of the world was the one her parents chose. Intelligent enough to realize their family had more differences than the Arcadian citizenry than nobility.
Early on, she began her training to become a queen; arranged marriages were as old as time and routine for a princess. Alliances are important, in any country; this was exception; as Lycaon plotted his revenge; the proper marriage became imperative for the royal family.
Laurel: The Arcadian sun shone down on the feral princess while she pondered over the clouds in the sky each morning. In the mid afternoon, she sat with her teacher under the date tree (in June and July she’d pick the juicy yellow dates smashing them between small fingers). At the end of every day she’d walk through the streets, guards in attendance, as she spoke to the market venders asking questions, touching their wares with curious fingers and on occassion giving away coins to those in need.
Laurel never noticed how quiet the townspeople were when Nick accompanied her. Nor did she notice the tone in his voice when he told her he loved her. All she saw was the love in his eyes, the same look she saw in her father’s eyes.
On the first full moon of her tenth birthday things changed. Unaccustomed to not sleeping, she sought solace with her older brother as she had one hundred times before. Bare feet padding on the floor, eyes full of sleep, she wandered to Nick’s bed. Crawling into his cold bed, the little princess wondered where he went at night. It only took one moonrise for Laurel to discover the answer.
That was the night of turning, the time she began her tutorage of the other part of her heritage. Sitting on the throne, feet swinging back and forth, heels hitting the intricate gold inlay, she watched the ones her father turned go through their change from human to wolf. When she reached puberty she began to change with them. Both her father and Nick were examples for her, examples she followed well.
The Arcadian sun shone down on the feral princess while she slept each morning. In the mid afternoon, she sat with Nick as they listened to their father pass judgements, give counsel and generally rule Arcadia. At the end of every day she’d walk through the streets, guards in attendance, as she spoke to the market venders taking their wares.
The inky sky surrounded her as she helped Nick dispense his own justice to the ever-growing pack. Nick would succeed their father to the Arcadian throne; she would become a queen in another part of Greece, perhaps Sparta, to give Arcadia the power to rule all of Greece.
Live was fairly uneventful until her 15th birthday. It was raining, Laurel loved the smell, loved to fling off her clothes bathing under the fresh wet pellets. Calling to Nick to join her, head tilting to the side, a smile flickering across her pouty mouth, it was then she realized what the look her father and her brother had for her meant.
Laurel was the only virgin in the pack, and that wasn’t by choice. Her other heritage kept her virginity intact, soiled goods would be an act of war to a rival King.
As she grew to full woman-hood, it occurred to both Nick and his father the different kind of powered to be manipulated by crowing Laurel Queen of Arcadia.
Looking back, it was at that point she took responsibility for her life. Laurel had been taught to serve the pack; for Laurel, it made more sense to serve the pack by mating with someone other than her brother; then changing her new husband as a first step to taking over Greece.
In her family, she seemed to be the only one to share that opinion. Strong-willed from years of learning from Nick, she argued if an alliance wasn’t important; then the choice of mate should be hers. As tempting as Nick might or might not be, their union was not in the best interest of the pack.
She left the day Nick attempted to force her into ‘a marriage’ bed.
Attitude, the invisible gift Nyctimus had been giving her all those years, made her strong, dominant and stubborn. If an Alpha Male could fuck every other female until he found his ‘right fuck,’ then so would she.
Wandering through countryside, screwing anything she wanted as much as she wanted; Laurel continued to put herself in danger. For each creature she changed, Nick came behind her killing the hybrids. She’d been careless, her numbers shrunk. She began to think like Nick.
She learned to ask questions again. Even more important she learned to listen. Patience, she didn’t handle quite as well. It would have been better for the world if patience had become her walking companion.
During one of her nightly walks she came upon a campfire where gypsies were telling tales, whispering in low tones about attempts to find the legendary Aingriv, the sword of life.
Whoever wielded the Aingriv, was truly immortal, drawing the life source of any enemy. The Esiuol, a magical jewel from the sheath was all one needed to manipulate the sword of life.
For years, she looked for the Aingriv, she wanted the power. As those decades melted it away Laurel learned masturbation wasn’t something she would do the rest of her life. She had two choices: fuck her brother, or kill her brother. The more her dilemma bothered her, the more she thought of the sword.
While shopping in Istanbul, her pension for asking questions came in handy. It was there she learned that the Aingriv was in Bathe, England.
Always enjoying London, she decided to stop their first going to her favourite hotel catering to the ‘unusual’ types of clientele. She chose to talk the streets; stiletto’s clicking as her feet hit perfectly intersecting tiles, tiles than slowly changed to the older London bricks, and then to grass. Pulling her heels off, she was able to quietly walk through the gardens. Adrenaline pumping, she was so excited that she didn’t notice the ‘other’ smell.
Soundless running through the garden, following the directions to the hiding place of the legendary Aingriv, the sword of life, for the second time in her life she wasn’t paying attention, she ran into him hard enough to knock them both to the ground. A second faster and he would have been out-of-her way.
Lost in thought, which was a great deal of the time while she was in human form, she didn’t sense the danger of the head that lay against hers on the ground.
Ebony curls twisted back and forth as her head shook, “Are you alright?” Laurel smiled. She certainly would not kick him out of her bed and if this was a nest of vampires then she’d take care of it now. She didn’t sense any immediate danger, she should have killed him; it was his eyes, his sad smell, a million things that kept her from changing.