Chapter 3
After the Alpha had pulled his mate's nest from the window, he lay in the generous space and draped his mate across his chest. She gave out a little purr and snuggled into him, gripping handfuls of his fur. He secured her to his chest with his two heavy arms, concerned for her safety should she fall. Then, he settled in to watch over her.
He could hear the steady breathing from his family below, laid out in various positions across her tidy front yard, still in their beast forms. Knowing they would follow protocol and set up watches, the Alpha switched his attention to a prettier subject. The lovely woman resting in his arms could only be described as ethereal. The splatter of freckles across the bridge of her nose, the flaxen beauty of her thick, soft hair, even the shape and color of her nails caused enamored awe to invade every corner of his being. He prayed in the light of the Goddess that her soul would be as beautiful as her facade.
He had met many pretty women, though none could compare to her, and had been disappointed by the personality of each. It was not uncommon for an Alpha male to have females pushed upon him. Their parents and pack elders all hoping for the planting of futures or a chosen Lady. The pressure put on his shoulders to produce a powerful heir was one only Atlas could comprehend. His bloodline, the continued autonomy of his pack, and the respect of his people all hinged on that one factor.
As weres progressed in age, the likelihood of finding their Given mate rapidly lowered. The fact that his was resting deeply in his arms at this moment was nothing short of a miracle. It was a last resort, but a choice mate could be taken. It negated the ill effects of a solitary life enough to stave off the danger. Over the years of his service in his pack, the Alpha had to put down many beasts with broken minds. Tempers shortened, morals skewed, and consequences did not seem to matter when one went long enough without their mate. It was one of the reasons his pack had been pushing so hard for him to settle down. They could see the signs, as hard as he tried to hide them. He had lived an impressive one thousand six hundred and fifty-six years, that and many times over what most unmated males survived. He had long ago made a vow to himself that if he did not find his Given, he would allow his pack to end his life. His eight hundred-odd years of leadership would mean nothing to him if he could not share his work with the one person meant to be his other half.
All that he had done and accomplished in life had been for her. She deserved safety, purpose, fulfillment, family, and anything else she thought could make her whole. His pack, he knew, would be ecstatic at the prospect of a Given. Not only for the promises of a sane leader and strong bloodline but also for the simple fact that a Lady was meant to be a nurturing, compassionate, tender soul. A Goddess Given Lady would be received much like a queen, practically worshiped for the positivity she would bring into their lives. And though they were not wanting now, though they were well off, comfortable, the worry they harbored at the thought of one day killing their beloved leader would vanish. The events that followed his death would not be pretty. A power struggle would ravage their lands, beasts from all corners of the world would converge to clash in a mighty battle that would poison their home for decades. With this discovery, their minds would be at ease.
Well, as eased as they could be under the current circumstances. He had, after all, come all this way to ask for his witch's help. He had heard of her strength and of the many she had slain in the very gardens that rested outside of her cozy walls. He had heard she was a fickle being, one moment your ally, the next a foe, though he digested such conjecture with a healthy dose of salt. The time he took doing independent research on her had painted a very different picture. It was only when he was almost completely sure of her character and moderately assured that he and his pack would not be harmed, that he took the chance. When she woke, he would tell her of the sickness that had swept through his pack lands. One that held many of his pack hostage under its heady veil. He hoped to convince her to help, and then to stay with him forever. He could only pray that she did not see the failures that plagued his heart and decide he was unworthy of her.
Once infected, things always progressed exactly the same for those in his pack, man, woman, child, elderly, or young. This plague did not discriminate. First came the headache. Then, a sore throat and runny nose. Followed quickly by a burning fever. After which, delirium would set in and bring with it horrible hallucinations of equally atrocious events. During this time, their skin would transition to a sickly yellow shade. Until finally, they fell into a deep coma, all energy seemingly sapped from their beings, but never brought to their final rest. At this point, almost a quarter of his pack had been affected. Almost fifteen thousand lay still, their families mourning what seemed like the end for those they love. Worse still, was the fact that they could not be allowed to interact with their loved ones. The illness spread more rapidly than any other that has infected their community before, a cough or sneeze, a kiss on the cheek, an intimate coupling, even particles of scent left floating in one of the public bathrooms. Though they could view them at a safe distance, touching was prohibited to prevent further affliction. Luckily, many of the first responders and medical staff that his pack employed were not shifters. This had saved them from imminent doom, for the simple fact that this plague seemed to only affect weres. A rare attribute to be certain, though not unheard of.
The Alpha continued to deliberate on the many things that occupied his mind for the rest of the night, and for a few hours after the sun had risen. The energy his mate had expended would be replenished quickly with her Given by her side or, more accurately, underneath her. What she had done yesterday was no small feat, repairing the damage each of his shifters had done in its entirety. The manipulation of living objects was her specialty and many witches could do it on a smaller scale, but it was the giving of life that was so special. The plants had been torn apart, uprooted, rent and strewn in a way no one could put back together. And yet, there they stood, swaying softly in the breeze as though last night had been a figment of his imagination. It was this skill that had pushed him to seek her out, that had driven him halfway across the world, into the peat bogs and endless foggy hills of Ireland. He was happy to find the lands, and more so the people, much tamer than when he had last been among them. During his last visit, the highlands were alive with clans of horsemen that fought over territory, women, and slaves with a fierceness that rivaled any other culture he had witnessed to date. He respected the people that lived there greatly, recognizing them as warriors. Little did he know, his precious Given was thinking about similar things.
As far as she knew, the stories of her had started long ago, (a few hundred years after he had left the area) during the time of the Yellow Plague. She, though it was unknown to humans, had been the one to stop the plague. Ireland, at that point in history, was brimming with followers of Christ. Paganism had lost its long battle and folded to the force of the Church. Life for a young girl back then, especially an orphan, would largely revolve around that structure. The shelter, stability, and community would be understandably desirable. It was because of this culture that many believed the illness to be the will of God Himself. Punishment for the sins of man. This led many to abandon their faith and service to the church.
Fearing a harsher punishment from above, she underwent a journey to the highest peak of the isle, who's name has since been lost to history. It is told that she, in a bid to be closer to God, for her prayers to reach Him clearly and quickly, ascended the mountain and knelt at its peak. She stayed there for three days and three nights, praying for the safety and health of her people. Just before dawn on the morning of the fourth day, a sudden storm ravaged the mountaintop. The thunder that resulted seemed to reach every corner of the island. When the girl woke that night, she knew immediately something was different. The light of the full moon bathed her in its glow. Her senses were overwhelmed with life. She could feel it, the thrum, the pulse, the will of all living things. She could see it all. This patch of grass was being choked by the bunch of wildflowers growing there, this bit needed more water, the hare family that made its home a few feet under her was going to lose two of their kits.
An all-encompassing urgency spurred her into action. With her hands firmly planted amongst the rough grass, her will flowed into the earth. She sought out the sick, coming to know them more intimately than she knew even herself. The first she "touched" was weak. The poor thing was cold, starved, and trying to catch its breath, though it hadn't the energy to move for many hours. A small hole, no bigger than the head of a pin, affected the baby's tiny heart. As soon as she knew that, the problem seemed to resolve. The hole closed, knitting fibers together handsomely, healthily. The second kit was afflicted with a bad bout of worms, stealing the vital nutrients from its bowels before the small thing could ingest them for itself. Just as quickly, the problem fixed itself, the life from the worms was extinguished, their will merging with that of the kit, giving it strength and vigor beyond what it had ever experienced.
She drew back from the ground, shocked and awed at new power. Surely this was a gift from God, she thought at the time. This was the answer to her prayers, it was the saving grace bestowed on her just like the ones depicted in the priests' great books. She traveled back down the mountain, full of hope and happiness. Those positivities did not last for long. When she arrived at her village and told the authorities what had happened, they thought her crazy. But when she demonstrated… When she demonstrated, they thought her a witch. Under normal circumstances, during that time, the crime was punished by ex-communication, following repentance. But these were times of plagues, times of hardship, pain, and suffering. Such things will drive any man to perform heinous acts.
It was decided amongst those of leadership that she was to be given to God as a burnt offering. They had hoped that it would appease Him and get Him to lift the plague. She remembered feeling in her stomach when they locked her away in the cold, dank cell to prepare her death's stage. The words that her friends threw at her when they dragged her through the village would forever remain in her heart. Those who had raised her, who has gained her trust, who had grown beside her, all turned their backs that night.
There was nothing that could prepare her for the feel of the fire licking at her toes. Nothing that could save her from the smell of her burning flesh. No reprieve from the sound of her skin sizzling and crackling as it boiled against her very bone. The bone that splintered and cracked with heat. But still, she did not die. Even as her lips melted from her teeth, her hair curled and danced wildly with flames, even as her eyes dripped from their sockets. She did not die. She could not die.
(A/N: Please consider looking into my Wattpad account under the same name, SageySagey, if you would like early chapter updates.)