Page 1 of Malcolm

Blood on the Sand

Malcolm

The fog was thick as the rain fell from the sky; the chill in the air cut right to the bone. The wind was frigid with blood lust. Malcolm looked from his blood-covered hands to the corpse that lay in the pit, a place his people had created for mock fights and battles.

“I wasn’t expecting such a mess,” The fox said as he approached the sandy pit's edge. The rain did not touch him and his long, ash-colored hair. His suit was grey, with a flashy handkerchief in his breast pocket. His golden eyes flashed onceas they lowered to look down at the maimed body at Malcolm’s feet. “I’ll only ask once. Did you kill this Alpha without issuing an official challenge?”

Malcolm squinted up at him as he sluggishly tried to come up with a response. A familiar scent caught his attention; he turned his eyes from The fox to the auditorium entrance. Three people were standing there, two of whom he didn’t know. One wore a leather and metal mask covering the lower half of his face, and the other wore a wide-brim hat that hid his face and a long leather jacket. The scent that had caught his attention belonged to the third person, who was his father, who held a short wooden staff.

“You’re the one who called them,” he said as he turned to face them. He scoffed. “My own father would turn on me?”

His father's expression tightened as he took a step forward. “Before I am your father, I am your leader, your Alderman. You not only violated the laws of the land but the rules of our pack.”

Malcolm sneered, tilting his head left. “Is that so?”

He shifted from a kneeling position to a crouch and, with immense pressure, launched himself at his father. “Die!”

“Rajin, Castian, restrain him,” The fox called.

Malcolm's roar was interrupted by the thundering sound of the ground erupting as metal chains burst from the dirt all around him just as he dodged the first four ropes of lashing chains. A hand landed on the back of his neck, and he felt himself being lifted up from the ground. His whole body was spun in the air before it was slammed down so hard that the earth under him exploded. The dust, dirt, and rock flew up all around him. The chains that hovered above zeroed in and wrapped around his limbs, pinning him to the ground. The fifth chain with a spike-tipped arrow pressed gently against his neck as if in a warning.

The man with the mask knelt in front of Malcolm, his body the size of a small giant. His hand pressed down so hard on Malcolm's neck that he could barely breathe. Those red eyes blazed, and the pale skin slowly turned red. Blood lust thickened in the air.

With his free hand, he reached up and pulled his mask down, revealing his mouth filled with a row of sharp teeth. He breathed heavily and leaned down close to Malcolm’s face.

“Stop fighting," he ordered.

After replacing the mask and removing his hand, he stood and drew back, his size diminishing as he walked away.

Malcolm coughed, still struggling.

“Get these off me. Get them off! me. I’ll kill you,” he yelled, his murderous eyes on his father, who held on tightly to the staff in his hands.

“Tsk, Tsk,” Leather shoes cut off his view of his father before one lifted and kicked him across the face. He lifted his wide eyes to glare at the grinning Fox. “I didn’t take you for a fool.” He crouched down so that he was closer to Malcolm. He lifted one finger, his claw perfectly white and curved. “Here’s the deal, Malcolm. Your father has turned you over to us, the council.” He smirked. “But I have an offer for you.”

“Fuck you, I don’t want anything to do with you and your stinking rats,” Malcolm shouted.

“Oh, but it’s such a good deal,” the Fox crooned. “We can toss you into the bowels where nothing, not even sound, can penetrate. Or you can work for me.” He leaned closer. “Which will it be?”

Malcolm wanted to curse him out and tell him to shove his offer. Yet, the pressure coming off the Ogre standing at a distance and the wild air of madness coming from the warlock gave him an understanding of what would happen if he declinedthe offer. He was outnumbered and tired after killing the pack Alpha. There was no way he could escape.

He gritted his teeth, hating that he was being forced to choose between losing everything or being shackled in the bowels for the council. One fuck up and he was forced to sell his pride, honor, and even his place among his people. His hands opened and closed as he mulled over his choice.

“—Do it.”

“Hmm,” The Fox turned his head, placing a hand behind his ear, “What was that?”

“I said I’d do it, you damn demon.” He yelled, sounding frustrated.

“Good,” the Fox stood, placing his hand into his pants pockets. “Then let us get going; we’ve much to do.”

Malcolm gasped; his body was weaker than he’d first assumed; just as his anger reduced, so did his strength. It had been too long since his last hunt, and as he soullessly stared ahead, the large ogre returned to the Fox yokai's side; he had no fight left in his body.

Forcing himself up, he came to his feet and eyed the Fox, “Can you tell me what authority sent you?”

“Authority,” a snide British voice cut in; it was the warlock. Malcolm could only see his thick, curly brown hair that peaked from under his hat. The warlock tipped the edge of his hat up. “You must be new to how the council works. They don’t need anything to begrantedto them. Face it, your kind sold you out,” he said, his dark eyes glancing at his father, who averted his gaze. Those dark eyes returned to his face. “Be glad that you get to avoid the black hell called the bowels.”

With that, he turned and walked into the dense fog surrounding them, disappearing from sight.

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