King Lycan's Fateful Love

The gloomy misty streets had long been deserted for the night. No one dares to be outside so late into the night with the fullness of the moon overhead. Hush whispers of the evil that lurks in the shadows did well to keep most of the human race indoors and out of the danger of the night. 

A lone dark figure silently moves through the shadows as if he were one with them. He made no sound as he walked over the uneven cobblestones, not even his black cloak moving in the gentle breeze daring to betray him. His features were hidden beneath his thick black cloak, its hood casting his small oval-shaped face in deep shadow. He moves with swiftness and purpose in his determined stride as he makes his way through the dark, deserted streets. Anywho did happen to cast a glance upon him and quickly turn their gaze away, even the bravest of men would cower before the power and strength radiating from the cloaked figure. 

The cloaked figure hesitates a moment in the stillness of the night, looking up at the moon in its full glory and shifting edgily. Although the moon didn't cause his kind to transform involuntarily as it had in the beginning centuries of his race, the moon still held her call to his kind, urging them to join her in the night and to honor her with the glory of the hunt. His tanned skin prickled; hungry for the run of the wild but he hungers for far more than the run. He hungers for blood, although it wouldn't be the blood of humans as his beast desires like those he had for so long called enemy fed upon; he would satisfy his bloodthirst with the blood of the plump deer that fill the woods beyond the city walls. His kind didn't belong in the cities of men. No, his kind needed the freedom and solitude of the thick forests which thanks to the ever-reaching hand of men were becoming smaller and further between. 

Casting a glance over his broad shoulder, he searches the shadows for any sign of movement or danger. For so long he and his people had been burdened with the weight of the paranoia of enemies waiting to pounce from the shadows. 

Unfortunately though, so often this was so, especially for him, the strongest and most fear warrior of his race. He was young but skill, strong and driven. He had yet to be best since he had been a pup. 

Drawing in a deep breath, he tasted the air. He trusted his sense of smell more than he trusted his sight. The eyes could be deceiving but the nose couldn't. He could smell the drunk that had staggered by barely fifty minutes before and the feminine scent of the woman who had been with him over the usual scent of the city streets; it was a scent that was always the same no matter the city, vomit, urine, alcohol, sickness and human waste. He could smell the beef stew in the house eight doors upwind from him, the scent of sour milk from the nursing woman further up the street, and the sickly smell of the city rats below his feet in the sewers. 

The scent of humans was all that there was. Once satisfied that he had been neither followed nor was being watched, he walks silently to an old but sturdy door and knocks upon it three times. 

It was at this door that the scent of mortals vanishes beneath the much stronger scent of the other intelligent races that dwell upon the earth. One left the unmistakable scent of fresh blood but not the scent of lifeblood the fallen carried on their flesh and night while the other left the scent of the forests and fresh damp earth. The scents were undetectable to the mortal race but to one such as he the scents were unmistakable. 

Long moments pass before the door creaks loudly as it opens to reveal the largest man he has seen in many years. He towers over him a good foot and his massive bulky frame would have bested thirteen men in a bar brawl. This was a man of strength and warrior's skill, a man no mortal man would dare to mess with unless it was their wish to end their time upon this earth but he was no mortal man and despite his greater size and strength, he was no threat to him. The shadow was a far greater danger than the Goliath. The large man studied him for a long silent moment before he stepped back further into the dwelling, allowing him entrance. 

The large man didn't make eye contact with the cloaked man but kept his head bowed respectfully. 

Unlike the mortal race, the immortal races, the Lycan and Vampire kind, most of which were hunters and warriors, knew when they were in the presence of a force greater than themselves and the shadow had a feeling that this man shows respect to very few. 

Goliath's might and intimidating demeanor were the reason for his presence that night; he was the ideal choice for a guard to keep the mortals away. 

The man who was nothing more than a dark shadow entered without any more regard to the Goliath at the door and made his way through the modest mortal-built house until he came to a door in the kitchen. Anywho look upon it would have believed that it was the door to nothing more than a small closet which held a few brooms or maybe even a small pantry but when the man opened the door, a broom closest nor a pantry was revealed. Instead, a dimly lit descending stone staircase was revealed in the darkness. 

Without hesitating, the cloaked figure steps down onto the top stair and looks down into the darkness, seeing through it clearly as if it were as lit by the light of day. Closing the door behind him, he slowly and warily descended the staircase, knowing that two large men, similar in size to the goliath who had opened the door stood guard at the bottom of the staircase. He paid them no heed as he swept past them towards another door of which steams of golden light shone from beneath. The smell of ash hit his nose and he knew a fire was burning on the other side of the door, his ear picking up the occasional crackle of the flames devouring wood in their hot golden glory.