Wolf Endangered (Willow's Forbidden Pack #2) - Avery Song Page 0,160

Willow to sleep against my shoulder.

It didn't wake her up, and I smiled at her serene face as I lifted my hand to look at my watch. The way I smiled should have been sin itself as the anticipation began to build. I hadn't fought with my other side of energy in a good while.

With Willow resting, it was the perfect opportunity to do exactly that.

"Fifteen minutes," I quietly sang.

"Willow?"

Fourteen minutes had passed and our Blossoming Flower was still sleeping away. She didn't need to be awake to see what was about to transpire, but maybe I wanted to show off just a little.

With a slight smile, I leaned in to press a kiss to her forehead, and slowly moved so I could lay her onto the bench. Slipping my coat off, I laid it upon her upper half, taking a moment to admire just how serene she looked.

It felt weird to acknowledge how life was before Willow. Days and nights blended together: screams for mercy, blood cleaning, negotiations, and going to who we needed to pay "visits" to - just to ensure they knew of our capabilities.

I doubt Willow knew just how dangerous the Forbidden Pack was, especially when she only got a taste of our world of shifter mayhem. She got her glimpse of Neo's insanity, but she didn't see what he did in the midst of the night.

Didn't see the wall of blood paintings of valuable enemies we'd decimated. I always pondered about it, if she'd be disgusted by us when she unlocked each door that led to the pits of our dark pasts.

Pasts. Funny. Aren't we still living it?

I began to roll up my sleeves, my eyes still admiring our sleeping beauty. I could tell from here that the perimeter was now closed off, which meant in a minute, this place would be infested with whatever our enemies decided to send at us.

It was too fucking amusing, honestly. Did they think because Willow was with me that I would be afraid to kill? A soft chuckle left me before I realized it.

Tugging at my tie to loosen it completely, I laid the silk along Willow's neck. I left it loose, knowing I'd put it back on later, and began to stretch while I conjured a barrier around Willow.

I was sure the enemies that were sent would be stupid and go for Willow first. That was how it always went. They’d go for the weakest link.

Another chuckle left me.

As if Willow were weak.

Since she was sleeping, she was considered vulnerable, so what better way to end a battle than by attacking the weak first and making the strong lose enough concentration to fuck up?

That's not happening.

The barrier held an invisibility property, so let them gather and fight against its protective walls. All it would do was aid me in killing them faster.

I hadn't used my dark magic in a good while – months, to be fair. Many mistook Dark Lords for wolf shifters like Onyx who could manipulate their spaces and hide in the shadows. Sure, I could port from one place to the other, but it wasn't with the help of the shadows.

I'm the commander of the plague of darkness, tugging on the strands of people's darkest emotions that surround the atmosphere of the world no one can see with the human eye.

Dark Lord wolves were one of the rarest of our kind. Some loved to say we were born in pits of thick, black blood. The loss of those from various races that were slain unjustly were collected from the ground with light magic and secured in a specific sanctuary for our birth.

Due to the word "Dark," most people assumed we were evil. I wouldn't discount the word or intentions some of our kind carried, but we were born in the blood of the fallen, and our role was to come to the world and deliver justice. Reap the evil upon these lands. Foresee the moves of those who wastefully sacrificed life for their selfish benefits.

Destroy those who dare wish for the world's ruin.

My role at the church was the opposite side of myself. Without good, there surely wouldn't be evil, and thus I was a balance of good and bad.

Saint who donates to various charities, uses light magic to protect, and wears white with most outfits, versus Saint of the darkness, the man who enjoys black silk and spilling the blood of all those who defy the world's order.

With my sleeves rolled up, arms