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©️Way of the Wolf

Michi Tala

Chapter 1: Dreams go wrong

Warnings: (slowburn🍋) extreme violence (its Alucard)

Coitus m/f, claiming kink. MIN🚫RS STILL D🚫 N🚫T INTERACT‼️

❎Trigger Warning! 'demon king' showing age difference inappropriate affection. Does not have sexual components beyond Language hinted, kissing and body touch over veins.

An example changed perception to age of consent. His time was 12-14 years of age. Information at end on this subject. Just goes to show how somethings were pretty messed up for young girls and age of consent.

~•‡*•~ From the time you could toddle, your mother told you wild and fantasiful tales about the fae, witches and the one that scared you the most of all...vampires. You would fall asleep quickly, to little girl crushes, on the pretty ones like the King Favarra, king of the fae in Connacht. You could have sworn you dreamed once of him standing at the foot of your bed, speaking with your mother. You woke up to their voices. He whispered in your mind, 'Go back to sleep littlest one and soon it would all be revealed to you, in time.'

†

For years you had sweet dreams and sometimes absurd, laughable ones then one moonless night, a dream started. It was no dream in fact but a nightmare, that you could never shake. A king with eyes of burning hellfire, ordering men into bloody battle, as tall stakes raised impaled bodies high on the battlefield. His hair was the color of black coal, that blew wildly in the wind of a coming storm. A magnificent black warhorse shifted uneasily under him. His blood soaked tabbot, bore a coat of arms but you never were given the chance to see it clearly.

†

You swore you could smell the blood. You could hear the screams of the dying. The sight, of his wicked smile, made your blood grow cold. At first, the nightmare dragged on and you seemed to only be an observer, as is the case of most of your dreams. You are usually a little spy, on the activities going on, like dances and feasts. The ones that feature the fae is when they seem to nod silently and acknowledge your presence, but none approach.

†

Then you can see your feet in fur boots, walking among the dead of the battlefield. Everything feels so real and it is if you are looking through your own eyes. You hold your hands up, woolen sleeves ending in fur, to see them shaking from the gore in the nightmare. Why can't you wake up?

†

•Is this no longer your nightmare but another's sick and twisted dream?

†

Your focus jerks away from your hands to the sound of a warhorse splashing through guts, blood and muddy earth torn up. You spin around in horror to see the demon king, that's what you will call him from this nightmare on, looking down from his giant black stallion.

His eyes burn with a violent mix of reds, of oranges and touches of yellow to accentuate the meld of hellfire colors. One would think Hellfire was simply glowing beady red eyes, almost dead like, in expression. Demon king's held terrible cunning and wicked schemes to dance in them.

†

His long tresses of raven black hair, cascade down his shoulders, messy but beautiful all the same. The metallic creaks snap you out of your observations. His burning eyes seem to 'drink' in your features too. You're just an eight year old, what could he find to hold his attention, a man...a demon such as him?

~•‡•~

'Catelusul mic esti pierdut? (little puppy are you lost?)' the demon king asks with fangs showing.

'Sir, I...aah,my mother says I shouldn't talk to strangers...'' then you bolt past him, the demon king at least has to turn his stallion around to give chase.

†

You hear the rushing of blood and feel your heart pounding in the cage of your chest. These bodily sounds in your ears are deafening but worst is on the outside, the pounding of horse's hooves and the deep, deep maniacal laugh of the king on board his horse.

~•‡•~

'Unde te duci fetiță? (where are you going little girl)' his voice rings out. ' Nu vă voi face rău (I won't hurt you)...'

You have no idea the language or words. It seems to be from a group called the romantic languages like French. You don't plan on sticking around, long enough, to be getting taught the language today either...

~•‡•~

'În mod normal, am vâna fel jos și sacrificare le fără grijă, dar tu...' Normally I hunt your kind down and slaughter them without care, but you...) his voice carries far across the battlefield. It seems the very dead could still hear his voice to take orders.

†

Now your lungs burn and you wish he would do whatever he plans to do or let you go. Though somehow, you know he's enjoying this little chase. He's studying you. Measuring your weight, adding up your potential or perhaps the will to fight? To live?

†

You shall measure it by putting something through his heart or he will cut you down.

~•†•~

'Lup mic nu există nicăieri la run...place puteți ascunde de mine...(little wolf there is nowhere to run...no place you can hide from me.) his deep, rumbling voice calls to you then ends with a laugh, that you find far from merry.

†

•No more running, time to make a stand...

†

You zig left to negotiate through the obstacle course of bodies, just enough his horse has to slow and step over them. That gives the opportunity to zag back out again. What were empty shaking hands are now strong little ones, with a death grip, on a stout polearm, called an Awl Pike. Though not designed for facing a single cavalryman it will do terrible damage, if you wield, well enough.. You make a meanacing motion at him with the Pike as you growl.

~•‡•~

'Ce ai de gând să faci cu acel cățel? Abia îl puteți ține nemișcat...(what are you going to do with that pup? You can barely hold it still) he chuckled. "Ai curaj unul mic (you have courage little one)'

†

You continue to bait him. The demon king turns his stallion one way then the other to move over and around corpses. Finally the stallion's body is turned sideways and close enough to you. Demon king prepares for your strike to his chest. You strike low, hard and fast, your full weight used to fall towards, onto the side of the horse.

†

The dark laughter stops, when his hand doesn't need to bat the awl Pike away or that it's not him taking the damage. The Pike pierces his lower right calf, at a weak spot in the armour. The Awl Pike continues through his muscular leg into the stallion's side to pierce the warhorse's lung. You leave the Pike in both of them and being on a side hill, the dying horse toppled over and rolled onto the demon king. He's pinned from the hip down under his horse. His long torn, red cloak is also caught under the death throes of his horse.

†

Yet the demon king seems unphased, even calm one might say...

~•‡•~

" lupușor? Lup mic, cât de inteligent ești. Veți vedea din nou pentru că nu există nici o evadare de la mine, Kazikli Bey (Little wolf, how clever you are. You will see me again for there is no escape from me),' his laugh menacing but in a far worse way.

†

Now his cold, black heart has an unending desire to hunt and kill you. No not kill, but hunt and devour you in other ways, so much more dark and carnal in nature.

†

You wake from the nightmare to your mother and the 'country' doctor, standing at your bed. Your body has been sweating blood and running a high fever. You thought it was the morning of the terrible dream but it has been three days. The doctor pronounces you on the mend but your mother isn't so sure. After a small breakfast, your mom asks you to describe this demon king to her. So not thinking much of it, other than it's a creepy man in your dream, you describe him.

†

"He's tall, even on the stallion. His strong legs reach down far like he is tall as father was. I remember his ebony hair is wild and blowing in the wind. So long it is that it must come past his waist. An arming sword is at his waist but I can't make out his coat of arms. His face is pale as moonlight with a mustache and beard." You take a breath, "But his eyes are like hellfire. No, more like molten lava, rolling and spiraling around in a whirlpool fashion and the sounds of cries, like trapped souls can be heard in the background. His smile is wicked with sharp fangs like a human wolf..."

†

Your mom pats your hand, to reassure you, "Oh, he is no wolf my beloved daughter...."

†

"He called himself Ka..Kazil-.."

†

Your mom places her hand over your mouth, so fast you didn't even know, her hand could move that fast. Your body jerks a little. You have never seen her order you so harshly either. "Do not speak that name! Ever! You do not speak names from dreams..."

†

"But what about King Favarra?' you whine.

†

"Well, not really him either but he's not a demon in a nightmare honey, " your mother smiled. "Rest my daughter."

†

You knew the 'man' dressed in black armor and pearly teeth was evil. That couldn't be contested. He was a demon king because you didn't know what else to call him. You didn't believe in vampires.

†

• He couldn't then be one, a vampire, you thought.

†

That was the age of eight and now you have a nightmare at least once a week about the demon king. The weeks that you are stressful beyond belief, demon king seems to take greater delight and visits you almost every night. He gives you history lessons and teaches you his language, though you refuse to speak it in the dreams. He gets angry but knows it is your nature to fight him. To rebel and test limits is normal and to be expected,his little wolf pup. It is one of your most enduring things, he loves you.

†

💢 Trigger ↓Location💢

(~•May skip•~)

The worst of the nightmares is when he tries to console your pain from being bullied at school. Molten hellfire eyes drink in your growing body and his licking of lips when he sees your barely covered body. His body wrapping around yours, what should make you feel protected from the world, begs the question, who will make safe from him? And the terrible, deep voice that lulls you to sleep with words of love mixed with rumbling purrs. So strong you feel the vibration from his chest.

†

When his large, sharp fangs drag on your skin as he whispers the unknown language, telling you of his tortured past. All those who betrayed him. Would you attempt such despicable acts and disappoint him. What can a twelve year old girl say but 'no sir'.

†

His kisses of your skin and gestures, choice of words are highly suggestive. When cool fingers trace your veins, over your skin and dare to get near intimate areas but don't quite do it. It's all a show of his restraint and the threat of what he could be doing, to you. The point is not missed. Then the rest of the nightmare is forgotten.

†

Your mother always says that it's just terrible night terrors. They seem so vivid, his purring growls in your ear and the occasional wet kiss to your skin or faint scratch of a fang. The most noticeable part that is hard to deny, his bulge in his pants...

~•‡•~

...Since when did night terrors, have raging hard ons and behave like a frustrated lion, with it's vocal sounds?

Footnotes:

Age of Consent in History

The first recorded age-of-consent law dates from 1275 in England; as part of its provisions on rape, the Statute of Westminster 1275 made it a misdemeanor to "ravish" a "maiden within age," whether with or without her consent. The phrase "within age" was later interpreted by jurist Sir Edward Coke (England, 17th century) as meaning the age of marriage, which at the time was twelve years of age.[5]

The American colonies followed the English tradition, and the law was more of a guide. For example, Mary Hathaway (Virginia, 1689) was only nine when she was married to William Williams.[6] Sir Edward Coke "made it clear that the marriage of girls under 12 was normal, and the age at which a girl who was a wife was eligible for a dower from her husband's estate was 9 even though her husband be only four years old."[3]

The investigative journalist William Thomas Stead of the Pall Mall Gazette was pivotal in exposing the problem of child prostitution in the London underworld through a publicity stunt. In 1885 he "purchased" one victim, Eliza Armstrong, the thirteen-year-old daughter of a chimney sweep, for five pounds and took her to a brothel where she was drugged. He then published a series of four exposés entitled The Maiden Tribute of Modern Babylon, which shocked its readers with tales of child prostitution and the abduction, procurement, and sale of young English virgins to Continental "pleasure palaces". The "Maiden Tribute" was an instant sensation with the reading public, and Victorian society was thrown into an uproar about prostitution.

Fearing riots on a national scale, the Home Secretary, Sir William Harcourt, pleaded in vain with Stead to cease publication of the articles. A wide variety of reform groups held protest meetings and marched together to Hyde Park demanding that the age of consent be raised. The government was forced to propose the Criminal Law Amendment Act 1885, which raised the age of consent from thirteen to sixteen and clamped down on prostitution.[8]

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