On Swift Wings

On Swift Wings On Swift Wings

Status: Finished

Genre: Romance

Details

Status: Finished

Genre: Romance

Summary

Hazel Jennings didn't expect her first day of college to go perfectly. What she didn't expect was getting sucked back in time...or possibly another dimension...and straight into the arms of the powerful Malcolm Storm. A savage warrior with irresistible passion.

Summary

Hazel Jennings didn't expect her first day of college to go perfectly. What she didn't expect was getting sucked back in time...or possibly another dimension...and straight into the arms of the powerful Malcolm Storm. A savage warrior with irresistible passion.

Chapter1 (v.1) - On Swift Wings

Author Chapter Note

Hazel Jennings didn't expect her first day of college to go perfectly. What she didn't expect was getting sucked back in time...or possibly another dimension...and straight into the arms of the powerful Malcolm Storm. A savage warrior with irresistible passion.

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: April 28, 2013

Reads: 878

Comments: 1

A A A | A A A

Chapter Content - ver.1

Submitted: April 28, 2013

A A A

A A A

Prologue: Victory at the Gate

The men waited on the crest of the hill, the steeds they were mounted on shifting uneasily. The scent of war was in the air, a sharp wild smell that made the heart beat and the thirst for blood rage. War was in man’s blood. It festered there like a sickness, urging that primal need for battle and hands slippery with blood.

The sun began to spread its buttery rays across the horizon as the garrison was given the signal to move. As one, they road forward silently like a wall of death across the grassy plain. In the distance, the stone walls of the citadel loomed closer, the occupants still sleeping soundly within. His horse jerked his great head against the reigns, eager to begin the battle. Yes, even the horses thirsted for carnage.

He quieted the beast with a pat of his mail clad hand and they moved on, like centaurs, passing through the tall whispering grass. As the dawn awakened and splintered its light across the land, he thought: It is a red day. A day destined to spill blood. Ahead the looming gates of the castle appeared and his grip tightened on the reigns. The weight of his sword felt good against his hip. It was the weight of death.

 

 

He could taste the sharp bite of blood on his tongue. The sounds of war raged all around him. Sweat beaded on his palms where he grasped the hilt of his sword. "Victory, we have victory!" screamed a voice over the chaos of death. It was joyous, wild and inhuman. He was caught up in the horror and shrieks of battle. In a way, he was no longer human. He knew the amulet was theirs. There was no more need to hold back, he could slaughter with abandon.

The challenging cries of warriors as they lay dying on the field, blood in their throats--it was glorious. The silver flame of his sword flickered through bone and sinew, cutting through flesh effortlessly. Blood sprayed onto the steps of the citadel. Their heads rolled. His ears overflowed with the frightened cries of horses, the clash of steel against steel.

He vaguely noticed there was blood coating his chest. It dripped from the armor and glistened wetly in the late morning sun. The smoke filled air felt rough and good in his chest. He liked the feel of blood on his skin; it almost comforted him to stick his hands in it.  "Malcolm!" shouted a voice at the bottom of the steps, "Malcolm block, block!"

He didn't have enough time. He swung his blade as a last attempt to deflect the blow as it came crashing down. The black claymore was lightening quick. It glanced off the steel of his sword and slashed across his face. The edge of the metal so fine he didn't feel the cut at first.

Hot, stinging blood was in his eyes. His face burned--his chest burned. The salty fluid blazed in his throat like molten metal. Or maybe it was the pain that seared. It didn't matter, he knew no more.


© Copyright 2017 Alyce Willoughby. All rights reserved.

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