It was in the early hours of the morning, sometime in the stretch between the witching hour and the rising of the sun. The gray wolf had been evading her captors for a time, and having reached what she could only call home, she had called upon the guardian spirits of the forest to shroud her location. She had then retreated to a rock formation near a river and, tired from her running, she had hesitantly lain her head down to rest.
She woke with no inkling of trouble in her area, and blamed the rustling trees for rousing her. She then poked her nose out from the undergrowth, sniffing the air. Sensing no further danger, she slid out from the shelter of rocks quietly, carefully, checking to see none noticed her hiding place. She turned around to look at the cluster of bushes which hid her cave. She circled her dwelling clockwise, then counter-clockwise and clockwise again, singing a short tune in her mind. Satisfied at performing her spell perfectly, she scanned her surroundings before setting out to hunt.
An alarm went off in her head, her senses screaming, "They're back!" She had only seconds to react when a spear impaled the ground a few inches from her. A whimper escaped her throat when she instantly recognized the spear's intricate design, carved in both its pole and flint head.
They killed Dezba, she thought-cried to herself. Another projectile, this time a bolt of green flame, brought her back to reality as she jumped to avoid near death. Though she could not see her attackers she knew exactly where they were, and immediately she took off running as fast as her four legs could take her.
"She's getting away!" whined a female voice which seemed to originate from a small sparrow perched on a high birch branch. It flew down quietly and as it landed its body began to grow, its wings taking the shape of human hands, its talons thickening into human legs. "Get her!" she yelled, her beak having transformed into a whole mouth, to a bunch of unassuming foliage. At the sound of her voice, the illusion of greenery began to fade away, apparently controlled by a hand revealed inside. As more of the illusion disappeared, two men could be seen: one, a tall, dark-haired, black-eyed, handsome man with evident Italian descent; the other more brutish and muscular, with long blond locks and strikingly blue eyes, leaning towards a Nordic appearance. Both were dressed accordingly, the first in all black sweater, slacks and shoes, the second wearing a long gray coat over a maroon shirt, brown pants and loafers.
"Don't worry, Cat. She can't run forever," said the dark-haired man to the now naked woman, the traces of her feral form having vanished completely. He and Cat shared the same black hair, narrow eyes and chiseled features, verifying their relationship as brother and sister. The three also seemed to be a common age, although age did not hold well with the lives of the living dead.
The elements, on the other hand, did. A soft breeze was carried by the flowing water, making the female warlock shiver, struck by the sudden cold that her transformation had left her vulnerable to. The blond demon moved towards her, removing his coat to cover her. She wrapped the cloth around her, eyeing her brother expectantly. When he made no move to respond, she hissed, "Tony. My clothes?"
Tony shrugged indifferently, entertaining himself with his sister's suffering. He then waved his hand over a patch of dirt, lifting the glamour off of the duffel bag beside him.
"Give me that," snarled Cat, ripping open the bag to change into more comfortable apparel: a pink turtleneck, blue jeans and black boots.
"You know, I like you even better without them on," said the blond, clutching Cat closer to his lumbering frame.
"Later, Kian, darling. Later," she cooed, letting her long nails play with the buttons on her lover's shirt as she squeezed into her pants.
"Cut the crap," muttered Tony to his two companions. "We have a situation."
"I thought you said not to worry?" queried Cat coolly.
"I was wrong," he admitted gravely. "She's going to get help."
"From who? Witches? Problems easily killed," replied Kian.
"Still. We can't afford people knowing about us. Everyone knows who the Old Ones are, even though everyone thinks they aren't real. That's why we kept it to the three of us, remember? Demons will be breathing down our necks once they find out."
"They don't know that the Old Ones could-" Cat began to say, before a hand clapped her mouth.
"Hush, Catarina," warned Kian. "Some spirits of the wild can talk. And the wolf may be able to speak their tongue."
Wide-eyed, Cat looked at the two men with her, as Kian allowed her to talk. "So what do we do?"
"She's bound to use her magic again," answered Tony. "I don't think she'll be able to convince any witch as a wolf. When she does, we find her, we kill her, then the power of all the Old Ones will be as good as ours."