Work in Progress - WiP Exclusive share with Steemit.

Please forgive any errors, typos, grammar etc, this is hot off the word processor and the first first draft.

Red spotted the woman she had come to meet before the other had chance to see her. Red knew she was the one she was looking for even though the distinctive and unmistakable scar was hidden. She knew it was her by a number of things that set her apart from the others in the room. The woman’s bearing was the main factor, she was high-born and wore the fact with pride – although to most people in the room, it would seem as though she was arrogant and so she sat alone.

Source

It was convenient that she had chosen the corner booth to sit in; she could see the main entrance and therefore, everyone that came through the door so that she wouldn’t be surprised. What she didn’t know about Red was that she knew most of the door staff in all of the clubs in the town centre and she didn’t have to use the main entrance.
Red decided to drop her cloaking for a brief moment to test the woman and she smiled as the woman froze in her movement to pick up her glass.

Red was within a few paces of the booth before the woman turned her head enough to allow Red to see the distinctive and disturbing scar.

Even with the advanced warning, it made Red’s eyes widen and she saw the woman’s hard smile in response to her shock. The scar was vivid and puckered, it hadn’t been repaired by an expert surgeon and it had not healed well. It ran from under the left side of her chin, up through her cheek and on through her left eye and eyebrow into her hairline where it finished with what seemed to be a flourishing stroke. It wasn’t the product of a sword or knife fight, the slash was not clean and it had not been swift. The scar had been deliberate and designed to cause immense agony. It was jagged as it passed through the flesh of her cheek, almost as though the victim had been allowed to move at that point in the torture.

Source

Red had seen a great deal of scars in her time but not many that had been inflicted with such malicious and obvious cruelty. The woman’s eye remained in its socket but it was opaque and dull, as opposite to her other eye as one could imagine. The right eye was bright and sparkled with intelligence; its gaze followed Red’s progress towards the booth.
The scar was also ragged as it passed into the hairline. Red thought that it was a flourish of the blade used, perhaps an extra callous flick of the wrist by her torturer but as she got closer, she could see that the cause was more likely to be from the woman’s violent struggle even as the cut was being inflicted. The scar caused an unusual phenomenon in that her hair, when it grew back, was devoid of all colour, it was a bright white in startling contrast to the rest of the woman’s raven black hair.

The Wolf had been tortured before being brought over and red was curious on a number of counts:

Why had she been so deliberately and viciously scarred?

Who had inflicted the wound on her?

And the most important question – what had happened to the ones that had given her that scar?

Red could tell that she was not self-conscious of it, she was very aware of the affect it had on people when they saw it for the first time but it was worn with a great deal of pride – it was a badge of honour, a visible proof that she had gone through unimaginable hell and had survived.

Red had heard stories of the Wolf she now faced, but she had never had the opportunity to meet face to face. They had never had cause or reason to – until now.

Red nodded to the woman with respect and the hard smile softened as she returned the nod.

“Sentinel, please join me,” she indicated to the seat at her side.

Red didn’t move toward the seat, instead she spoke to the stranger. “Princess Miryana, it is an honour to meet you at last.”

“Ah, it was but a matter of time,” the princess replied in a soft and perhaps wistful tone. “I am grateful that you agreed to meet with me, knowing that we have ever been on opposing sides of the political fence as it were.”

“I hate politics,” Red said, repeating one of her oft-mentioned opinions.

Miryana nodded as though she understood and even sympathised with the opinion.

Red continued to stand and she studied the princess. Miryana was nothing like any princess that graced the pages of either a fairy story or the celebrity pages, this princess came from a time when if the going got tough, the tough got going – or they got dead.

“As I understand it, you have moved through Europe at quite a pace over the past few months. It is almost as though you have a purpose,” Red said. Her voice was calm and not confrontational, she kept it measured and even as she spoke to the newcomer, there was no need to antagonise the Wolf and so Red waited with a Master Chess Player’s patience.

Miryana was about to answer but her attention was diverted towards the bar. Red had already sensed the Wolves arriving, even with her back turned but Miryana had not, until just then. Perhaps it was a lack of concentration, but Red didn’t believe so, Miryana, for all her years, was deficient in some ways and Red found that fact interesting.

Miryana didn’t wish to chance any Wolf overhearing their conversation, that was obvious and so Red waited until the other was satisfied. Red looked around, the Wolves seemed to be there by chance rather than design. They moved away once they had been served at the bar and Miryana relaxed. “I have a purpose,” she said, but if Red had expected an explanation, she was going to be disappointed; she could tell by the princess’s tone that she was reticent.

Red said nothing but she waited.

The two women facing each other were both powerful and deadly Wolves and though it was true that princess Miryana was older than Red by two thousand years or more, both also knew that in this particular case, even the two millennia wouldn’t be an advantage. Red had the Prophecy on her side and Miryana had a whole bushel of facts weighing against her, the one with the biggest impact was embroiled in her scar – how she had received it and what had happened after. Red may not have ever met her, but the legend of Princessa Miryana was a tale of awe and adversity. If half the stories were true, then Miryana had a lot of catching up to do. Red would have to be exceptionally careful that she didn’t get caught up in the war that had waged between the Ancient princess and whoever it was that she was seeking. Red didn’t need any more complications in her life, especially not the kind of complications that Miryana brought with her.

“A purpose, huh? With all due respect, I hope that it keeps on moving at the same pace as it’s been moving thus far. As I said, I hate politics but I am not averse to jumping off this fence in order to preserve my own, shall we say peace of mind?”

Miryana looked deep into Red’s eyes, her gaze never faltered, though it did flicker back and forth as she studied Red and made sense of her words. “I make no promises, Sentinel Exemplar. I have travelled far in both time and distance. I shall not easily be swayed from my course.”

“Yet you made the effort to contact me to let me know that you had arrived in my territory.”

“A mere gesture of polite respect, I assure you.”

“Then allow me to assure you, Miryana, I value my aforementioned peace of mind highly.”

Red’s eyes flashed a warning to the other Wolf and if she had not yet understood, or if she had in any way underestimated the Sentinel Exemplar beforehand, this was the time to take a new viewpoint and reassess the situation.

Source

The dark haired Wolf nodded her appreciation of the extra chance and Red responded in kind, she nodded a farewell, seemingly satisfied for the moment at least, and took her leave of the Ancient legend.

Red went from the club to her car which was parked on the large expanse of pavement reserved for certain patrons.

She opened the door of her car, leaned forward to yank a leaflet from under the windshield wiper, got in and drove off.

She wasn’t best-pleased. Instead of requesting leave to enter England and especially the Midlands, which was specifically the Lycaeon’s home territory and therefore sacrosanct, Miryana had figured that it was easier to gain forgiveness for her trespass than permission for entry.

Red was also curious. Many stories circulated about Miryana, more than a few were supported by hard facts and evidence, but there were some stories that were never told, how she had become Wolf, for example and who had given her that terrible scar.