Creative Writing: The Beast

MARA HEARD ITS heavy footsteps behind her, closing in on her with each passing second, yet she remained calm. Not a single muscle trembled inside her. Despite knowing the beast was chasing her down like a rabid dog, she was not scared of it—never had been, never will be. Spinning on her heels, she faced the creature, staring into its vibrant red eyes with a look as hard as stone, like she wanted it to attack her, to rip her skin and tear her limbs apart until she was no more than a mess of blood and skin. But there was something else in her dark eyes; a bright flame of confidence. It was as if she knew she would defeat the beast before the battle had begun, believing she could tame the worst of creatures: a werewolf.

A guttural

The beast was no longer the attacker but had been switched to being the prey, only seconds away from a certain death. But although its speed had decreased when it saw the silver arrowhead gleaming in the moonlight, it kept going toward her. Sucking in a deep breath to ensure her hands were steady, Mara kept her eyes fixated on the moving target before she let her fingers slip away from the arrow. She felt the spark of energy running through her fingertips when she sent it slicing through the air, triggering an explosion of adrenaline inside of her. It was a breathtaking experience, the familiar feeling never ending despite how many times she repeated it. A lopsided grin spread across her face as a breathy laugh passed her lips, the echo of the arrow tearing through the air before piercing the werewolf's right shoulder sounding like music to her

In the process of trying to reply, he tried to shift to a more comfortable position, to be greeted by searing agony spreading like wildfire throughout his body. Mara noticed this, the grimace crossing his face reminding her of the misery she had brought upon him. She jumped up to her feet, leaning over him to grab the left arrow out of the two, her right hand taking hold of it with delicacy; the wound from the arrow was still leaking blood, the crimson-coloured liquid trailing down his arms and dripping down on the concrete, which meant she had to be gentle to cause him as little pain as possible.

Mara sucked in a deep breath, glancing down at Ennis to see if he was ready—he gave her a quick nod. She counted down from three before she yanked her hand toward herself, tearing the arrow out of the wall. Despite the fact she tried to be cautious, she found it impossible to not use a tad of violence, so it wasn't a surprise when Ennis let out an agonized roar. She backed away from him and covered her ears in a desperate attempt to block out the booming sound, his cry piercing her ears with such ferocity that she was afraid she might get a permanent case of