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Zakhar licked his long tongue over the points of his canines, and snapped his jaw in annoyance. This creature, this [i]Lady of Ice[/i] was a fool. 

“We do not answer to you, Ice Queen,” Zakhar spat, his voice heavy with a thick Slavic accent and the guttural sounds of a werewolf. “The Lupus Naturae partnered with you, to further both of our ends; we bring to you the means to free Fenris, and you aid us culling the defiled from the world.”

Zakhar snarled. “Never was is stated that I bow to your whims.”

The Lady of Ice looked down from her seat on the dais to the massive and beautiful wolf-man that stood before her. His coat was snow white, save for the puckering of scars, and a single, thin black line, that ran from the tip of his nose, and down to the base of his bushy tail. The hair about his large wolf’s head was thick, and bristled from his neck almost like the mane of a lion. His physical prowess was impressive, but The Lady was not the least bit intimidated.

“You are not serving my whims, wolf,” she said in a slow and intensely stunning voice. “You are merely fulfilling your end of the bargain. Release him.”

Zakhar growled. “The Lupus Naturae will give you the [i]means[/i] to free the god-wolf, it is your task alone to act upon those means.”

The wolf thought that he must restrain himself. Though she appeared as fragile and delicately resplendent as a China doll, the gorgeous creature that looked down from her frozen throne was no defenseless flower. Zakhar was in her realm, and the only thing that was keeping him alive was the power granted him by the Lupus Naturae. Without the unspoken threat of their retribution, Zakhar would have already been dead. Probably convinced to slit his own throat, or worse, by The Lady’s iced and sugary words.

She stared back at him with her crystalline eyes, unspeaking for several long moments. The wolves were nothing more than cursed dogs in her estimation, and she cared not a whit for their campaign of genocide. They were the lot of them barbarians, carrying of the thin façade of a society, with their pompous tribal leaders and their packs of roving mongrels. If she did not need them, she would enjoy eradicating their filth from the Veiled World. 

A slight smile tugged at her porcelain face. In a short time she would not have to eradicate anyone, for the coming storm would accomplish all of that for her. These wolves were so blinded by their hatred and fear that they would fail to see what their own hubris was bringing to the world until it was too late. 

“Let us not hang ourselves upon technicalities, dog,” The Lady said. “Do not insult me by trying to pretend that the Lupus Naturae does not also wish the emancipation of the great god-wolf.” She leaned forward upon her throne, a delicate eyebrow rising as she did. “Your kind is simply too afraid to do it yourselves.”

The hackles upon Zakhar’s neck rose at The Lady’s insult. He took a step forward, a clawed finger pointing to her. “Watch your tongue, witch. That is a cavalier claim you place on my kind. It is not fear, but respect for the nature of things, that stays our hands. You know not what you trifle with.”

Truly, it was Zakhar that was ignorant in this matter. The Lady of Ice assured as much, for her plan did not work if the world of today perceived that it was in its twilight. Neither Zakhar, nor the Lupus Naturae could fathom what was to come. The Lady merely looked back to the wolf, her face placid. The end was coming, Ragnärok was coming, and The Lady of Ice meant to survive, and with her own hands mold the new beginning to follow. 
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