Summary: The battles between the demons and the witch, werewolf and shieldmaiden, Randi Rhian Omega.

Wolf Shield

Prologue: Death

Have you ever felt like you wanted to die?

Yeah, I'm sure, you've felt guilty, felt embarrassed, felt rejected. But have you ever been so physically hurt that you'd rather kill yourself than let yourself live longer than another minute?

That's how I felt.

I was almost the last one standing. There were only two others. There was my love, and there was my hate. Witch and alpha female of the werewolf pack The Bane. Blood was dripping from all over us. Only two of us actually stood, the Alpha and myself.

"You can't walk out of this, Omega," she called to me.

Her gold eyes glinted threateningly in the light of the half-moon. We were safe for another few weeks.

"I'll walk out," I vowed. "And on my way, I swear, I will stomp on your dead body and burn it."

"We'll see," she snarled.

Before I could blink, an electric blue ball of power came hurling at me.

It landed straight into my stomach, the most vulnerable part of a shieldmaiden's body. I had not enough time to block it. Pain flew through my system, rupturing my senses of smell and sound, a werewolf's best senses. Brain cells were going crazy; I could feel them rushing around my head along with the blood bursting from my ruptured veins. My eyes were oozing red droplets of blood, dripping steadily onto the ground as my sight blacked away. Power crackled through my body. If only I could remember how to turn it...that was it.

Focusing my last vestiges of energy, I visualized the power killing me ejecting itself from my body and into the Alpha's.

It worked.

Uncaring of what had happened to her, I sank to the ground and fell onto my stomach. My fingertips brushed against the pale cheek of the man I loved, and I burst into tears. He touched my hand, and I knew what he was saying. Somehow, without any sense of sight or sound, I knew exactly what he was saying.

You're dying.

Still weeping, I nodded, wincing as the blood in my neck poured out the rupture in my skin.

The memory process, he whispered. I'll save them for you.

Without protesting, I clasped my hand in his. The blood from my veins melded with his. The blood could tell I was dying. It was flowing out of me. My memories would flow out with it. Picturing that image, I gave him my life. He was my last hope.

In the following book, he has told my story. There will still be some surprises at the end. Pay attention. There is still hope, as Arwen Undomiel would say.

I'll be back.