Capture

Standing on the stage Neema watched a bare chested Khan getting his skin marked, the older man bent over his body as he painstakingly drew each line along his body with the gold ink. A cloth in his free hand as he wiped at each new design he made, removing any traces of blood.

The mans long black ponytail trailed down his back and swung with each move he made. His frail body bobbing and weaving as he manipulated his body to get the right angle for each pattern. Khan sat on a stool in a pair of leather trousers, his hair was loose but pushed away from his face. The gold beads from his previous ceremony back in his hair.

The procedure had been going on for an hour, the drums were playing in the background as the crowd waited for Khan to come out from behind the dividers. The ceremony was typically witnessed by the current Alpha and a few selected individuals of important ranking. Neema was encouraged by Khan to stand by and watch his marking. To witness the ceremony was a privilege to those who were allowed. It was the highest level of respect and love to be able to watch the alpha at his weakest and his strongest. The art of the marks signified the transferring of power. Each dot represented the people that Khan would eventually protect under his rule. Each fine dot emerging into a line, a line into a shape until each shape made a picture. A design that only the artist and Khan knew of.

Neema was in awe at the whole process. Khans tattoos started on his right arm and expanded to his other arm and trailed down his chest. The swirls of black and gold signified so much for his future and Neema was one of the lucky few to watch Khan getting his work done. He had told her he wanted her and his child present at this iconic moment of his life, he felt as if their presence would breed a good omen for his rule. Neema couldn’t fault his reason.

“Doesn’t he look fearsome” giggled Norah. Khan’s sisters had made it just in time for the ceremony which meant they were part of the selected few who were permitted to watch. The youngest of the bunch was a spitting image of Khan she had the same black luscious hair and and brown skin, the difference being her eyes were a greenish colour instead of khan’s hazel. Her disposition was also cheerful which was something Khan could never be described as.

“When daddy got his done, I heard that he all you could hear was his grunting. But Khan doesn’t even twitch,” she whispered rather loudly earning her a disgruntled look from her father. Norah stuck her tongue out at her father and continued prattling onto Neema.

“Look at how he stares at you” chided her elder sister. The older sister, Airah was tall and lithe but had a paler skin complexion, her eyes were a vibrant green and her hair was cropped short in a dark bob. She reminded Neema of those mythological creatures, an elf. Tall and elegant, she was stunning in a non-conventional way.

It was true what she said though, Khan really was staring her down. He barely made a sound as the artist leant over his body steadily changing out needles and ink to create master peace in khan’s body. The sweat that was slick on his brow was the only indication that he felt some sort of pain or discomfort. His face was straight as he maintained constant eye contact with Neema. It was as if she were the only one watching him.

She wanted to touch him, to give him some reassurance but she wasn’t able to. She had to stand to the side and just observe. At least she was on this side of the dividers and not with everybody else waiting.

“How much longer” mumbled Neema as she shifted from foot to foot. Standing for an hour straight was not the most comfortable thing for a pregnant woman to be doing. She didn’t want to disrupt the ceremony to ask for a chair though, especially as it was such an important moment for him.

The artist had began tattooing the right side his torso with the black ink, the harsh strikes if the pattern trailing downwards and stopping at the edge of his trousers. After another hour or two the elderly man had finally finished giving Khan his alpha marks. His were so much darken then his fathers. Where Nathaniel’s was an even blend of gold and black khan’s was predominantly black with patches of gold intertwined into the design. The black ink was the main feature of the swirling design and the gold was merely an accent.

She noticed though that both son and father had some sort of scripture emerged into the swirls and vines of the mark. Khan’s scripture seemed to be smaller than his fathers but the language in which it was written.

Thanking the artist who had laboured over him for the past couple of hours before he stood up and a got ready to show his marks. Taking the cloth from his hand he dipped it in a bucket of water and cleaned any dried blood from his body. The artist came back over with a small jar of a yellowish shiny liquid. Dipping his fingers into the jar he lathered khan’s arms with the liquid. Once he had finished with his arms he motioned Neema over to where he stood and gently grabbed her arms. Dipping her fingers into the jar he motioned for her to imitate what he had done.

Neema blushed red as she rubbed the healing oil into khans’ chest and torso, keeping contact with him all throughout. Khan’s breathing was laboured as he stared at Neema’s small hands on his skin, her fingers soothing over his sensitive marks. It was awkward for her but she didn’t want to disappoint anybody and so she bit her tongue and abided by everyone else wants. She was getting tired of being complacent though. It just wasn’t her.

“Umm, it is time we introduce you to you’re people now,” his father declared un-assuredly, motioning for him to take his place at the centre of the stage.

The stage had been cleared away from any of the signs of what had been taking place. The stool and the table full of needles had been carried to the side, while all the witnesses had climbed off the stage. Neema headed in that direction but Khan wrapped his body around hers making an exit impossible.

“I want you to stay” husked Khan in her ear as he held her back to his front. Nodding for his father to proceed alpha Nathaniel gave the signal for the dividers to be pulled down. At the fluttering if the sheets the noise of the drums picked up. The steady thump of hands against the animal skin created an anxious atmosphere.

Motioning Neema to the side Khan wrapped his arm around her side as he stepped further into the stage. His chest was bared for everybody to see, the amount of marking he had a testimony to his devotion to his people and his strength. Braising his free arm to the clapping and cheering crowd he ushered them to be quiet.

Clearing his throat, he made the long awaited announcement.

“I, Khan Manasseh, son of Nathaniel Manasseh Alpha of the Northern region and descendant of the Wolfen Brethren, alongside my mate Neema accept this title bestowed upon us,”

Neema’s head whipped to the side as she Khan declared her into his acceptance speech, as if the title was something that they would share. It was unheard of, she was not a wolf and she was not a descendant of the Brethern but still he had included her and it made a difference. She was thankful that he did, it showed her importance to him.

The crowd cheered and howled as Khan accepted his birth right, the night represented all that he was born into and all that he had dedicated his life working for. It was rare that one so young would become an Alpha over such a large territory. The level at which they supported him was a revelation to how much they trusted him with their futures.

His people had faith in him and he had faith in Neema.

She was only a human, a female one at that.

She could never be his equal in society as her bloodlines were not parallel to his.

Nor would she ever be a warrior or Alpha.

What she was though was his conscience. She was the woman who taught him to feel.

The female who could outsmart him and at times outfight him.

She was the mother of his child and the light of his life.

No person could compare to her, not even himself.