With a sharp blow of the arms she lowered the large, ruined hood over the head and, sharpening the sight, began to peer into the grayness that surrounded them. The uninterrupted sound of the rain tried several times to distract her, falling between the leaves and the puddles, yet she was not bewitched: after all, something far more important required her total attention.
Bringing the fingers back into the huge pocket of the sweatshirt, the hooded figure vigorously pressed her fingertips on the rough leather of the lining that was inside it, guardian of an object that she would never have expected to be so small and at the same time threatening, and the heart jump into her throat again. It was strange to feel that thing against her, it seemed wrong. During the escape, it even seemed to weigh as much as a dead body, a corpse she would have been better to get rid off, but in reality what she had with her was no more than a span of silver and a few other centimeters of steel. A dagger, nothing more. But how could it subjugate her that way?
Biting her lip, she prayed silently in a final act of mercy from Arianrhod, Arawn, Segomo, Fenrir and all the gods that her species believed in. It would have taken only a few more minutes of their pity, nothing more. If they had pardoned her enough to make a few last meters of running she would have made sure to revere them in the right way, as she was sure her companions would have done - and thinking about them, she could not resist the temptation to look at them. They were there, if not all, at least most of them, and, all in all, they were also in good condition: no dangling limbs, nor copious flows of blood, even though distinguishing their from others' was an almost impossible undertaking.
In the crowds of bodies it had been difficult to keep from hurting and getting hurt, so in the end they still found themselves looking like some splatter film stunts - pity that the murders and the huge crimson patches on their bodies were anything but fiction.
Of course, it had to be said, what had happened had far exceeded general expectations. Aralyn doubted that anyone, just like her, had hoped to get there in those conditions. She was certain that even Garrel, Fernando and the Vogel twins had undertaken that mission with the clear awareness that someone would die, or that none of them would return home; instead here they were, all with big breath and half-naked bodies to testify the efforts made that night.
Thanks to the Gods!, She thought before taking yet another big breath in an attempt to stop the anxiety, then, once again moving the gaze, the young woman began to observe the few meters of ground that separated them from the asphalt and the Van parked next to a battered guardrail. Their passage to salvation was there, waiting. Only a few strides, a few seconds, and then they really could have started to hope again.
That now disused drainage channel had been a real godsend for them, it had helped them both to get closer to the Villa, and to get away without being seen, but this did not mean that they were completely safe from their pursuers - for this they were hesitating.
With the animal senses stretched to the spasm, all five were crouching in the shadow of that tunnel in desperate search for a sound that could, if they moved, betray the success of the mission, yet, in addition to the pouring of the rain, there seemed to Aralyn to be nothing. Maybe they should have taken that opportunity before it was too late, she told herself.
Taking the teeth off her lip, she tried to stretch the neck beyond the edge of the concrete structure, but before she could focus on anything, Garrel grabbed her by the hood yanking her back.
«Stop» he whispered as soon as their eyes met: «You can't be the first.» And even if she hated to admit it, he was right: she could not be the queue opener. Although she was in charge of the mission, getting her out first meant putting everything at risk, Arwen himself had told her: she had to stay in the middle, so that the others could shield her in case some enemy decided to attack - after all it was obvious that brute force was her weak point.
Their Alpha had been painstaking, he had made it clear what things to avoid at any cost, even if the surprise factor, or the mere chance, could have fooled them at any time. The man had carefully planned every strategy to adopt during their entire stay in the lands of the Menalcan and what he said, in almost all circumstances, was law.
Aralyn returned to her place, brushing the strands of hair that had fallen in front of her face and, in doing so, she saw the fingers smeared with blood out of the corner of the eye - an image that, although macabre, did not generate any disgust in her, or at least, not enough to make her feel guilty. By now killing had become something familiar, in the world in which she was born and raised she could define it almost on the agenda; because being more beast than human led only to that point, to defend and fight relentlessly, using claws and fangs.
The Vogel brothers joined her. Dirty and fatigued, with their muscles tense to spasm like each of them, they tried to comfort her with a smile which, on the blood-stained faces and in the twilight of the sewer tunnel, stood out so as to hurt her eyes.
Hugo, the farther of the two, prepared himself for the run by bending slightly. His bare back barely curved, showing the vertebrae of the spine under the skin. Here and there, like the twin, long red lines soared over the flesh, unmistakable signs of the clash. «We go first, you follow us» he hissed in his usual amused tone, as if everything they had done and were doing was nothing more than a game, and nobody objected to that proposal. They were both fast, but above all fearless, unstoppable and lethal - three qualities that Aralyn had envied them from their first meeting.
Garrel looked them. The frowned expression betrayed the impassiveness that he had tried to maintain to the last, yet, any thought that was swirling in his mind did not prevent him from giving them the signal. His was a slight movement, so fast that if the others had not been careful would have easily gone unnoticed - but the twins saw it, or perhaps perceived the vibration of the air and, in an instant, they were out in the open. Their half-naked bodies made their way between the trunks and the foliage, leaving behind footprints in the mud that the others, especially her, with their hearts in their throats, followed.
Aralyn felt her feet sink into the wet soil, the sound of those footsteps amplify after each stride and, secretly, she feared to attract the attention of anyone on their trail. The Fior-Ghlan were vigilant, their senses significantly superior - and if they had not hurried, they would have jumped on her without any pity, taking revenge for everything that had happened inside the walls of Villa Menalcan.
Without taking her eyes off the outline of the vehicle that awaited them a few hundred meters from the sewer tunnel, the young woman forced herself not to think about the worst; even though she was aware that she couldn't really afford such luxury. Wasn't it a distraction? Those slimy ones could have come at any moment and she had to be ready, yet her mind could not focus elsewhere. Salvation was there, it was enough to resist. All she had to do was make one last effort, pretend that the muscles didn't hurt so hard, follow Hugo and Eike and pray to the Gods. Nothing more. Still, something seemed to betray her. She couldn't tell if it was because of the mud under her feet, the fatigue or the distraction, but then felt the balance fail. The heel scratched on the wet asphalt, burned, and if it hadn't been for Fernando behind her, she would have been ruinously tumbled to the ground, endangering everyone. Even the most miserable errors would condemn her and her companions - and what was happening, unfortunately, was exactly what she had to avoid; she knew it, as did any other team member.
The man tugged at her badly, squeezed her arm with such force that it made her face twist - but no sound escaped her mouth. She could not afford it. Not at that moment. She had already made too much noise in running after the twins, granting such signals to the ears of their pursuers would have been the coup de grace to a situation already in itself at risk.
So Fernando hoisted her in front of him, shielding her from possible attacks, and with a push he threw the girl against the front door of the vehicle. The heat prevented him from pondering the strength with which he push her away from his body and, at that point, she found herself dealing with a backlash that took her breath away.
She felt the dagger in the pocket of the sweatshirt clashing against the sheet metal, pressing on her side and pushing on the sore meat, forcing her to stop for a few seconds to gasp.Shit! Yet another slowdown, her mind cried in a last moment of lucidity.
Her vision blurred. Maybe it was because of the proximity to the silver, the pain that was not giving her respite, or because of the excessive loss of blood, but Aralyn, despite the imminent failure, forced herself to stretch an arm and grab the handle: if she had to pass out, that at least she had been in the passenger seat of the Van who would have brought her home.Once again, however, the friend's hands ran to her aid. As soon as the door opened, Fernando pushed her into the cockpit and she, without objection, dropped on the leather of the seat.
With the heart in her throat and the eyelids shut, she waited for the sound of the gear being inserted, the last clicks of the locks closing again and, then, she felt the vehicle move. The engine roared past the bonnet, indicating a far from safe start, and the laws of physics crushed her against the back she was leaning on, but she dared not look.
She had no idea what she feared more: if the idea of seeing a group of angry werewolves appear on the road beyond the windshield, or to open the eyes and find herself still on the verge of failure. So she remained silent, listening to both the signals of her own body and the uncoordinated breaths of the four men behind her. She did not distinguish them, but she could perceive them all - or almost all.
«Put your seatbelt on.» A hand tapped her on the thigh, making her wince. She had become so estranged that, although annoying, Aralyn had not realized the alarm that had sounded since the car had start - and how could she, when there were more important issues to occupy her mind?She took a few more breaths, then obeyed. It took several attempts, but in the end she succeeded.
«Did they hurt your eyes?» Still the same voice, this time less harsh.
«No.»
«So what the heck are you doing? I don't think it's time to imitate Ray Charles.»
She counted to ten, unwittingly clutching the fingers on the dagger. She needed concreteness, something to hold on to in order to be sure that she still has a conscience of reality - but above all not to blurt badly, insulting the person next to her. In the meantime, time passed, without however vanishing in the unconsciousness of a fainting; so she opened her eyes, finding herself more lucid than expected. The roadway in front of them stretched for miles, flanked on both sides by a low rough stone wall and the Scottish countryside. There was nothing but that, some electric pole and the sky that was slowly turning blue - were they already so far away?
We have made it, she told herself, we have managed to do the impossible!Thinking about it was a natural gesture, but realizing it still had something unusual, yet they were traveling, launched towards the highway that would lead them to the Tunnel sous la Manche and then to the heart of Europe, where the Burrow awaited.
Inside her, Aralyn felt the joy mount. She knew that if she did not hold back she would end up smiling and shouting, enthusiastic, too bad that it was not yet time to celebrate. There were too many reasons not to do it: firstly, the fact that they were still in the lands of one of the most threatening clans of their kind, werewolves ready to kill them without hesitation in order to recover what was stolen from them. Secondly, they couldn't say they had achieved that victory easily. The physical injuries were only a small scar, in a few days they would disappear from their bodies, but Luke, instead, would not return. Neither the next day nor those to come.
The young woman bit her lip. In that life there were many things to get used to: to the bones that broke in the middle of a mutation, to the senses amplified up to the spasm on the nights of the Full Moon, to the limbs that healed in a very short time, to the feuds, growls, claws in the flesh, but not to the loss of a friend.
She turned her face.
Marion's hair was forced into an untidy bun, preventing the woman from hiding the profile - and the grimace, that contracture of the eyebrows that darkened her gaze, revealed the frustration, but above all the pain, which was tearing her apart.
Aralyn detached her fingers from the dagger sheath, bringing them to her friend's wrist.
«I tried, but-»
The other interrupted her.
«I don't need an explanation, Ara.»
Testily the other turned away her touch: «I have been in this crap for fifteen years, I know how things work.» Behind them, the four men seemed to disappear. Their breaths had suddenly gone silent, regular; perhaps they were peering out the windows in search of danger, or more likely they were trying not to make matters worse.
«Okay, but this does not mean that you are not suffering, or that you should deny it.»
«And what do you want me to do?» Marion's eyes darted in her direction. The ghost of tears threatened the harshness of the gaze, her desire to appear strong, and Aralyn did not know what to feel. Part of her would have liked to embrace her, let her vent, another to blame her for the complacency with which she had accepted Luke's participation in that mission - because at seventeen such risks should not be taken. Not with such a rosy experience.
«It has happened, hasn't it? We can not go back. Even if I desire it with my whole being, it cannot happen. I had to think about it before.» Yeah, too bad she had ignored each of her peers' opinions - and Garrel, from the back of the vehicle, didn't miss an opportunity to throw salt on the open wound: «You had to be objective. Here's how you had to behave. Instead, you got fooled by his pretty face and the illusion that he was ready.» His comment was sharp, devoid of any empathy, but no one dared to scold him. It was a shared thought, although it was annoying to admit it.
Marion stiffened, and the girl once again felt the urge to reach out and support her - but she stopped, aware of the fury with which the other could have attacked her. Despite being a high-ranking member of the Clan, second only to the Alpha, Aralyn did not appear as authoritarian, experienced and dangerous as the big man behind them, yet she was - a pity that her friend seemed to forget it too easily, forcing her to be a victim of outrages far from appropriate.
Pressing the teeth more in the lip, she tried to chase away the desire to touch the woman untangling the knots formed in the hair. Clumps of dried blood and mud had twisted her lengths badly, worsening an aspect that, she was certain, was already in itself terrible. Over and over she tugged, tearing off light locks and grumbling through gritted teeth in pain.
War sucked, she told herself, and not only because of the way it had reduced her, an almost insignificant detail when compared to everything she had seen in those years, but for dozens of other reasons. But it had a purpose, and that was enough for her - or rather, for Arwen was enough, so as a devoted sister she would have made no objection. She would not complain about the lost youth, the scars reported, the atrocities seen or the fallen comrades, the important thing was to satisfy him. In any way. Always.
It was the least she could do for him and, at that moment, even if he still didn't know, she had certainly succeeded.
Aralyn's gaze fell on the pocket of the sweatshirt and her heart began to throb again.
They had the Fenrir's Dagger. The key to power was in the hands of a small and insignificant mestizo and, finally, with the help of the Duke, they would have succeeded in destroying the Fior-Ghlan dictatorship.