The welcome sight of him renewed her spirits. She had no idea how he had come to be here, so far from the castle walls, but for now she didn't care. It was enough that he was here for her, just when she needed him most. Leaping to her feet, she rescued her sword from the roots and gratefully took hold of his hand. His strong fingers clasped hers as he pulled her up from the tunnels. She breathed a sigh of relief as she scrambled onto the muddy surface of the crossroads, safely free of the hidden warren below. The open sky, glimpsed through the bony tree branches, was a vast improvement over the stifling confinement of the subterranean tunnels.
A cold wind blew against her face. She no longer felt like she was buried alive. How on earth did the Elders endure it every hundred years? Lucian looked her over anxiously. His eyes widened in alarm as he spied the bleeding rent in her armor. "You are hurt." Her hand went to her side and came away wet and sticky. Overjoyed by Lucian's miraculous arrival, she had almost forgotten how the wolf had slashed her ribs, but an excruciating pang brutally brought her back to reality. Her torn flesh throbbed painfully. She tottered unsteadily upon legs that suddenly felt as limp as cotton. The bright blue light in her eyes faded. Damnation! What did that mangy wolf do to me? Maintaining a stoic expression, she tried to dismiss the wound, but her legs buckled beneath her and she crumpled onto the ground. Lucian dropped to her side, visibly distressed by her collapse. Blood coursed from her side, pooling beneath them. She winced as his fingers delicately probed the wound through the gap in her armor. He didn't need to tell her how bad it was. A few more inches and the monster's claws would have disemboweled her. A chorus of angry growls reminded them that they were literally not out of the woods yet.
Looking away from Lucian's troubled face, she saw an entire pack of werewolves circling them. There had to be at least a half dozen of the relentless beasts, all intent on devouring their flesh and blood. Their cobalt eyes glowed in the dark like a swarm of lightning-bugs. Lucian took her sword and jumped to his feet to defend her. He brandished the silver blade menacingly, but the wolves did not back off. Confident that their prey could not escape them, they took their time as they cautiously closed in on the ill-starred couple. Sonja longed to fight back against the monsters, but it was all she could do to keep from passing out from blood loss. She sagged against Lucian's legs, holding onto him for support. Darkness encroached on her vision. Her eyelids drooped. She shook her head to clear her thoughts. Her eyes searched the misty crossroads for help, but she saw Hadrian was engaged in battle with multiple werewolves. They seems to be making sure, he is engaged and unable to come to their aid.
She looked forth and saw last three death eaters are also getting overwhelmed. If any of the other Death Dealers had survived, they seemed nowhere nearby.
Sonja squeezed Lucian's hand as they faced the teeming pack together. She had no illusions that even his matchless strength and courage could prevail against such overwhelming odds. At least I will not die alone, she consoled herself. If I must perish, let it be at my true love's side.
But Lucian had another idea. Dropping the sword, he reached beneath his belt and pulled something from a small woolen pouch. Sonja's eyes widened in alarm as he plucked the key from the pouch. Her heart stopped as she grasped what he intended.
Hadrian stood firm, surrounded by snarling werewolves. His robes billowed in the chaos as he unleashed spells with deadly precision, streaks of fiery orange and electric blue lighting up the battlefield. Behind him, a terrified noble family huddled together, their whispered prayers drowned by the deafening growls and howls.
A massive werewolf lunged at him from the side, its claws gleaming in the moonlight. With a sharp twist of his hand, Hadrian summoned a barrier of crackling energy, sending the creature crashing backward. Sweat trickled down his temple, but he didn't falter. He raised his other hand and, with a commanding gesture, the silver swords of fallen guards quivered on the bloodied ground.
The blades shot into the air like arrows drawn to their prey. In an instant, they streaked through the air and impaled the charging werewolves, their pained howls echoing through the clearing. The pack hesitated for a moment, circling warily, but Hadrian's attention was drawn elsewhere.
A flash of movement caught his eye—Lucian. He was taking out an ornate key. Hadrian's heart sank.
"Lucian, no!" he bellowed, his voice cutting through the cacophony.
Nearby, Sonja turned, her breath catching as she saw Lucian's intent. Her voice trembled, almost drowned by the chaos around them. "No," she murmured weakly, her eyes filled with fear and sorrow. "It's forbidden."
Ignoring her protests, Lucian jammed the key into the lock holding the moon shackle around his neck. A metallic click greeted the key and the collar snapped open. The silver spikes fell away from his throat. He grabbed onto the open shackle and hurled it away from him. The effect was instantaneous. His fair skin darkened, turning a mottled shade of gray. His unruly scalp birthed a mane of coarse black fur that sprouted from his head and shoulders, then spread across his body and limbs, which themselves lengthened and grew larger in the space of a heartbeat. His blood-splattered vest and breeches came apart at the seams as he assumed the proportions of a giant. His fists curled into paws. Clawed feet shredded his leather boots. The moon pulled on his flesh and bone, so that it flowed like the tide. His very skull underwent a grotesque metamorphosis. A canine muzzle protruded from his face. His brow sloped backward over fierce cobalt eyes. Tufted ears tapered to a point. Flattened nostrils flared above a maw full of jagged incisors. Foam dripped from his wolfen jaws. Sonja gazed up at him in awe. Despite their past intimacies, she had never seen him like this before. Tall and strong and ferocious beyond belief, like the great beast Fenris of the Norsemen's myth. Although she had known, on an intellectual level, that Lucian was indeed a lycan, she had never imagined that the wolf inside was so wild, so… magnificent. Lucian exulted in his newfound power. An overwhelming sense of exhilaration accompanied his transformation.
He flexed his shaggy limbs, feeling the inhuman strength and vitality in them. He had never felt so free. Or so deadly. Nevertheless, he was still sorely outnumbered. Six other werewolves stalked him warily, while more dropped from the trees or came crawling out of the tunnels. His startling metamorphosis had given the other wolves pause, but not sent them into retreat. Lucian bared his fangs and crouched defensively in front of Sonja. He realized he was in for the fight of his life. This was going to get bloody…. So be it, he resolved. These beasts would get to Sonja over his dead body. Throwing back his head, he let out a tremendous roar. And other wolves stopped in their tracks. Lucian couldn't believe his eyes. He held his breath as a hush fell over the werewolf horde. Their leathery snouts crinkled and they cocked their heads to the side.
They lowered their eyes in submission. Lucian tried to understand what was happening. Although it seemed inconceivable, he would have sworn that the pack was obeying him. One by one, the werewolves backed away, disappearing back into the forest. They leapt into the sheltering tree branches or else slunk away into fog. Within moments, to Lucian's vast astonishment, he and Sonja were alone upon the pitted roadway.
Hadrian saw this and muttered."Things are going to get better and worse, at the sametime."
Gaping cavities in the earth were all that remained of the marauding horde. He looked down at her, fearing her reaction to his grotesque appearance. Even though the change had been their only hope, he had never wanted her to see him like this. What if she stared back at him in horror or revulsion?
Now she knew that he was truly a beast and not a man. He wouldn't blame her if she never loved him again. But, to his surprise and relief, he saw only awe in her beautiful chestnut eyes. She looked just as dumbfounded by the pack's abrupt departure as he was. What happened there? he pondered. Why did they listen to me?
A large figure stumbled out of the fog, and Lucian immediately tensed for battle once more. Perhaps not all of the werewolves had abandoned the hunt after all? Then the figure stepped into a patch of moonlight and he saw that it was not a werewolf but rather the towering dark-skinned slave he had noticed before. The one who had slain a wolf with nothing more than a broken length of chain. A veritable mountain of a man, the bald warrior contemplated the werewolf and the vampire noblewoman from a safe distance. The sword Lucian had shared with him was still in his possession. Lucian wondered just how much the mortal had seen.
Does he understand that I saved us all? The clicking of crossbow triggers intruded on the silence. A volley of silvertipped bolts came whistling through the fog, thudding into the trunks of trees and striking sparks off the armored carriage. The clamor of pounding hooves preceded the sudden arrival of four more Death Dealers, who immediately took aim at the sole remaining werewolf before them. Lucian. Wait! he tried to call out, throwing up his paws, but only an inarticulate snarl escape his canine snout. Blood dripped from his claws. He realized to his dismay that it no doubt looked at though he was attacking Sonja. You don't understand. I'm not one of them! The crossbows fired again. A silver quarrel zoomed toward his head with lethal precision.
Sonja leapt from the ground with blinding speed, swiping the bolt from the air only inches away from Lucian's skull. The lethal silver had no effect on her; only werewolves were poisoned by the precious metal. She flung the offending missile away from her. Alas, a second bolt zipped below her arm and struck Lucian in the thigh. He howled in pain and grabbed for the arrow, but his clumsy paws could not take hold of the shaft. The silver arrowhead burned inside his thigh like a red-hot coal. He dropped to his knees, even as the metal stole his lycanthropic strength and stature from him. Sable fur receded from limbs and his bones contorted back into human guise. Wolfen claws retracted.
Cobalt eyes dimmed to brown. A third bolt stabbed him in the leg. "No!" Sonja shouted. She threw herself in front of Lucian. "Stop!"
The lead horseman lowered his crossbow with deliberate precision, his movements oozing malice. The faint creak of the weapon and the glint of the bolt under the moonlight mirrored his cruelty. A sharp chuckle echoed through the clearing, and as he pushed back the visor of his Corinthian helmet, the unmistakable sneer of Kosta came into view. His crooked smile deepened as he surveyed his handiwork.
Before him, the wounded werewolf collapsed onto the ground, its fur receding, claws shrinking. In its place lay Lucian, battered and bloodied, struggling to breathe. Kosta tilted his head, relishing the sight. "Pathetic," he spat, his voice dripping with venom.
But before he could enjoy his victory any further, a force unlike any other slammed into him. Kosta was hurled from his saddle, his armor clattering as he hit the ground with a grunt of pain.
Standing across the battlefield, cloaked in anger, was Hadrian. His piercing emerald gaze burned with a storm of emotions—rage, grief, and steely resolve. A faint tremor coursed through his hands, though his voice betrayed none of his inner turmoil.
"Enough," he growled, his words carrying an authority that silenced even the wind.
Lucian's pain-filled eyes met Hadrian's for a fleeting moment. In them was confusion, even betrayal, but Hadrian didn't waver. This was the moment he had dreaded, yet planned for—a choice that would either break them both or ignite the fire of rebellion.
Hadrian's fists clenched as he forced himself to look away. His voice through telepathy to Lucian, though steady, cracked under the weight of his words. "This has to happen, Lucian. They need a reason to rise… and you must become tgere leader, so get back to cells."
Lucian groaned in pain from the bolt hooked to his body, but he knew his adoptive father was right.
Kosta groaned, struggling to his knees, but Hadrian didn't spare him a glance. His focus remained on Lucian—his adopted son, his most painful sacrifice.
The naked slave writhed in agony upon the ground. More riders emerged from the mist. Viktor rode past Kosta. Unlike the armored soldiers, the Elder wore a stately black robe and cape. A nervouslooking Tanis followed after him, riding a pale gray palfrey instead of a proper warhorse. The scribe held aloft a blazing torch. His eyes anxiously searched the woods around them. He clearly wished he were anywhere else than this treacherous crossroads. He flinched at the sight of the overturned carriage and the ravaged bodies surrounding it.