82

82
Agostino’s POV
It had been two days since my mind began unraveling. I’d made a mistake a colossal, idiotic mistake and I couldn’t forgive myself for it. How had I failed to anticipate that one of our so-called allies might’ve been followed?
Aronne and Alighiero found a pack that had pledged to side with us. They tracked them like prey, slaughtered every last wolf, and pried our location from their Alpha before tearing his heart from his chest. They left no survivors only a blood-soaked message.
Aronne knew better than to confront us head-on in our own territory. He didn’t come for war. He came for Domitilla.
At first, I didn’t understand why. Then I learned about the ancient ritual one that could lend the demon’s spirit enough strength to rise again. That strength lived in Domitilla’s blood. And for two days now, I had felt her pain bleeding through our bond. For two days, I’d been helpless to stop it.
“Did you find that old fox?” I asked as soon as Fosco entered the war room.
His face was carved in stone, grim and tight. “Teodoro’s dead. Found him in two clean pieces. Decapitated quick and nearly painless.”
My brows lifted in bitter amusement. “How merciful.”
“Had to be an old wolf,” Fosco said, collapsing into a chair with a sigh. “One who respected him.”
“Alighiero?” I guessed, dragging my fingers through my hair. “Or one of his dogs?”
Fosco nodded. “That’d be my bet.”
I cursed beneath my breath. “So the last chance we had at finding a map through the wasteland is gone?”
A ghost of a smirk tugged at Fosco’s mouth. “Not quite. We caught Teodoro’s mate.” He turned toward the door and barked, “Bring her in!”
Two guards entered with a woman between them. She was small, black-haired, trembling. Her hands were cuffed, but her green eyes glared like fire through smoke.
“What the hell happened to her?” I asked.
Fosco shrugged. “She tried to slice a guard’s throat open. Thought it’d be best to restrain those claws.”
I stared at her. Something about her gaze reminded me of Domitilla, and that simple echo was enough to tighten my chest like a vice.
“If I have your word you’ll stay calm, we’ll uncuff you.”
She gave a small nod, lips trembling.
At my signal, the guards released her. She rubbed her wrists, then looked at me, wary and broken.
“If I tell you what I know… will you let me go?” she asked, her voice little more than a whisper.
My brow arched. “So you do know what we’re after.”
She hesitated, then nodded. “I think so. When those wolves came to kill my mate, he told me to hide in the cellar. I didn’t see much but I heard everything. They were after a map. A specific one. One that leads to Beliale’s temple.”
Fosco gave a sharp, humorless laugh. “Beliale had a temple? That pathetic demon had a temple?”
“Let me remind you,” the woman snapped, her eyes narrowing, “Beliale once commanded an entire army. He was the Great General of the Sons of Darkness. Thousands worshipped him and some still do, even now.”
I leaned forward, interest piqued. “And how do you know all this?”
She dropped her gaze. “I was born in the wasteland,” she murmured. “I’ve seen the temple.”
Fosco and I exchanged a glance. I took a step closer.
“How quickly can you draw the map?”
“An hour,” she said. “Maybe less.”
Finally finally something went right. I clenched my fists, fire stirring in my blood.
“Gather the army,” I ordered. “We move in two hours.”
Fosco glanced at me as our caravan rumbled toward the border, just an hour from the wasteland. “You really trust a fox from the cursed land?”
Our forces had split into three divisions, traveling in separate convoys of black vans. It made us less conspicuous, harder to track. The goal was to reunite at the border wall that once sealed the wasteland off from the rest of the Underworld. There were only three gates in that wall, and according to our she-fox, the central gate was the one that led closest to the temple.
Of course, that also made it the most likely place for an ambush.
“She has no reason to lie,” I said. “Besides, I gave her my word we’d avenge Teodoro.”
Fosco grunted. “Avenge him? You really mean that?”
I smirked. “Whoever killed him is running with Alighiero’s mutts. And we’re killing them all anyway.”
Fosco’s grin was all teeth. “Fair enough.”
But the moment of grim humor passed. I could feel Domitilla’s torment again a phantom scream in my bones. My claws ached to tear flesh. My fury burned like a second sun inside me.
“We’ll find her,” Fosco said softly, his eyes sharp with shared rage. “She’ll live. And they’ll all pay.”
I nodded, jaw clenched. “Yes. Every last one of them.”
We reached the gate just after dusk. The road beyond was too rough for vehicles dense forest, sun-baked dirt, and no clear path. I addressed the troops as we prepared to enter.
“We will be met,” I told them. “Expect Alighiero’s wolves. Expect the masked bastards wielding those blood-red crystals. And remember some of them used to be your friends, your kin. But they made their choice. They chose the wrong side.”
My voice boomed over the crowd. “We show no mercy to murderers!”
Hundreds of voices echoed mine. The battle cry wasn’t just for them. It was for me. I had to remember Alighiero, the man who once raised me like a son, was long dead. If he ever existed at all.
I’d be the one to end him.
Ermes and Diamante stayed behind at the gate. They weren’t warriors, but I needed someone to care for the wounded, to bury the dead. I kept Fosco and Lazaro close, with Alpha Oreste leading the largest force.
“Arrows!” came the shout the moment we opened the gate.
We were ready. Our archers fired from behind the wall, their arrowheads dipped in silver and saffron-aconite lethal to both shifters and vampires. Within fifteen minutes, their archers were dead or fleeing, and our army stormed the wasteland.
Alighiero’s wolves fought beside the masked zealots those cowards who smashed their crystals to poison the air. But the wind favored us. Every gust scattered their toxic smoke. Without their crystals, they were just men and they died like it.
We carved our way through them. I tore bodies apart, soaked in blood and fury. Every scream that escaped my enemies brought me one step closer to Domitilla. She had to survive. I didn’t care if I didn’t.
Then I saw it Lazaro’s eyes glowing, his mouth twisted in rage. He broke from formation, charging toward a massive shape in the smoke.
“Lazaro!” I roared, pushing through the chaos.
And then I saw him.
Alighiero.
I fought my way toward them, but I was too late. Alighiero grabbed his son by the throat. “Do it,” Lazaro choked, blood dribbling from his lips.
Alighiero obliged. With a roar, he ripped Lazaro’s heart from his chest.
Rage exploded inside me. Power surged, ancient and raw.
“You really are a family man,” I spat, stepping forward.
“He was unworthy to be my son,” Alighiero growled, teeth stained with blood.
“Lazaro was a better man than you ever were. Being your son was his only curse.”
I lunged. My claws slashed deep into his chest, ripping screams from his throat. He staggered, then shifted seven feet of snarling, gray-furred monster.
He lunged, jaws wide.
I ducked under him, carving deep gouges across his belly.
“You forgot something, old man,” I said, circling him. “For you size doesn’t matter.”
Domitilla’s power thrummed in my blood, doubling my speed. Alighiero wasn’t fast enough to stop me. As he reared up, I struck. My claws slammed through his ribs, crushed his heart, and ended his last breath.
Before his body could fall, I sliced his head clean off.
He deserved a slow death. But I had no time for poetry.
I had to find Domitilla.
My light.
She had to live so I could die in peace.