Chapter 79 The Only Truth Left
In the obsidian cavern the air smelled of rotting flowers and burnt metal.
The vampire high priests were no longer chanting. They sat slumped in their crystalline thrones like broken statues while black blood slowly leaked from the corners of their eyes and trailed down their pale cheeks. The forced moon above the cavern ceiling pulsed faintly and cast a sickly silver glow across the chamber.
Victory should have felt close. Instead the silence tasted like failure.
“This was our only chance!” one priest snapped. His hair was the color of dried blood and hung wildly around his gaunt face. His voice cracked under the weight of fury and fear. “Valerius had one job. One. And his arrogance destroyed everything!”
His clawed fingers dug into the armrests of his throne. “He is dead,” he spat. “And the girl is still out there!”
“Enough.”
Another priest lifted his head slowly. His eyes trembled as dark veins spread beneath his pale skin. “Now is not the time for blame. We have until midnight to bring the Keystone here or the moon’s cycle will break us instead.”
The first priest swallowed hard. His anger drained away and left only dread. “The Pale Mother…” he whispered. “She will not be pleased.”
The cavern trembled. At first it was subtle. A vibration beneath the stone floor. Then it grew. The ground cracked with a thunderous rumble as an unnatural presence flooded the chamber. The priests were thrown violently from their chairs. Several crashed onto the floor and gasped as the air suddenly grew thick and crushing.
Something was here. Something ancient.
The presence shimmered in the center of the cavern like distorted glass. Its shape shifted constantly. It was a warped outline of a woman made of fractured light and shadow. The air became so heavy it felt like their bones might collapse.
“Pathetic.”
The voice came from everywhere at once. It was not one voice. It was thousands. Whispers layered over whispers forming a sound that clawed at the mind.
“You cannot even bring a single weak child to me.”
The priests immediately dropped to their knees. Their foreheads slammed against the stone floor. “Forgive us Pale Mother,” one stammered.
The presence drifted closer. It stopped beside the red haired priest. He felt it before he saw it. Cold. Sharp. Like a blade hovering at his throat.
“I required her body,” the voice hissed softly. “A vessel.”
The priest began shaking violently.
“And instead,” the whispers continued as they tightened like a noose around the cavern. “You fools awakened the Shadow King.”
The man’s breath caught in his throat. His skin began to shrivel. He clawed at his neck and gasped as the life drained from him like water down a drain. “Please,” he wheezed desperately. “Give us… another—”
His head rolled from his shoulders. It disintegrated into grey dust before touching the floor. The remaining priests did not move. They did not breathe. The presence slowly turned toward another trembling priest.
“I believe,” the voice murmured softly. “You will not fail me.”
The man pressed his forehead deeper against the stone. “Yes Mother,” he choked. “I will not fail.”
The cavern pulsed once with a wave of chilling energy. Then the presence vanished. Silence returned. The remaining seven priests slowly rose to their feet. They were pale and shaken. Their new leader wiped sweat from his temple.
“Release the Nosferu,” he ordered hoarsely. His voice echoed across the cavern.
"All of them?" One of the lower priests asked nervously earning a sharp hiss from the new leader.
“All of them!”
"B... but her ancestors..."
His eyes darkened. “We finish this before her ancestors discover what we have done.”
\---
In the forest pain was all Elara could feel.
The world had dissolved into a storm of color and hunger. Her fangs were buried deep in Ronan’s neck. His blood flooded her mouth. It was dark and hot and powerful. Her eyes flickered violently between black and emerald and bright silver as her bloodlines tore at each other inside her body.
Vampire. Wolf. Witch. Each instinct screamed a different command. Drink. Stop. Kill. Run. Deep inside the chaos of her mind Elara screamed for Lyra. But the wolf was buried beneath the suffocating pull of the Red Moon.
Ronan didn’t shove her away. Every instinct in his body screamed at him to do it. His wolf clawed violently inside his chest and howled for him to tear her off before the blood loss weakened him further. But he forced the instinct down and wrapped his arms around her instead. He pulled her trembling body closer even as her fangs remained buried deep in his neck.
Pain surged through him in waves. It was hot and blinding but he held on.
“Elara,” he rasped.
Her body stiffened in his arms. Inside his mind the Shadow King exploded with fury. “Have you lost your mind?” the voice thundered. “She is feeding on you! Rip her away or let me take control before she drains us dry!”
Ronan clenched his teeth against the rising darkness clawing at his consciousness. His hand moved slowly to the back of Elara’s head. His fingers threaded through her hair as if he were comforting a frightened child rather than a creature capable of ripping his throat open.
“Elara,” he whispered again. He was softer this time. “I know you’re scared. I know you're in there.”
The words brushed faintly against the shattered pieces of her mind. For a heartbeat the frantic rhythm of her heart faltered. But the thirst didn’t stop. The Red Moon’s pull burned through her veins like wildfire. The taste of Ronan’s blood only made it worse. It was rich and intoxicating in a way no mortal blood could ever be.
Her fangs sank deeper. Ronan’s vision swam as a rush of heat flooded his skull. Inside his mind something snapped. The Shadow King surged forward like a beast finally slipping its chains.
“Enough of this weakness,” the ancient voice snarled. “If you won’t defend yourself I will.”
Dark energy exploded through Ronan’s veins. It pushed against his control and tried to seize his body by force. Ronan staggered. His grip on Elara tightened involuntarily as the internal battle raged.
“You don’t get to decide that,” he growled inside his mind. His golden eyes flashed dangerously.
“You are dying,” the Shadow King mocked. “Your devotion will kill you.”
“Maybe,” Ronan shot back. “But you don’t control me.”
The power inside him flared violently and forced the ancient presence back for a moment. “You only have a third of my soul,” Ronan said through gritted teeth. “Don’t forget whose body this is.”
The surge of opposing power rippled through his bloodstream. And Elara felt it. The blood flowing into her mouth suddenly changed. What had been warm and steady a moment ago twisted with something darker and colder. It was something ancient stirring beneath Ronan’s skin.
The taste of shadow flooded her senses. Suddenly clarity broke through the fog of hunger like lightning.
Ronan.
Her body jerked back violently. She tore her fangs free from his neck with a sharp gasp. Ronan stumbled backward as air rushed painfully into his lungs again. His hand flew to the jagged wound at his throat.
Elara stared at him in horror. Dark blood dripped from her lips. Her hands began to tremble uncontrollably as the realization of what she had just done crashed over her.
“I…” Her voice cracked. “I hurt you.”
Panic surged through her chest. Before Ronan could take a step toward her she was already moving. She vanished into the trees in a blur of speed and put distance between them as if that was the only thing stopping her from losing control again.
She didn't stop until the tree line swallowed her. Ronan reached out but his fingers only caught the cold night air.