Chapter 19 19

Chapter 19 19

Eudora’s POV

“What is that? Marjah asked, weak but struggling to sit up. I had just settled her in as she laid on the bed. I hurried to the chair with the weapons belt and picked a dagger, “Stay here”

Her weak hand tried to stop me. “Eudora, wait, you should not go toward danger. You are in no condition to fight”

“Neither are you”, I pointed out, “At least I am a trained warrior”.

The frustration in her voice was also that of fear for me, “You do not even have a wolf. What are you going to do against whatever is down there?” Her words stung, for they were true. I had no wolf. I was not supernaturally strong or fast, did not heal quickly. I was not a trained warrior. I only had my meagre training, my barely understood witch magic and a dagger. But I could not stand by and do nothing while my people were threatened. I could not hide in safety as others put their lives on the line.

“I will be careful”, I promise, then I leave without a wolf. I felt like…prechprindits imprisoned in his castle, tosk the palace at night. It seemed more defended at night, shadows deeper and more frightening. Guards ruschdrush down the hallway past me, towards the sound that guided me.

I followed them down the stone stairs to the dungeons. The smell hit me first. That rot and decay smell from earlier, but at once stronger. Mixed with concern and blood. I pushed through the gathered guards to see what was happening. The scene before me was nightmarish. A young man, one of the saved prisoners, had numerous guards pinned against the dungeon walls. His strength was unnatural, impossible. He held three full grown Lycans at bay with horrifying power. But more uncomfortable than his strength were his eyes. Entirely black; no white, no iris or pupil. They were just outer darkness that appeared to swallow light. And he was chanting. The sound of his voice was distorted, wrong. “Vessel, vessel, bring me the vessel.”

I froze in the doorway, my dagger suddenly felt so worthless in my quivering hand. Those black eyes locked on mine, then remembered flickered across the young man’s twisted features. His lips curled back into a smile that was far too extensive, showing definitely too many teeth.

“There,” he hissed, “there she is. Vessel. Must take her. Must bring her to them. Need vessel to complete the rebirth.” Time seemed to slow. The infected warrior jumped towards me. His speed was terrifying. He ran like an animal, on all fours, his body moving and bending ways it should not. The guards tried to stop him, but he threw them aside with terrible ease. I barely had time to raise my dagger when Oberon was abruptly there. He was in front of us as if he had materialized from the air. The partial shift started in his body, caught among human and wolf. His eyes were glowing gold. Claws were extended from his fingers. Fur was sprouting along his hands and back.

It was magnificent and terrifying. Oberon caught him in mid leap, his hands closing around the neck of the dark-haired warrior, and he slammed him to the ground with enough force to crack the stone under them. But the warrior did not stay down. With mindless determination, he fought to stand, clawing and biting with impossible strength as the dark magic the Ruminants had infected him with spread black veins across his skin. More guards were on him then, trying to subdue him without killing him. He’s one of ours, someone was shouting desperately.

“We can’t kill him, we have to try and save him!” Reason and recognition refused to pierce the young man’s hubris gaze. He was still staring at me, with eyes that said I was everything that mattered. Everything in a world. He broke free from around Oberon’s grip with a fierce blow of sudden strength, and scattered on all fours toward me like a rabid dog, flinging foam into his face.

“The vessel,” he rasped in a voice that had more than one—a touch of something that was not of the mind of man. “They want me to take her. To finish something in my awakening. She... She’s carrying just what we need.”

Oberon grabbed me, pulled me behind him. He was my wall. “Don’t look at,” it commanded. “hide behind me.” The warrior struck him again, and the animal rolled to the ground in a whirlwind of limbs. I saw that, I saw him try to subdue the boy’s malice and guilt. His claws could have torn him out, but. He held back, keeping, feeling.

The infected warrior was well beyond reason. He bit, clawed, fought with a single purpose— to reach me. Black blood dripped from open wounds that should have stopped his advance but did not. “Yamal,” Oberon roared, “Now.”

His Beta appeared with a syringe and plunged it into the warrior’s neck. The sedative was potent enough to bring a full-grown Lycan down in seconds. The warrior convulsed once, again, arching his back in an impossible angle, and then fell still, joining me on the floor. Everyone was panting, gazing down at the body with wide eyes. The only sounds were the rapid in-and-out of breath and the steady drum of blood on stone.

Oberon reverted to his human shape, blood trickling through the scratches covering his chest and arms. The injuries had started to heal, but the sight of his blood made my stomach clench. He must have been infected by what the healer described. “Get him in chains,” Oberon growled, his voice still rough.

“Silver chains. Bless them with the witches, if we have any left in storage. And then someone explain to me what the hell just happened in the name of the gods.” The head healer stepped through the throng, her hands visibly shaking. She was an older woman, always calm and composed. With seeing her shaken, a fresh wave of fear went through me.

“After the Ruminants had brought them here, they injected something into the prisoners,” she spoke, her voice faltering. “Some kind of essence. Dark magic mixed with their already corrupted blood. It’s slowly changing them. Turning them into hunting creatures.” She held for a moment, her eyes focused on me. “They track by magical signature. And this one…” She returned to Oberon. “He’s been programmed to find your princess.”

I felt cold dread spread throughout my body as I swallowed it hard. “The other, too?” The healer’s silence answered my question. Twelve. Twelve prisoners were rescued. Twelve possible hunters, all programmed to find me and bring me to the Ruminants for whatever dark goals my father had devised. Without a moment’s hesitation, Oberon moved to my side, his hand finding mine. His touch was warm, assuring.

“How long?” he asked the healer. “Hours, days,” she responded, wringing her hands. “The transformation is unbiased. It spreads at different speed on all individual victims based on its target’s immunity, magical resistance. But there is no way to stop it when it takes roots.”

Oberon clenched his jaw, the muscle jumping in spasm. The tension radiated off him. “Then we quarantine them immediately. Separate cells. Silver chains. Constant supervision. Guards posted at all times.”

“And we find a cure,” I demanded, surprised at the firmness in my voice. Oberon sucked in a breath before he shot me a quick look. I saw something flicker in his eyes before he glanced down again, and when he spoke, I thought there might be a hint of pride in his tone. “And we find a cure.”

As more guards moved in to fulfill Oberon’s orders, some grabbed the unconscious warrior and began to drag him out of the room toward one of the reinforced stone cells, I felt something strange pass over me. A tingle in my blood, as if my pulse was recognizing something outside me. The moonstone pendant around my throat grew warm. The unconscious warrior on the floor did something no one expected. His hulking, solid body suddenly spasmed. He began to jerk so violently that some of the guards holding him almost dropped him. Despite the sedative, he snapped awake. His eyes were black whirlpools, fixed and aware of me. His lips curled in an ugly predatory expression, and Verik and Lene shrank back in fear. And then the warrior smiled. But it was a smile that was nothing like the young warrior’s face. It was a leer, horrible, knowing, terrifyingly intelligent. This was not the warrior in front of me. It was something else, wearing his skin.

“Too late,” he whispered in a voice that was not his. It was layered, multiple voices speaking as one. Ancient and malevolent. ”...established the connection... they can feel you now... they know where you are... know what you carry inside you... coming for you... vessel... the hunt begins... purpose...”

And then he did something unthinkable. His body arched, as if a column of force slammed upward inside him. His bones knocked in sharp, gruesome snaps that made everyone in the room flinch away from the sound. “They are coming for... ‘... made for.. ‘...” Then he went dead. Not unconscious. Dead. His heart had stopped. It was as if whatever force had been controlling him had decided it was done with his body.

Then the silence suddenly broke into ringing chaos, and Oberon pulled me to him even closer, wrapping my slender body protectively with his strong hands. I felt the tight tension in every line of his body but still could hear his fast pulse, and it beat in such unison with mine.

“They won’t lay a hand on you,” he growled into my hair in such a fierce tone that I forgot hearing from him before. “They won’t do whatever they want with you. Your purpose, mine, or theirs; I don’t care. It ends here because you are mine, and I always protect what is mine.”

I could not respond to his possessiveness and the dark love declaration because it was only then that Marjah burst into the dungeons. She was limping heavily, one blood-soaked hand pressing the white bandage on her side. Marjah was wearing her war paint, her sword drawn, anger and determination lining her face.

“The palace is being attacked,” the young hunter panted heavily, leaning on the doorframe. “It is not a full assault – infiltrators, fast and methodical. They are about to get to the royal wing.” I denied, and Marjah’s dark look pierced through me just like Marall’s does. “They are after Eudora.”