Chapter 31 Cultists.
Malach
The lights went out.
The warehouse plunged into chaos. But all I heard was you. The thud of your body hitting the floor. The gasp as the needle went in. Your heart was stuttering as the drugs took hold.
Ronan’s blood was still hot and metallic on my claws, dripping in thick ropes from the gashes I’d torn across his belly. He lay sprawled on the concrete, wheezing, with yellow eyes locked on me with pure, undiluted hate. His guts were spilling out; he’d be dead in minutes without a healer. I should have finished him. One stomp to the throat. Let him choke on his own arrogance.
But you were more important.
I lunged through the darkness. Ronan’s remaining wolves were mere obstacles, meat and bone standing between me and what was mine.
The first one fired a bullet that grazed my shoulder a familiar agony. I didn’t slow down. My claws found his throat as I passed. He gurgled and fell.
Second wolf swung a knife. I caught his wrist, twisted until bone popped, then drove my fist through his chest. His heart was still beating in my palm when I dropped him.
“Malach!” Jed’s voice cut through the gunfire. “They’ve got her! Van out back!”
Chloe was there, blood-smeared and grinning like a demon. “Go! We’ve got the rest!”
I didn’t need to be told twice. I burst through the loading bay doors, wood splintering around me. The night air hit me like a slap: pine, diesel, and your scent fading fast on the wind.
A black van roared out of the shadows, tires screeching on gravel. Your heartbeat echoed inside it.
Cultists.
The scent hit me then: ancient and metallic, like ozone after lightning, mixed with incense and old blood. I hadn’t smelled it in centuries. Not since the first one turned on us, dagger in hand, whispering Her name.
The Goddess’s dogs.
My wolf howled inside my skin. Ours. Taken.
I shifted fully. Four legs hit the ground running, faster than any van could dream. My pack, who arrived in time with Jed’s command, poured out behind me. But this was my hunt.
Help your Beta. The noises behind me faded.
The van swerved onto the mountain road, headlights cutting through the dark. I stayed low, weaving through the trees beside the asphalt. Your heartbeat was my compass.
They were climbing upward toward the old stone circle on Blackthorn Peak, a sacred place. Her place.
Memories flickered as I ran, unwanted and unasked for. Evangeline stood on that moonlit stone, her chains silver and cold. Cultists circled around with their violet eyes and obsidian blades. The First Sin must be unmade.
That night, I had torn through them all, leaving the circle stained red. But she always took you back, always.
Not this time.
The van hit a switchback. I cut the corner, bursting from the tree line twenty yards behind. The headlights blinded me for a heartbeat; I leaped anyway. Claws raked the rear bumper, the metal screaming. The van fishtailed.
“Shit!” someone yelled from inside.
They accelerated quickly. I kept up with them, my lungs burning, my wolf grinning with all its teeth.
Another mile up, the road ended at a clearing. The van skidded to a stop, sending a spray of gravel flying. The doors flew open, and six figures in black cloaks rushed out, dragging your limp body between them. Your head lolled to the side, your braid undone, and your lips were bruised from the gag.
I saw red.
I charged at the first cultist like a battering ram. My shoulder slammed into his chest; ribs cracked like dry twigs. He flew ten feet and didn't get up.
The second raised a silver-tipped spear. I caught the shaft with my mouth, yanked him close, and buried my fangs in his soft flesh. Hot blood flooded my mouth.
The third and fourth tried to drag you faster toward the altar. I was on them before they took three steps. One lost an arm. The other lost his head.
Two left.
The woman with the circlet and one guard.
The guard stepped between me and you, his violet eyes glowing and palms raised. A flare of violet fire ignited between his hands, old magic that had once bound gods. It slammed into my chest, a wave of force that threw me backward, scorching my fur and searing my lungs.
I hit the ground hard, gasping, the smell of burned fur filling my senses.
The woman took a step closer, her smile cold and sharp. “Still the mindless beast, I see. All muscle and no thought. That was always your failing, First Wolf.”
I pushed myself to my feet, the violet fire still sizzling against my skin. I shifted my form, pain coursing through my body as my bones reformed and fur receded. Standing naked before her, blood dripped from my wounds, and my eyes burned with a rage older than the mountains.
“She is not your sacrifice,” I snarled, my voice raw. “She is not your tool.”
“Tool?” The woman laughed, a sound like ice cracking. “She is the key. The lock. And the door itself. The Goddess wept when you forced your curse upon her, staining what should have been pure. We are here to wash the stain away.” Her gaze drifted to you, "The second she put the torc on her own neck, she became the vessel. Her body is the altar now. Her blood will cleanse the world."
Behind her, the guard’s violet fire began to build again. He wasn’t just a guard; he was a warden. Her personal hellhound.