Chapter 48 I'm Ready... Almost.
The infirmary smelled of bitter herbs, metal, and something sour that clung stubbornly to the back of the throat. Damon had always hated the place. Weakness lived here. It lingered in the walls, seeped into the floors, breathed through the air like an infection.
Nina was already on her feet when he stepped inside.
Her posture was rigid, shoulders squared too stiffly, chin lifted like she was bracing for impact. The faint bruise near her temple had faded into a dull yellow, but Damon saw it immediately. He always noticed injuries. They told stories people tried too hard to hide.
“I was just about to come find you, my lord,” Nina said, her voice quick, almost rehearsed.
Damon halted mid-step.
Slowly, deliberately, he turned to face her. His gaze traveled over her face, her stance, the way her hands curled slightly at her sides.
“Recovered already?” he asked.
“Yes.” Nina nodded once. “Fully.”
The word hung in the air.
Damon studied her in silence, eyes sharp, dissecting. Sloane shifted beside him, her weight moving subtly from one foot to the other as tension tightened the room.
“Fully,” Damon repeated softly, his tone deceptively calm. “Interesting.”
Nina swallowed. The movement was small, but it betrayed her.
“How,” Damon continued, taking a step closer, “does a trained shadow wielder allow herself to be overpowered by Eira?”
The name landed like a blade.
Nina’s spine stiffened. “She caught me off guard.”
“Eira always catches people off guard,” Damon replied, his voice colder now. “That has never been an excuse.”
“I underestimated her,” Nina said, jaw tightening. “It will not happen again.”
Damon closed the remaining distance between them, looming just enough to remind her who stood before her.
“You say that,” he murmured, “as though you expect another chance.”
Nina’s breath hitched before she could stop it. “I failed and I accept that. But I won't be like Eira who refuses to rectify her mistakes.” Her voice steadied with effort. ”I will fix this. I will find her.”
“You will,” Damon said flatly. “Because she is no longer a liability.”
He turned slightly, eyes darkening.
“She is a jeopardy.”
Sloane frowned, her brows knitting together. “My lord, surely execution can wait until the catalyst is awakened.” Eira was her friend too, Sloane hadn't thought for once that Damon meant to actually kill Eira.
Damon’s gaze snapped to her, sharp and unyielding. “No. Eira knows too much.” His jaw clenched. “I didn't pick her for that mission just because of her powers, I choose her because she had proven to me countless times that she was connected to the great purpose.”
“The Lycans must be stopped. They've done enough damage. And I thought Eira of all people would understand because her family were murdered by their kind.”
He turned back to Nina.
“But now,” he continued quietly, “she has chosen to stand against us. With the same kind who has killed her entire family. She would not be forgiven.”
Nina bowed her head, shame flickering across her face. “I am sorry for the letdown.”
Silence followed. Heavy. Unforgiving.
“I will not fail again,” Nina said finally, lifting her gaze. “I swear it.”
Damon nodded once, dismissive, as though her vow carried little weight. “See that you do not.”
The infirmary doors burst open before anything else could be said.
A shadow wielder stumbled inside, breath ragged, eyes wide with urgency.
“My lord,” he gasped. “News from the ambush.”
Damon turned instantly. “Speak.”
The wielder hesitated, clearly weighing his words. “King Kozlov’s army… they did not fall as expected.”
Sloane straightened. “What do you mean?”
“They fought through us,” he continued, voice shaking. “Harder than predicted. Faster. Colder.”
Damon felt irritation curl in his chest. “We sent over a hundred shadow wielders.”
“Yes, my lord. And still…” The wielder swallowed. “Sebastian Kozlov cut them down.”
Damon’s fingers twitched at his side.
“Explain,” he demanded.
“He fought like something unhinged,” the man said, fear creeping into his tone. “Ice everywhere. The air froze around his blade. He moved like death itself.”
A flicker of surprise crossed Damon’s face before he could fully suppress it.
“How many survived?” Damon asked, “Very few.”
Sloane cursed under her breath.
“And Kozlov?” Damon pressed.
“unharmed.”
That alone unsettled him.
But the wielder was not done talking.
“He knows about the black seal. He got one of us alive and tortured him into revealing where the black seal is.”
The room went deathly still.
Damon felt it then. A sharp crack inside his chest, like something splitting open.
“…What?”
“He traced the ambush back to Vosnos,” the wielder said. “He probably knows where we reside now.”
For the first time, Damon did not hide his reaction.
“Leave us,” he snapped.
The shadow wielder bowed hastily and fled.
Damon turned away, pacing the length of the infirmary like a caged beast. His thoughts collided violently. Calculations unraveling. Timelines collapsing.
Sebastian Kozlov was coming. He was coming for his wife and Damon knew that meant war.
Soon, it was too soon. He hasn't even activated Fernanda's powers yet.
The black seal discovered meant exposure. The menders. The pendants. The order itself. Once Sebastian connects the dots, everything will come unraveling.
“No,” Damon muttered, stopping abruptly. “No more delays.”
He turned sharply to Sloane and Nina.
“Find Eira. Now.”
Both women straightened instantly.
“She must be executed,” Damon added, his voice razor-sharp. “Immediately.”
“Yes, my lord,” Sloane said.
Nina nodded. “I will bring her to you myself.”
They dispersed at once.
Damon did not wait.
As he strode down the corridor toward Fernanda’s chambers, his thoughts narrowed, focusing on a single truth.
He needed to act fast. When Fernanda's powers comes alive, everything else would fall into place. The Lycans would be erased from the face of Lunareth.
He was steps away when someone collided into him.
“Watch where you’re going,” Damon snapped without looking.
“My lord,” Ruben’s voice cut in, urgent and strained. “You need to hear this.”
Damon paused, annoyance flaring. “I do not have time for small talk. Join the others. Strengthen the wards. We have war coming in on us.”
“She took my form,” Ruben blurted.
Damon slowly turned back.
“What did you say?”
“Eira,” Ruben continued breathlessly. “She attacked me. Knocked me out. The Ruben you’ve seen since was not me.”
Damon’s jaw tightened.
“She freed the Lycan prisoner,” Ruben added. “He’s gone.”
It was at that moment something inside Damon snapped.
He grabbed Ruben by the front of his uniform and yanked him forward, eyes burning with fury.
“Find her,” he growled, breath heavy with rage. “Find her before I do.”
Ruben nodded rapidly. “Yes, my lord.”
Damon shoved him aside and continued on.
When he reached Fernanda’s door, he stopped.
Breathed.
Smoothed every trace of fury from his expression.
Then he entered.
Fernanda stood in the middle of the room, hands clasped tightly together, fingers intertwined as if anchoring herself. Her lips were pressed into a thin line, her shoulders rigid with tension.
“Damon,” she exclaimed, forcing brightness into her voice. “I was wondering what took you so long.”
He smiled at her, soft and practiced.
“There were matters to attend to,” he said gently. “But nothing that matters more than you.”
She nodded, eyes searching his face.
“It’s time,” Damon said quietly. “Time for you to awaken.”
He reached into the inner pocket of his coat and withdrew a small vial. The clear liquid caught the light, deceptively harmless.
Fernanda stared at it, heart pounding violently against her ribs. She had spent the whole night trying to convince herself that she knew what she was doing and that it was the right thing.
Her subconscious had tried to talk her out of it so many times but Fernanda knew she was done running.
She had always been suicidal, always throwing herself into the arms of death given any opportunity. As long as she was free from the world. Even if drinking that liquid resulted in her death, Fernanda didn't mind.
I’m ready, she told herself. I have to be.
“I’m ready,” she said aloud.
Damon stepped closer, holding the vial between them like both a promise and a threat.
“Good,” he said softly. “Very good.”