Death

Death
Vicky

Being killed by his own father, that was the end of Dimitri's story.
He loved music as fiercely as I did, whose low voice had once hummed melodies to soothe my childhood fears.
That same fate could’ve been mine, snuffed out by Jean’s hand. Or Marcelo’s, at the hands of his stepfather.
The thought sent a shiver down my spine. The fragility of our lives was laid bare. We were all tethered to the same dangerous threads, woven by blood and betrayal.

I moved to the window and pushed the heavy curtain aside. The moon hung low, a silver crescent cradled in a sea of stars, its light spilling over the rooftops of this unfamiliar city. I pressed my palm to the cool glass, my breath fogging faintly, and whispered a goodbye to him.
It didn’t matter what anyone else said about Dimitri, who called him a monster, a vampire, and a manipulator. I knew what he’d been to me.
Since I was little, his voice had been a lifeline, a quiet presence in the dark when I had no one else. That memory would be mine to keep, untarnished by the world’s judgment.
I’d hold it close.

My fingers trembled as I opened my phone again, the screen’s glow harsh against the moonlight.
I typed a message to Dário: Dimitri’s gone. Killed by Nosferatu. Please tell the others when you can.
He was probably asleep now, but tomorrow he’d see it. Tomorrow, the pack would know that even an immortal could be finite, that death spared no one, even someone like Dimitri, who’d seemed untouchable.
Rest in peace.
Maybe his death was the final piece of my past I needed to bury, the last tether to a life I’d outgrown. But letting go hurt more than I’d expected.

I hadn’t heard Marcelo approach, but suddenly his arms were around me, pulling me back against his chest.
“Shhh... You can cry. Come here.”

“Dimitri…” I choked out, the name tasting of grief and guilt, my tears falling faster now.

“I saw it in your mind,” he said gently, his breath warm against my hair.
I didn’t feel him guide me away from the window, didn’t notice when my legs gave out or when he eased me onto the cot. The world blurred, my sobs fading into exhaustion, and somewhere in that haze, I fell asleep, cradled in his arms.

When I woke, the room was dim, the first light of dawn creeping through the curtains. Marcelo was still there, his arms loose around me, his steady breathing a quiet anchor. My head rested against his chest, and for a moment, I let myself stay there, listening to the faint rhythm of his heartbeat.
But as my thoughts cleared, unease crept in.
Goddness, this was getting disconcerting.
I really needed to have my own bed.

The shower was a small mercy. I stood under the spray longer than I needed, letting the steam curl around me, trying to rinse away the ache of Dimitri’s death and the questions still swirling in my mind.
When I stepped out, a towel wrapped tightly around me, the room felt different.
It has been charged for some reason, alive with voices.
I changed quickly into jeans and a soft sweater. As I emerged from the bathroom, my damp hair clinging to my neck, I saw Marcelo by the window, his silhouette sharp against the morning light. He was talking to someone new.
That's a man with rich brown skin, his arms covered in intricate tattoos that seemed to pulse with a life of their own.

Marcelo turned, his violet eyes catching mine with a spark of warmth.
“Good morning, Ame. This is Santiago. The best wizard in Mexico.”

I stepped forward, offering a smile. “Good morning and nice to meet you. I’m Vicky.”

Santiago’s gaze swept over me, curious and appraising, his lips curving into a grin that showed a flash of white teeth. “How interesting! A wolf witch?”

I nodded, meeting his eyes. “Yes. And a half-breed, like you.”

He laughed, a deep, infectious sound that eased some of the tension in my chest. “We’re the best, my dear.”

“Oh, yes. Especially in bed, I can’t argue with that.” The words slipped out before I could stop them, and I felt my cheeks warm, but Santiago’s grin only widened.

Marcelo’s expression shifted. “Ame,” he cut in, his tone turning serious, “Jean just got off the ship in Romania. Our party is about to start. After breakfast, we’re going on a trip. Since we’re taking the back road, I thought you might want to go for a bit of a wolf.”

“That would be great.” The thought of running, of letting Veny loose, sent a thrill through me, cutting through the weight of the morning.

Marcelo’s gaze flicked to Santiago, speaking in a tone I never heard of. “Santiago, you take care of her all the time. She lives, you live.”

“That was rude.”

“I’m always very transparent.”

Santiago waved a hand, unfazed. “Oh, don’t worry, wolf,” he said, his eyes twinkling. “I hear that a lot.”
I couldn’t help but smile, warming to his easy charm. “Then you must be the best, Santiago. Thank you for taking care of me.”

“I liked her, Celo,” he said, his voice rich with approval. “Will we have her on a Sabbath?”

Marcelo’s eyes softened. “I hope so, when she finds out what this is.”

I rolled my eyes, stepping between them. Gosh! Why are those supernatural guys so tall?
“Hey, I’m right here. Don’t talk about me like I’m not.”

We headed downstairs for breakfast. I ate quickly, my mind already racing ahead to the run with Veny.
Before we left, I pulled out my phone and typed a message to Dário: Dimitri was murdered by his father, Nosferatu. Please let me know when James arrives, but don’t give him this number.
I hesitated, then hit send, my chest tightening. I wasn’t ready for James to find me.

We left the hotel in a convoy of four SUVs, the engines rumbling as we pulled onto the road. Marcelo introduced me to his coven. Six men, five women, each carrying an air of quiet power. Thirteen of us in total.
I sat in the back of one SUV, watching the city’s edges give way to rolling fields, my anticipation building with every mile.

When we reached a stretch of open countryside, Marcelo signaled for the convoy to stop, the tires crunching on gravel. My heart leapt as I stepped out, the cool air sharp with the scent of pine and earth. Santiago joined me, a sleek falcon perched on his arm.
“He’ll keep pace with you,” Santiago said, stroking the bird’s feathers. “Run free, wolf.”

I closed my eyes, reaching for Veny, calling her name in the quiet of my mind. She came alive, euphoric, her energy surging through me like a wildfire. I shed my clothes behind a cluster of trees, the transformation rippling through me.
When I opened my eyes, I was her, low to the ground, the world sharp and vivid. Veny was here, fully awake, and I felt her joy, her strength, as if she’d never left. I’d thought she’d abandoned me, but I’d been wrong. She’d only been asleep, waiting for me to call her back.
My fault? No, not fault. It was what had to be, a pause in our bond that had led us here, together again.

I ran, paws pounding the earth, the wind whipping through my fur. Santiago’s falcon soared above, a shadow against the sky, keeping watch as I wove through trees and leapt over streams. Veny and I were reconnecting, our spirits entwined, and for the first time in days, I felt whole.
Not my fault, not hers.
Just us, moving as one.
We’d stay with the witches and wizards, running toward Bucharest.
…

Jean
Dimitri was killed!
My hands clenched into fists, nails biting into my palms as a roar of fury built in my chest.
Dammit!
I paced the shadowed chamber, the flickering candlelight casting jagged patterns across the stone walls. The air was thick with the scent of wax and old magic, but it did nothing to soothe the storm raging inside me.
It was the end of the world, a catastrophic unraveling of everything I’d built. I was forced to mourn, to feign tears for every witch or wizard who crossed my path, while the real wound festered.
And now, I had no choice but to drag myself to Romania, to wade personally into this festering crisis and clean up the mess others had made.

Wladimir was a fool, a complete idiot whose incompetence gnawed at my patience like a splinter under skin. He couldn’t capture the devil lycans rampaging through his own cursed country. He couldn’t seize Diana. Worst of all, he couldn’t control his own son.
Dimitri had meddled in our affairs, sticking his nose where it didn’t belong, and instead of disciplining him, Wladimir had slaughtered his firstborn. The act was a spark in a powder keg, igniting whispers that the lycans hadn’t murdered the queen, that Dimitri himself was to blame.
Suspicion now clung to his name, threatening to unravel the delicate web of lies I’d spun.
This is not what I planned!
I slammed a fist against the table, the wood groaning under the impact.
May the devil take him!

I was a widower, the queen’s death a wound I’d wielded like a blade to rally sympathy and power. Now, I had to march into Romania to demand personal satisfaction from the vampire king, Wladimir’s failure forcing my hand.
I am going with twenty-six members of my coven and the queen’s, a formidable force of witches and wizards. They thought they were avenging their queen, but they were pieces on my board, moved to serve a greater purpose.
This wasn’t the clean victory I’d envisioned.
There was still a chance.

If only Diana were dead.
Her death would unleash a surge of power, a ritual tide that would cement my dominance. She was the key, my own flesh and blood, yet a tool I couldn’t afford to sentimentalize.

I needed to act fast.
This was no mere skirmish. It was the final war.
…