520- When the Alpha's Wrath Answers the Call of Death
POV Thalyndra Moonclaw:
I looked at Aurelka; she stared back at me full of compassion in her gaze. She shook her head—a nearly imperceptible gesture—a command for me to act, to avenge myself, not to worry about them.
"I'm going to kill you," I hissed. "Just like I killed all the other Mercantes. It was so pleasurable to get dirty with their warm blood. All of them, but especially Silas's—he who swore he belonged to Mercante royalty."
At the mention of the name, his features changed, becoming more severe. His eyes changed color, taking on a reddish hue. He stepped over Lana and walked toward me, stopping right in front of me.
"What did you say?" he asked in a low whisper, almost like a threat.
It was my turn to smile with presumption, just as he had done with me.
"I think that was his name; at least, that's what the other one, who's also dead, called him. Silas. Blonde, young, and arrogant." I made a pout with my mouth, pondering. "He said he drove the dagger, that he was the executioner of death, so I killed him, ripped his head off." I shrugged, as if it had been nothing.
The Mercante moved too fast; in the blink of an eye, he closed his hand around my neck and lifted me into the air. The other one released me, stepping back. I swung my feet, trying to breathe.
He smiled.
"You have no idea how miserable your life has become from now on; that information was far too relevant, and it changes everything."
"We can't touch her, Omar; don't forget our orders," said the one behind me.
"Fuck our orders! I'm going to kill this whore without any remorse," Omar retorted.
The other one approached, trying to hold him, pulling his arms from my neck—they didn't even budge, showing that Omar was much older and stronger. "Let me go right now, Ismael, or your body will be found next to hers."
"You know they'll do something far worse than death to you if she's harmed. I know you had Silas as a son, but think carefully," Ismael insisted.
"Nothing else matters, not after this information. No order is relevant anymore."
I began to lose control; the lack of air in my lungs started affecting my vision—a warning from my body that I was about to pass out. And I couldn't let that happen.
I looked at Aurelka. Her face transformed; dark veins appeared on her face, and her eyes changed color. She elongated her fangs. In an impulse, startling the man holding her with the unexpected strength she possessed, she broke free from his arms and sank her fangs into his wrist. He let out a cry of pain before starting to tremble and convulse, falling dead beside Lana.
"What the fuck?" whispered Ismael, in shock, understanding nothing.
I waited for that brief second of hesitation to act. I brought my hand to the waistband of my pants and pulled out my dagger, plunging it into Omar's abdomen. He released me and stumbled back a few steps. I landed on my feet but swayed, gasping in all the air I could, choking.
"Do something! Kill these bitches!" ordered Omar, furious.
"Come and I'll finish you!" threatened Aurelka, but her voice was no longer the same. She crouched down and pulled Lana, gathering her to herself.
They had no idea they were dealing with a pup of a Supreme Alpha—inferior in experience, but much more powerful than they could imagine.
Ismael hesitated, sensing something unusual. Omar snorted, furious.
"Let me handle this myself!"
In a fraction of a second, he was in front of Aurelka, plunging a dagger into her chest that he'd pulled from his waistband. I screamed so loudly that the birds perched atop the nearby trees flew away.
She wobbled backward, her face contorting in pain, but she didn't let go of Lana; she didn't allow her body to give in.
I lunged at him, completely furious, dominated by hatred, with elongated claws. In one strike, I hit his arm, tearing off skin and blood. The scent of rust exuded through the air.
I tried to reach my dagger, still embedded in his abdomen, but I couldn't. He pulled it out and threw it on the ground, far from me.
Omar ran toward me, grabbing my neck. I struck another blow, just as my father had taught me; I sank my claws into his abdomen, breaking a rib. He roared, letting out a snarl of pain.
Ismael pulled my arms behind me, pinning me. I used my legs and kicked Omar, pushing him away from me, while trying to break free from Ismael's grip.
"Two against one, you're fucking cowards!" I screamed.
"It was three against three, but your little friend killed one of us, so it's two against three—you're still at an advantage," Ismael mocked.
Omar pulled out another dagger, kept beside his leg, and lunged at me, driving his blade into the side of my belly. I lost my breath; the pain was so absurd that my legs immediately gave out. I gave in, falling to my knees on the ground.
"This is for killing my Silas, you disgusting bitch," he hissed, leaning over me and pulling out the blade.
I coughed, spitting blood.
I tried to pull in air, but it didn't seem to reach my lungs. I blinked, seeing black spots in front of my eyes.
"We're going to have to run, hide. We'll be hunted for treason," said Ismael, sounding worried.
Omar laughed like a true psychopath.
"Nothing gives me more pleasure than seeing this whore dying. I don't care that I'll have to run for the next years of my life; I'll carry this scene with me forever."
I breathed with difficulty; every movement was a burning torture that made the wound pulse with pain. The warm blood flowed slowly, mixing with the damp scent of the forest, and my vision began to grow increasingly blurred.
The air was dense, almost suffocating.
A deep sound broke the silence, making my heart stop for an instant.
A snarl.
Guttural, fierce, so powerful that it reverberated through the trees, as if coming from the bowels of the Earth. It wasn't the snarl of an ordinary wolf. That was something far beyond. Something ancient, wild, and overwhelming, that made ice run through my veins. I felt the hair on my nape stand on end, a chill running down my spine, and I didn't need anything more to know who it came from.
Anton.
That sound carried a supernatural fury, a promise of chaos and destruction. The forest around us seemed to fall silent, as if even the winds had stagnated, waiting for the inevitable.
Omar and Ismael exchanged glances, uncertain, hesitating.
Even with blood flowing, even weakened, I couldn't help but smile—small, but full of certainty.
He was coming.
And nothing could stop him.