Chapter XIV
Tarryn
The explosion knocks us off our feet. I instinctively turn, wrapping myself around Nicolai to shield him from the unforgiving marble and the raining fire and embers.
The chanting is replaced by yelling and screaming—a more satisfying sound. Too bad I can’t roll around in it for a while. Wish I was the one causing it, too, but I’ll take it.
Lifting myself up onto one paw, I search the area. As an alpha, I can switch my gaze from the black-and-white hue of my beast and the colored view of my human form. In this case, the beast vision makes it easier to isolate figures among the wreckage.
“Get off me,” Nicolai snarls, shoving at my shoulder. He’s not at his best after whatever that sorcerer did to him, and even if he was, he’d still have a hard time shifting my bulk when I don’t want to be moved. He’s killed a lot of werewolves, but he’s never come up against an alpha before.
I comply this time, though not before I give my mark a lick. Nicolai shivers, and his heartrate speeds up. It’s a good thing my enhanced senses can pick it up because the look on his face when he stands gives nothing away. He’d be an excellent poker player.
Lightning cracks directly to my right, exactly where we’d been lying seconds ago.
The sizzle of energy lingers, and my nose scrunches at the sour artificial smell of it.
Shoving Nicolai behind me is pure instinct and has nothing to do with what I think about his ability to fight.
He doesn’t see it that way, elbowing me in the back and moving into position beside me.
A witch with a poisoned, curved blade rushes him with expert precision.
Nicolai easily disarms him, taking the weapon for himself.
He wastes no time in using it on the owner.
A witch’s biggest weakness is their lack of physical strength.
They rely too heavily on their magic and aren’t made for the front lines.
One brandishing the same style of dagger comes at me, and I pounce on him, teeth sinking into his throat before he has a chance of even thinking about defending himself.
My canines rip through flesh and bone with ease, and the witch's head comes clean off.
Blood drips from my mouth as I turn to the next victim.
Our progress is hindered by the fact there are more of them on the periphery, firing magic at us.
More than one can wield the elements—in a manner of speaking—and if I have to dodge one more lightning bolt, twisted vine, or fireball, I’m going to stop trying to escape and instead turn to killing them until only the vampyre and I are left standing in the room.
They thought they’d won once they’d contained us, ignorant to the fact they only got the upper hand through sneak tactics.
Or they’re too arrogant to see it. Head-on like this?
They’re no match for a fully grown alpha werewolf or a master-hunter vampyre.
Together we’re more than formidable enough to take them on.
The sorcerer isn’t in the fray or in the group hitting us from afar. Coward move or strategic retreat? It says a lot about a leader by how they treat their followers. Using them as fodder? That’s callous.
A witch to the right swings a sword aimed at my head.
Before I can dodge out of the way, Nicolai shoves me to the side.
He disarms the witch and rotates the hilt of the sword in his palm, then grimaces.
“Too weighted in the front. Who made this? You need a better swordsmith.” Before the witch can answer, he no longer has a head.
Well, he has one. It’s just rolling on the floor at his feet.
I was doing fine, I feel the need to point out. These two-bit-magic-wielding morons won’t be where I’m taken down. That sword would never have found its mark. They’ll have to up their game if they want any chance.
Stop playing with them and find a way out.
His raspy voice echoes, like he’s reaching for the deepest parts of me.
It’s strange hearing a voice in my head that isn’t mine.
The part of me that’s more animal than human likes it, more inclined to run on pure instinct without thought.
The human part of me is acutely aware of the fact that no matter what this sorcerer says, Nicolai is still a vampyre, and he still wants my head.
Lycans are led by their mating bond because of what we are.
Would it change a vampyre in the same way?
Most of me doesn’t care about that. Simply knowing that he wears my mark is enough for everything to shift for me.
What he is becomes irrelevant, now that my allegiance has solidified.
I’ve always been attuned to my lycan half more deeply than most: that half thinks less and makes better decisions because of it.
What I think are better decisions. Some might disagree.
Aren’t you having fun? This is a great first date.
Nicolai whips his head around, lips open in shock. “This is not—” He doesn’t get to finish the sentence, distracted by a rush of heat and flame directed at him from a nearby witch. I roar and charge, knocking the witch over. His head is ripped off his body before it hits the ground.
No one touches what’s mine.
Nicolai scowls fiercely. “I can fight my own battles. Worry about your own.”
He doesn't understand that his are mine now.
A new sound enters the room, and I freeze with a paw wrapped around a witch’s throat. Scratching. Dragging feet. Inhuman groans.
Can’t mistake that for anything else.
My eyes meet Nicolai’s blue-and-red eyes, the red overtaking most of the blue.
Ghouls.
For fuck’s sake. We can’t fight an entire coven—and a half, seriously, how many are here?—along with a horde of ghouls and whatever the fuck that sorcerer is.
The large doors burst open, and a fucking sea of ghouls pour in.
Their gaunt figures, flesh dropping from them as they shamble, aren’t any less terrifying, even in a lighter room with plenty of space between them and us.
In some ways they’re worse, their grotesque shapes and rotting corpses on full display.
I catch the sorcerer’s eyes, and he smiles, without malice and instead, a deeper kind of satisfaction. Like he still thinks he’s won. He can bring whatever guests to the party he wants; I’ll never let him win.
How is he controlling them?
That should be my question. You don’t know?
Would I ask if I knew?
Touchy. My vampyre is a prickly thing. I can’t wait to have fun with that.
I hate you.
Some part of him doesn’t. I can work with that.
He shoves at my shoulder. “Move, or I’m leaving you here.
” His fingers grip my fur, and I turn in the direction he’s looking.
“Doors. They could lead above ground.” Not as fancy as the double doors I came through, but there is an intricate pattern around the lever handle, and the golden overlay matches the aesthetic of the room.
The space would have been used for something important, once.
Now it’s just another kind of graveyard, even before we got here.
They lead out of here. Good enough. Even if we get trapped further in, away from here is still the better option. We can regroup and come up with another plan. One that doesn’t involve us ending up as ghoul food or an ingredient in some fucked-up ceremony to do who knows what.
Witches try to get in our way without success. Between my claws and Nicolai’s fangs, we cut through them like a knife through butter. We make a good team.
That’s one hell of a compliment coming from me, considering what he is. Nicolai ignores it completely. Just keep moving. He kicks the door in, and it flies off its golden hinges, breaking and splintering.
That was a nice door. You could have tried the handle; it might have been unlocked. I’m more of a kick-it-in kind of guy, too, but yanking his chain is too much fun. The look he gives me over his shoulder is totally worth it.
“New plan,” Nicolai growls, “you stay here and distract them while I go get help.”
I laugh loudly into his mind as I follow him up a set of stone stairs. This telepathic bond we have is handy, especially when I’m in beast form and can’t speak. Knowing he can’t get away from me is nice too. How far does this go? Could I speak to him over distances? Questions to ask later.
A glance behind me just before the door is out of sight gives me pause.
Between the ghouls shambling our way, the sorcerer stands, watching us.
There’s an eerie smile on his face and endless patience that’s somehow worse than if he were smirking or acting like a smug fuck. Patience means cold calculation.
That guy’s gonna be trouble.
“You think?” Nicolai responds sarcastically. He turns at the top of the stairs to scowl at me. “If I have to tell you to keep moving one more ti—”
Alright, alright, calm down. The ghouls aren’t going to catch us, and the witches have given up.
“For now. You really think we’re done here, when they went to all that trouble to get us?”
Well, when he puts it that way.
The hallway at the top of the stairs is a hell of a lot nicer than the catacomb-style ones we were in before. These are for the A-class guests, I say, tongue in cheek.
“It’s been maintained,” Nicolai says absently, running his fingers across the stone wall. “There’s no dust or dilapidation.”
The being-on-fire thing also tells me that people have been here recently.
“Do you have anything useful to say?”
Depends what you mean by useful. If this is where the witches are staying, we might want to move along.
“So you can use your brain.”
Only sometimes.
Nicolai rolls his eyes and continues on, his leather boots clicking on the floor. Not exactly stealthy, though I know from personal experience just how quiet he can be when he wants to.
“If they were staying here, we can’t be far from the entrance.”
You don’t want to stop and look around first? I for one am interested in what the fuck the witches are doing here.
“It won’t take them long to find us.” He kicks the nearest door in, peeks inside, scowls, and then moves on to the next. I glance into the room as I pass; completely empty. Weird.
You aren’t a little curious about what they’re doing?
“I’m more interested in survival.”
So practical. I’m not afraid of the sorcerer or his band of followers. We got out of his trap, and we’ll get out of anything else they try to throw at us. He brought me here to find my mate and clearly has no idea just how dangerous a lycan can be once they have someone that important to lose.
The next room Nicolai bursts into is also empty. Were they all just sleeping on the floor? Not the living quarters, then? I ask conversationally. Maybe this is where they keep prisoners or something. No locks on the door, but witches don’t necessarily need conventional locks.
Nicolai frowns and turns in a circle in the middle of the hallway. “They’re not following us.”
You noticed that all by yourself?
“I prefer it when animals can’t speak,” Nicolai mutters. He rubs his temple and closes his eyes. “Something doesn’t feel right.”
We’re not exactly at a family picnic. If he’s only just noticing that things aren’t quite right in this place, then he has bigger problems. He knows where we went, and I assume he knows his way around.
He doesn’t need to follow us; he can just set another trap because he knows this place in a way we don’t.
I don’t want to know what they’re doing here only because I’m curious.
Knowing more about our enemies could come in handy.
We don’t know where the entrance is, and we could be trapped here for a while.
Figuring out why they wanted us—and how they’re coming and going—would be pretty damn helpful.
“No, it’s not just that.” He runs a hand over his mouth in frustration. “The ritual. The candles. Him. He can’t have wanted more power; he was practically bleeding it.”
You said he couldn’t tap into it. I could feel the energy in the air as well, but he wasn’t using magic at that level. Nicolai’s right that it doesn’t add up. Thought you were in a hurry to leave?
Nicolai glares. “I thought you weren’t.”
I can hear enemies coming better in my beast form, but I want to look at him with my human eyes. Shifting between one second and the next, I shed the fur and claws. I’m quick enough at switching that I’m not worried if we’re set upon. So long as there’s room for me to do it, we’re all good.
The tips of Nicolai’s ears go red, and he averts his eyes.
“Modest, vampyre? It’s alright, you can look. You’ve seen it all already.” I wouldn’t mind feeling those hands, and those fangs, again. “I’ll even let you pet me.”
Ignoring me, he turns around and stalks away. So touchy.
The floor moves beneath Nicolai on his next step, accompanied by a distinct click. We both freeze. He turns his head to look at me, our eyes locking. He’s not scared, but there’s a hint of panic.
And then the floor drops out from under us.