15. Wolf
Chapter 15
Wolf
S carlata Empire was as creepy and dark as I remembered. It was as if the sun never actually shined on this place, constant cloud-cover kept the city dim and gray. Fitting for the blood kingdom, the kingdom of death.
My chest tightened with each step our horses took. Witnessing the destruction from a distance was nothing compared to the crumbling ruins up close. Huntyr stiffened in front of me, taking in our surroundings in silence.
There were no vampyres in sight, but they would be lurking, hiding. The kingdom fell, yes, but not everyone left that day after the war. Vampyres and hungry ones lurked in these shadows, living their lives in secret.
I didn’t blame them. The fae absolutely slaughtered them. Vampyres were forced into hiding, pretending to be dead all this time.
Hells, maybe they were all dead, the hungry ones especially.
My voice seemed much too loud as I whispered, “We’ll let them go here,” pulling my horse to a halt. Jessiah did the same, helping Abigail off first before unstrapping our bags.
“What?” Huntyr asked. “We let the horses go?”
“It’s not safe for them to remain tied up here. We must let them go if they want to survive. They’ll find their way back to Griffith, don’t worry. They always do.”
I could do nothing to soothe the worry on her sharp, pale features. She was right to be worried. One couldn’t even leave a horse tied up in this kingdom without waking to find them drained of blood.
Huntyr would have to be careful. We all would.
Jessiah and I busied ourselves with unpacking the horses, taking everything we needed from the animals before removing the harnesses and sending them on their way. This wasn’t their first journey to Scarlata, and it wouldn’t be their last. But watching them trot back into the darkness of the forest never got any easier.
I cleared my throat and turned my attention back to the crumbled kingdom. “It’s getting dark. Let’s get to the tower before the sun is gone.”
Jessiah agreed, grabbing the young girl’s hand and taking the lead as he led us across the scattered cobblestone, now half-overgrown with tall grasses and greenery creeping in from the forest.
Every few feet, though, I spotted broken grass, crumpled dirt.
We were not the only ones here. Huntyr walked a step ahead of me, Venom drawn and her knuckles white from gripping. She was prepared for an attack, always. As much as I hated it, her inability to trust any situation would keep her alive here.
A few minutes later, we made our way to the tall tower that still stood in this wretched place. It was ten stories high, maybe more. In the height of Scarlata, this would have been one of the smaller buildings, but the war destroyed everything, buried every building, every home. Now, this was one of the only places left.
“What are we going to do with her?” Huntyr asked, looking at Abigail.
Fuck. I had to be very careful about this. Huntyr knew very little about what really existed here in Scarlata. I still wasn’t sure she would be ready to know the truth. “I have a plan,” I answered honestly. “There’s someone here who can take care of her.”
Huntyr nearly tripped over her own feet. “You know people living here?”
I squinted and gripped her arm, stopping her from walking. Jessiah and Abigail kept moving forward, oblivious to our conversation. “It’s complicated, but yes. I can’t tell you anything more without putting you in danger.”
She nodded, still skeptical. “Does your father know?”
“Absolutely not, and it’s going to stay that way.” I stared into her deep eyes, silently begging her to understand everything I wasn’t saying. Yes, I knew others living here in the ruins. No, my father didn’t know.
And I would die before I let him find out about them.
“Okay,” Huntyr said after a few seconds, turning her attention to Jessiah and Abigail. “As long as she’s safe.”
“She’ll be much safer here than back in The Golden City. I think we both know that.” My words were harsh, but true. Here, she could be with her own people, other vampyres who would raise her as their own, who would keep her safe. Back home, she’d be exploited for everything she was. Hells, I wouldn’t be surprised if my father killed her on sight.
Without another word, we followed the others through the rubble and ruins. I knew where they were heading, the same place Jessiah and I always stayed when we visited here. We walked until we made it to the base of the tallest standing building in Scarlata.
“Is anyone in there?” Huntyr whispered, turning her head to the sky.
“Not anymore,” Jessiah answered, pushing the door open. “They know we’re here. They always know when we are coming.”
“And they just leave us alone?”
My brother and I shared a look. If we were lucky, yes, they would leave us alone. Sometimes, we were lucky. Other times, we were met with unwelcoming surprises.
“Keep your guard up,” was all I said. “It has been a while since we were last here.”
The little girl was as silent as a shadow, lurking near the wall and keeping her wide, innocent eyes on everything that moved.
Smart girl. She might actually have a chance at surviving.
We walked through the arched doorway that led to a tall, narrow staircase. We started the ascent to the top floor—just as we did each time we visited these ruins. It was the safest spot, but it also gave us an advantage to see what had been going on since we last visited. We could see any buildings that were rebuilt, any gatherings of vampyres, anything.
The stairs creaked beneath our weight, but we kept moving. One by one, we climbed those stairs in silence. Nobody said a word until we reached the top floor.
Jessiah pushed the already-open door open further, ducking inside with his sword drawn before giving us the signal. The room was clear. I let out a breath I was holding then followed Huntyr inside, shutting the iron door behind me.
Each time we made it to this room, it looked nearly the same, but there were small things, little details, that told me people had been here. Not fae or angels, but vampyres. We had no idea if they were our friends or our enemies, no idea where they were in this world or what they wanted, but they had been here, rummaging through the few rations we kept, sorting through clothes and supplies, leaving a trail of their mixed scents behind.
The top floor was the largest in the entire tower. Someone noble must have lived here, the furniture left behind was certainly grand. Expensive, too. A gold-rimmed couch sat near the large window at the back of the room. Two bedrooms flanked each side, each with a large bed and plenty of clothes left.
There was a kitchen with a large table, plenty of space for us every time we visited, but running water hadn’t existed here for quite some time now. That, I missed.
Huntyr paced the perimeter of the room, scanning the furniture, pushing the torn, white-lace curtain aside and peering out the window. “Why does it feel like we’re being watched?” she asked quietly, more to herself than to either of us.
Jessiah and I set our bags down before trailing behind her to look out that same window. “It always feels this way,” he answered. “Whoever is out there, they know we’re here. We just have to hope they’re smart enough to leave us alone.”
“I can’t believe your own father sends you here.”
I bit my tongue. Of course, he sends us here. He couldn't give a shit if we lived or died. All he cared about was the fact that we would get the job done.
“He trusts us,” Jessiah said, always the fucking kiss ass. “And he knows we’re strong enough to defend ourselves if anything happens.”
“Still,” she argued. “He doesn’t even send Luseyar to help in case there’s an attack? It’s reckless.”
“As reckless as being sent to Moira?” I asked, voice suddenly dripping in a bitterness I wasn’t expecting.
She spun to face me, eyes sharp. “Excuse me?”
“I’m going to leave you two to figure out whatever this is. Come on, Abigail. I’ll show you the super cool room you’ll be staying in tonight.” Jessiah led a very exhausted Abigail into one of the bedrooms, shutting the door behind them before Huntyr let out another breath.
“You have no right to say things like that. You have no idea why I was sent to Moira.”
“But do you?” Wolf pressed. “Is it any different than why we were sent here? Was Lord any different than?—”
“Yes,” she spat. “Lord loved me. He actually cared about my wellbeing.”
I rolled my eyes and turned away from her. She was still so brainwashed, so naive. She actually thought a man who hurt her like that could love her.
That was not love.
The hatred that washed over me was a result from picturing those scars on her back, from picturing how they got there.
“Stop that,” she said.
“I can’t.” I couldn’t close the bond all the way, couldn’t keep out that anger and hatred.
“He took care of me, Wolf.” Her voice was softer now, and I felt her approaching from behind me. “He saved my life.”
“He hurt you.”
A thick pause.
“So did you.”
I spun to face her, finding her staring at me through those long black lashes. “Huntress…”
“Don’t apologize again. Don’t say anything.” She held her hand out, almost reaching for me, before dropping it. “Just don’t ever let me get close to you like that again.”
I wasn’t expecting the words, and they hit me hard, cracking my chest open. “But I want you close,” I admitted. “I want you closer than ever.”
Her jaw tightened. She lowered her eyes and retreated. “I can’t protect myself and love you at the same time. Not again. Not after everything.”
“Then don’t.” I stepped forward, reaching for her. “Don’t give me your love, Huntress. Give me anything. Give me the tiniest fucking piece of you. Give me the shreds, all the pieces you hate, I don’t care. I’ll take anything you give me, and it will always be enough.”
Her eyes glazed over. “I already gave too much.”
H untyr slept in the second bedroom, Abigail in the first. Jessiah passed out for a couple hours on the couch, his massive white wings barely fitting, before waking up.
“Hells, brother,” he groaned, pushing himself to a sitting position. “You’re sitting there watching me sleep? That’s creepy, even for you.”
I threw an apple at him, huffing when he caught it instead of letting it plummet onto his chest like I intended. “I can’t sleep here. I never can. You know that.”
He nodded, taking a bite of the apple and falling into silence with me.
Jessiah and I came here for the first time as children, right after the war that ended Scarlata. Back then, The Golden City was still good, still elite, still upholding its values and protecting the people inside.
That’s what they said, anyway. That’s what they told everyone on the outside. But they were the ones creating the mass fear against the vampyres. They were the ones spreading the rumors that vampyres were monsters, unable to control their thirst.
What a load of shit. There were very few times in my life that I was hungry enough to lose control, and I never needed to drain someone completely of blood. Just a few mouthfuls would be enough to fuel me entirely.
Vampyres weren’t monsters. Vampyres weren’t a danger to society. But The Golden City started that frenzy, started the narrative that the vampyres had to go.
There was so much fucking irony in that. My father was behind so much of the misinformation, yet he turned me into one of them years later, after he placed the fear of the bloodsuckers in everyone’s mind.
Vampyres were very similar to fae. They even had magic like the fae and angels did, though it was rare.
The hungry ones, though…
The hungry ones were still a mystery to me. In Moira, we were taught that the hungry ones were created when a vampyre lost control of their thirst, but I had a very, very hard time believing that, especially when all of the vampyres I met were in total control.
Even the vampyres here, living in hiding—they seemed just as afraid of the hungry ones as we were.
But I was only half vampyre, and I wasn’t even born one. The truth existed somewhere, I just had to find it. There were whispers about a cure to the hungry ones. After what I saw today with Abigail, I was questioning everything. They had enough sense to try not to kill Abigail. I had never met a hungry one with any ounce of restraint, but those ones? What if Abigail was right? What if it was a sickness, a disease?
And what if there was a cure?
I needed to find it before my father did. He would make sure the cure to the hungry ones—if it existed—was never found. He wanted more hungry ones, more chaos, more destruction. He wanted to keep everyone else weak and afraid so he could stand on top.
“You’re scowling,” Jessiah interrupted, taking another loud bite from his apple.
I took a breath and shook those thoughts away. “Just thinking about what we saw in the woods.” I tilted my head toward Abigail’s bedroom.
Jessiah nodded. “She stopped them. I thought Father was insane when he thought Huntyr would give him the power he desired, but this? This changes everything.”
The pit in my stomach—the same one that had been there since I saw Huntyr in that dungeon—grew. “He can’t know. Nobody can know, Jes.”
“I won’t say a thing,” Jessiah replied, and I believed him. It wasn’t the only secret he had been keeping, and I was certain it wouldn’t be the last. “But I really hope you have a plan here, brother. One that doesn’t end with all of us getting royally fucked over.”
I let my head fall back on the chair. I had a plan, yes, but Jessiah didn’t know about it. Nobody did, nobody except the very few trusted individuals who would die for this cause.
I had been planning for weeks. The fewer people who knew about it, the better.
“I don’t ask questions about what you do when we come here, brother, never have. But are you sure Abigail will be safe? Are you sure we can trust them?”
I appreciated that about Jessiah. The first few years we came here, we were on the same side as my father. We killed the survivors. We reported back what we saw. We scavenged the land, ensuring nobody was rebuilding this place.
We ensured Scarlata was still fallen.
But that was before my father sacrificed me, before he turned me into one of them and turned my wings black.
Fallen angels in The Golden City didn’t exist. Once you fell—which was rare enough—you were cast out, unable to live with the elites.
It made me fucking sick. Why was I fallen, when power-hungry monsters like my father were still living with their pure white wings?
Why me? Why fucking me?
I guess it didn’t matter anymore. My wings were long gone, along with any proof that I was a fallen.
Now, I was nothing. A vampyre with some extra magic. Magic I tried my best to keep secret.
Huntyr knew I could heal, but I learned at a very young age my father was not someone I could trust. I saw him use and throw away angels with far less magic.
When I woke up as a vampyre, I felt it. It was a spark inside of me that grew over time. Nobody knew. Nobody suspected, even when the lightning in my eyes grew. They all attributed it to my temper, to my wild lack of control when it came to my emotions. I let them think that. I felt it, though. I felt that I was given this extra power for a reason.
It was almost as if the goddess wanted to compromise for turning me into this, for taking my white wings away from me.
And the day I met Huntyr in Midgrave, it sang in my chest, buzzing to life like a hibernating animal coming out to play.
When we returned to Scarlata together after I became a vampyre, things changed. I couldn’t kill them blindly anymore, and neither could Jessiah.
It was years before I spoke to the survivors here, and even longer before they actually trusted me. But now, with everything we had planned, our trust was the one thing we held on to. The survivors needed me, and I needed them.
“Yes, we can trust them to keep her safe. If anything, they’ll be grateful we brought her here instead of dragging her back home with us.”
His nostrils flared before he said, “Things are changing, I can feel it. Something big is coming.”
The hair on the back of my neck stood straight up. “You’re right about that, brother. Something very, very big. If we’re lucky, we just might end up on the right side of this mess.”