Chapter 55
ALEXANDER
Alexander’s hand closed around his axe, the leather-wrapped handle biting into his palm.
His lungs were filled with the scent of his wife’s blood and set his vision ringing red.
He stopped himself from looking back at her—at the blood smeared down her cheek, at the way her body sagged in Darion’s arms. If he did, he wouldn’t be able to leave her.
Across the gallery, Tedric rose, like a snake disturbed. One hand dragged across the floor, leaving a smear of red in its wake. Her blood. The scum had the audacity to touch her and now wore it like war paint.
Their eyes locked, and Alexander took one measured step forward.
“Who are you?” he asked, voice as low as a growl.
Tedric scoffed as he pushed to his feet, rapier scraping against stone before lifting into a lazy guard. “Wouldn’t you like to know.”
Steel flashed. Tedric lunged first—a testing thrust toward Alexander’s ribs. The point slid past his guard, slicing through leather and flesh. Alexander grunted but didn’t slow. He turned into the blow, caught the blade on the haft of his axe, shoved it aside and advanced.
“I welcomed you in my House,” he growled. “You broke bread with us. Swore loyalty to my banner.”
Alexander swung in a brutal horizontal arc.
Tedric ducked—the axe cracked into a column behind him, stone splintering.
Alexander ripped it free, ignoring the fresh ache in his ribs, and swung lower.
Tedric leapt back, then darted in close.
Alexander pivoted and drove his shoulder into Tedric’s chest, slamming him back.
He brought the axe down in an overhand strike.
Tedric twisted, but not fast enough—the blade grazed his side, tearing cloth and flesh.
They moved apart. “And then you hurt her,” Alexander growled. “You think I’m going to let you walk away from that?”
“Enraged, aren’t you?” Tedric swayed but kept on his feet, one hand pressing his ribs. Blood welled between his fingers. He chuckled anyway, breathless. “But you hurt her long before I did. Remember the annulment letter?”
Alexander drove forward, axe sweeping low. Tedric vaulted the blade and landed light.
“That was you, then?” Alexander reversed the arc, forcing his opponent back toward the railing. “You broke into my study and stole the letter.” The axe carved the air where Tedric’s chest had been a breath before. “Easier to abduct her if she was away from Parandor?”
Tedric slipped left, blade flashing low. The rapier’s tip skimmed Alexander’s hip—a line of fire. Blood ran warm down his leg.
Tedric laughed, dancing back. “You jest. I could’ve stolen her anytime.”
Alexander swung downward. Should have split him. Tedric caught it on the forte, the impact jarring up both their arms, then slammed his shoulder into Alexander’s chest. They crashed together, close enough to smell each other’s blood.
“That was Bertrand,” Tedric hissed.
Alexander stumbled back. His leg screamed. “He did it to help you abduct my wife.”
Tedric barked a laugh and lunged. Two jabs—high, low. Alexander swatted the first, took the second on his forearm.
“Help? He made it harder.” Tedric circled. “Sent your princess running. Know why?” Feint. Withdraw. Feint again. “A vendetta, nursed since your father married your mother.”
Alexander pressed forward suddenly, breaking the rhythm. The axe swept in a horizontal arc. Tedric gave ground—back, back, toward the narrow gallery where the railing groaned.
“If he wasn’t so pathetic—” Tedric’s rapier darted out. Alexander batted it aside. “—I’d almost sympathize.”
Alexander shifted weight, ignored the burn, stepped inside Tedric’s guard, and slammed the axe hilt into his ribs. The sound was a solid crack. Tedric folded, stumbled back against the railing. The man laughed again, gasping. “But he only gave the rest of us a bad name.”
“‘The rest of us,’” Alexander echoed, the realization clicking into place. “You mean Betas?”
Tedric pushed off the railing, came in low, rapier slashing upward. The blade grazed Alexander’s side—shallow, but it still bled.
Tedric’s grin was tinged red. “We built everything while your kind took.” Another thrust. Wild. “Betas bleed in your wars. Forge your weapons.” Alexander batted it aside. “And what do we get?”
He spat at Alexander’s boots. Blood-tinged.
“You are parasites. Always taking.”
Alexander caught the next thrust with the haft, twisted, wrenched Tedric off balance. He stumbled, caught himself on a column.
“And I’m tired of being passed over,” Tedric panted. “While lesser men got everything. Your father. You.”
The axe trembled. “Don’t speak of him.”
Tedric stepped back and put a distance between them, rapier lowering an inch. Not in surrender. In calculation.
“Did you never wonder how Bertrand survived your father’s fall?” he asked, head tilted.
Alexander didn’t answer. They stood there, weapons between them, both bleeding, both breathing too hard. The only sounds were the drip of water somewhere below and the rasp of air in damaged lungs.
“He used the real Wulfbane seal,” Tedric said. “The one he had access to every day. Your father found out. For an Alpha, he wasn’t so stupid. But by then, it was too late. Bertrand had planted the seeds of your father’s treason, made the Crown and court believe it.”
Alexander couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe.
“How do you know this?” His voice came out raw. “You couldn’t have been more than a boy back then.”
Tedric said nothing. Just watched him over the edge of his rapier.
Neither advanced. Neither retreated. The impasse held.
“This is too big for one man.” Alexander’s jaw clenched until his teeth ached. “Who are you carrying for?”
Tedric didn’t answer. His weight shifted. Something in his eyes went flat—the last spark of words dying.
Then he struck. A desperate slash at Alexander’s wounded thigh. The blade bit deep. Pain seared, and Alexander’s leg buckled. He dropped to one knee, axe clattering.
Tedric surged into him. They crashed into the railing. Iron groaned under the impact. The drop yawned below—two stories of darkness and jagged stone.
Alexander’s vision swam. Blood poured from his thigh. He twisted, grabbed Tedric by the collar, and head-butted him with everything he had. Cartilage crunched. Blood burst from Tedric’s shattered nose. His eyes went wide, unfocused.
Alexander swept his injured leg. The pain was beyond comprehension now, a white-hot brand. The kick took Tedric down. They hit the stone hard. The rapier skittered away, lost in shadow.
The axe. Where was the axe?
His hand found the leather-wrapped handle. He dragged it toward him, pulled himself up. His leg screamed. He didn’t care.
Tedric lay at his feet, gasping, trying to crawl backward, one hand reaching blindly for a weapon that was too far away.
Alexander raised the axe again—
“WULFBANE!”
He whirled. A cloaked figure stood, half-hidden in the shadows, bow drawn taut, two arrows nocked side by side.
The man released. Both shafts flew together, then split. One hissed toward Alexander. He twisted, the arrow nicking his shoulder. That cost him his balance—and his view of the women.
In that fraction of a second while he’d dodged, the second arrow found its mark.
A sickening thunk echoed, followed by Darion’s choked cry.
Only then did Alexander understand. He looked at the archer and the three people at the halfway point between them.
Darion was on his knees, an arrow buried in his side as he shielded JingYi and Adelise with his own body.
“No—”
Alexander broke into a run. His pulse thundered. His leg screamed with each step. The archer was also moving, closing the distance to his wife faster.
“JingYi!” Alexander shouted, charging forward.
She was just rising unsteadily, face pale, arms bracing herself against the stone wall when the mysterious figure seized her by the waist. Adelise cried out. JingYi struggled, kicked. The figure dragged her toward the edge of the gallery and flung her over the railing.
Alexander didn’t think. He abandoned his axe, Tedric, everything. Pain flared as he pushed off his injured leg and dove, leaping after her, the air ripping past him. His stomach dropped. He caught her mid-fall, arms slamming around her, twisting their bodies to shield hers.
They hit the ground—hard. Air wheezed from his lungs. His fur cloak and his back absorbed the blow, sharp and jarring, stone punishing every bone. For a second, nothing.
Then, her weight shifted. She was breathing. He felt it, ragged and fast against his chest.
He tried to look up. His vision swam—edges soft, the gallery’s columns doubling before snapping back into place. He blinked, craned his neck, squinted through the haze.
The mysterious archer had vanished.
So had Tedric.