Chapter 23
Chapter Twenty-Three
The thunderous crash of a massive silver wolf bursting through the tree line shook the entire clearing. Nero's transformation back to human form was instant, his anguished cry echoing off the surrounding peaks as he stared at the trampled earth where Casteel had been taken.
He snarled, dropping to his knees to examine the churned ground. His senses picked up every scent—Casteel's fear, Aldric's guilt, the metallic tang of Silver Guard armor, and underneath it all, Doran's distinctive scent of incense and madness.
"Nero!" Eryken's voice cut through his rage as rebels emerged from the forest, having followed the sounds of hooves. Lord Morven was among them, his face grim as he surveyed the empty clearing.
"They took him," Nero said, his voice raw with grief and fury. "I felt his terror through the bond, felt the moment they—" Nero was already moving, following the trail left by the horses' hooves. "They're heading northeast. Toward the old temple ruins."
"Stop," Eryken commanded, his voice carrying enough authority to make Nero pause. "You're thinking with your heart, not your head."
"My heart is what they've taken," Nero growled, silver light beginning to ripple beneath his skin. "Every moment we waste talking—" It was his fault. If he hadn't run away like some pathetic child—
"Is another moment you stay alive to actually save him," Eryken interrupted sharply. "Charge in there, and you'll be dead or captured within minutes. Is that what Casteel would want?"
The question struck home. Nero could still feel Casteel's presence—distant but alive, carried farther away with each passing heartbeat.
Along with that presence came emotions that made his chest tighten: guilt, self-recrimination, and an overwhelming fear not for himself, but for what his capture would make Nero do.
"He blames himself," Nero whispered, the realization hitting him like a physical blow. "He thinks this is his fault." Nero's hands clenched into fists. "It was Aldric. He's a traitor."
Eryken stilled then swore and glanced at Lucan, who looked horrified. "At least we know who our traitor is."
"What?" Nero demanded.
"Aldric has been feeding us intel for a year, turns out he's really been using us to help Doran," Eryken said.
"I have to get Casteel back," Nero ground out. It really was that simple to him.
"We will," came a new voice from the forest edge. "But not by charging blindly into Doran's trap."
A figure emerged from the shadows leading a horse—a woman, he realized as she pushed the hood of her cloak back, her dark hair and intelligent eyes missing nothing.
She moved with silent grace. Eryken froze, disbelief washing over his weathered features before he crossed the clearing in three long strides and swept her into his arms.
"Veda," he breathed, burying his face in her hair. "By all the gods, how did you find us?"
She allowed herself a moment in his arms before gently disengaging, her eyes flicking to Nero with professional assessment then back to Eryken. "Your message reached Rajpur. My brother sends his regards—and his spies."
Morven frowned and glanced between the two of them. Nero had no idea who she was.
"But how did you find us here?" Eryken pressed, but instead of waiting for an answer he dragged her back into his arms and took her lips with his. Nero watched as all the men's jaws dropped.
"I'm not going to spill all my secrets," she teased when he let up.
"Princess," Lord Morven said in stunned understanding as he bowed. He gazed, gesturing toward Nero with awed respect in his voice. "Princess Veda of Rajpur, sister to his excellency Kamir, and the finest intelligence operative in the eastern kingdoms."
Princess?
Nero nodded curtly, his body still thrumming with the need to pursue. "Your reputation clearly precedes you, Princess. But unless you can help me recover my mate from Doran's clutches, I have no time for pleasantries."
"Then you'll want to hear what I have to say," Veda replied, unruffled by his brusqueness. "My agents have been tracking Doran's movements for weeks. The temple ruins aren't his final destination—they're merely a waypoint."
"To where?" Nero demanded.
"The Fenrir Crypts," Veda answered, unfurling a scroll from her tunic to reveal a detailed map of the mountain range. "Ancient burial chambers beneath the old temple. According to our new intelligence, Doran has been preparing a ritual site there for weeks."
Eryken's expression darkened. "But why?"
Veda met his gaze. "Blood magic." She glanced at Nero. "I'm assuming the wolf transfer has already successfully happened once? My spies tell me your lieutenant now houses the wolf soul."
Nero narrowed his eyes. "What do you mean?" She took his question as an assent.
"Blood magic is known to the priesthood. Especially dark blood magic, so the priests can be taught to counter it. He wants to do it a second time."
For a moment it seemed like the very heavens themselves held their breath. “No,” whispered Nero.
"That's impossible," Lord Morven interjected. "The wolf-soul chooses its vessel. It cannot be commanded."
"In your case, yes. But he intends to force the wolf out this time."
"But he only found out it had transferred barely a day ago, if that," Nero said.
Veda sent him a level look. "This was always his plan, and why he spent two moons trying to bring the wolf forward in Casteel.
He could not guarantee his future power on the whims of others.
From the second Casteel changed, this was what Doran intended.
The transfer to you was unexpected, but as far as he is concerned the plan will still go ahead. "
“But how does he know it will work a second time?" Lord Morven asked. "The wolf may not wish it."
"Black magic will compel it," Veda said. She paused and met Nero's gaze. "The wolf will be convinced you will die. What they will put you through won't be pleasant."
"Then we need to keep Nero well away," Morven snapped.
"Which is why they will torture Casteel first," Veda said. "To ensure you try to save him."
Nero’s vision tunneled, the edges of the world dimming to the singular thread that still bound him to Casteel. Pain pressed behind his eyes, hot and insistent, but he forced his breathing to remain even.
“How long?” he asked, voice flat.
“Dawn,” Veda said. “He’ll want the ritual complete before full light to harness the liminal power. And the crypt’s wards will be strongest at twilight and weakest just before sunrise. That will be our window.” She sighed. "I miss enemies with bows and arrows…"
“We move now,” Nero said, already turning. “Morven—take the survivors north. Keep River with you.”
Martha’s hand tightened around the boy’s, and River looked up, his mouth set stubbornly. “I’m coming with you.”
“No,” Nero said, no room for argument. He crouched and gripped River’s shoulders. “Listen to me, pup.” The words tasted of salt and blood and every oath he’d ever sworn. “If I know you’re behind me, I will look back. And if I look back, I die.” He made himself say it. “He dies.”
River swallowed, tears brightening his eyes. “You promised.”
“I did,” Nero said. “And I intend to keep it.” He slid a blade from his belt—a narrow fighting knife with a stripped leather hilt—and turned it, offering the handle.
“Pack law: you carry the heart-knife until the alpha returns. Guard it. If anyone asks whose knife it is, you tell them it’s the Silver Wolf’s.
” It was made-up on the spot but it was a rule worth following.
The boy’s fingers closed around the hilt as if it were a lifeline. “And you’ll come back?”
Nero leaned in, pressed his brow to River’s for the barest moment. “I will crawl on shattered bones if I must.”
Eryken’s hand landed on his shoulder. “Enough.”
They moved at once, rebels arriving with spare horses.
Veda took point, her map committed to memory, her horse speeding unerring through black pines and knife-edged ridges. Lucan and two of Morven’s best scouts flanked them, shadows with bows. Eryken matched Nero’s horse's pace but his gaze was fixed on Veda, breath steady.
The night thinned toward a colorless pre-dawn. Frost glazed stone, and the stars felt too near, as if the heavens had leaned closer to witness.
“Here,” Veda murmured finally, halting at the mouth of a ravine that cut the mountains like a wound. She dismounted and knelt, brushing away leaves to reveal a sigil carved into bedrock: a circle of interlocked wolves with a spear rammed through their backs.
“Priest ward?” Eryken asked. "How do you know this when it's the first time you ever came here?"
She looked up at him. "I spent time with Eldara."
Nero huffed. "Who the hell is Eldara? A spy?"
Veda laughed. "She's a dragon."
Nero opened his mouth to ridicule her but shut it just as quickly. There'd been rumors.
“These are old Fenrir bindings, repurposed,” Veda said. “Old magic from when the fenrir wolves governed the territories. They’ll flare if the wolf crosses them. Doran knows you’ll come.” She glanced behind her at Eryken. “Only the wolf-soul and those that have Fenrir blood can progress.”
Eryken took a step forward. “You cannot shift,” he almost spat.
She looked saddened. “I still have Fenrir blood through my line, but he has the wolf-soul, so it isn't necessary.”
"But how did Doran…wait," Nero answered his own question "he has Fenrir blood?"
Veda inclined her head. "Him, certain silver guard probably all progeny of the emperor, and apparently a priest called Enoch."
"But they can't shift?" Eryken pressed.
"No, the blood is too diluted, but it certainly explains his obsession with the silver wolf and the fact he thinks his blood will accept it."
It made horrible sense, Nero acknowledged. “And we can just walk in?”