Chapter 18 #2
Stop. Rewind. Store that idea in the bean bank and focus on the deadly jungle, Luna!
I blew out a silent exhale, but not silent enough for Damien because he glanced over. Quickly, I schooled my expression.
“So this Wasting,” I blurted as we navigated a particularly dense section of undergrowth. “Can you tell me about it? I’ve never heard of it.”
His shoulders tensed beneath his shirt. “Few have. It affects perhaps one vampire in a million.” His voice remained controlled, but I caught the faint tremor beneath the words.
“It begins with diminished regenerative capabilities and progresses until the vampire can no longer heal at all. Eventually, the body begins to decay while the consciousness remains intact.”
I winced. “That sounds…”
“Horrific,” he said, pushing aside a heavy vine.
“A true immortal death. Consciousness trapped in a deteriorating shell that cannot die.” He paused, his profile sharp against the dappled light.
“I’ve watched him suffer for months. He tries to hide the worst, but I can see it consuming him day by day. ”
The raw pain in his voice resonated with something deep inside me—the helplessness of watching someone you love slip away while you stand by, powerless.
“And conventional vampire medicine can’t help?” I asked gently.
He shook his head once. “Nothing has worked. The Shadow Fang is our last hope.”
“But you believe it can cure him.”
“Elliot found reference to it in texts dating back to the Wolf Queen’s era.” His voice took on an edge of determination. “The Shadow Fang was supposedly created as a weapon against vampires, but what can destroy can also restore under the right circumstances.”
“Selene mentioned the cost of using it. That it might be too great.” I swallowed thickly.
He shook his head, his lips thinning with resolve. “Elliot gave me everything. A new life when I should have died, knowledge when I was lost, purpose when I had none.” His voice dropped lower. “There is no cost too great.”
“Yeah,” I said quietly, thinking of Aria and Jade. “Same.”
His admission felt significant, but I sensed he wasn’t telling me everything. The weight of his unspoken thoughts hung between us as heavy as the jungle air.
At another shout from behind, Damien glanced over his shoulder. “And now we have competing interests.”
“Competing for what specifically, do you think? Money? Healing? Bragging rights?”
Damien’s expression tightened. “The Shadow Fang represents more than a cure. In vampire politics, possession of such an artifact would give a significant advantage.” He hesitated, choosing his next words carefully.
“Some would use it for healing, others for power. The political ramifications are…significant.”
Such careful phrasing. What was he not saying?
We lapsed into silence as the jungle grew denser, the vegetation taking on increasingly unusual characteristics.
Flowers with metallic petals that chimed softly when brushed.
Vines that seemed to withdraw from Damien’s touch while reaching toward mine.
The boundary between natural and supernatural was blurring the deeper we traveled into the Wolf Queen’s domain.
By early afternoon, we’d covered significant ground, but the oppressive heat and humidity wore me down. Damien, despite needing no temperature regulation, looked increasingly strained, every step requiring visible concentration.
“We should check our backtrail again,” I said as an excuse to rest.
We found a suitable vantage point beneath the gnarled roots of an enormous strangler fig.
While Damien surveyed our path with the binoculars, I pulled out the map marked with the crypt’s supposed location.
We were less than a day’s journey from our goal, assuming the terrain remained passable and no unexpected obstacles arose.
Given our luck so far, we might get there in a month.
“They’ve triggered the third trap,” Damien said. “The female nearly fell into the sinkhole. They’re proceeding with much greater caution now.”
His tone carried satisfaction that bordered on smug.
“Nice. That buys us a few hours at least.” I traced our remaining route on the map. “If we push hard, we might reach the outer perimeter of the crypt by nightfall.”
Damien lowered the binoculars, his attention shifting to something in the distance, his entire body going still in that distinctive way predators do when they sense something wrong.
“What is it?” I asked, immediately alert.
“There’s someone else out there. Not with Marcel’s team.” His voice was low, almost a growl.
He handed me the binoculars and directed my gaze to a flash of movement almost at the limit of visibility. A solitary figure moved parallel to Marcel’s group but kept to deeper cover.
“Human?” I asked, trying to make out details.
“No.” The single word carried weight, his jaw tightening. “I can smell him from here. Male. Shifter.”
“Fuck me with all the razors,“ I hissed.
His eyebrow arched. “Friend of yours, you think?”
The question carried a dangerous undercurrent, possessive rather than merely curious.
I snorted. “I’m not exactly popular with shifters these days, remember?”
The distant figure disappeared into the foliage before I could identify more than a general impression. He moved with the distinctive efficiency of a practiced hunter. Not someone randomly encountered in one of the world’s most dangerous places.
“Our path grows increasingly crowded,” Damien said, his hand coming to rest at the small of my back as he guided me away from our exposed position.
The gesture seemed both protective and possessive, his fingers splaying slightly against my spine.
Despite the powerful tingle of his cool touch, I refolded the map with a growing sense of unease. “We need to reach the crypt first. Whatever’s waiting there, I’d rather face it before Marcel’s mercenaries or that mystery shifter joins the party.”
We resumed our journey, pushing deeper into territory that felt increasingly alive with watchful awareness.
The sensation of being watched came not just from our human and supernatural rivals, but from the jungle itself, as if the Wolf Queen’s domain recognized our intrusion and was deciding whether to tolerate our presence further.
With each step, the weight of what awaited us grew heavier, along with the certainty that we weren’t the only ones racing toward a prize whose true nature remained buried in ancient secrets.
“All the razors, Luna?“ Damien asked with a small, teasing smile that transformed his severe features.
I snorted a laugh. “All of them. I don’t half-ass anything.”
His steady gaze prickled heat along my skin that had nothing to do with the dense jungle, his blue eyes darkening as they held mine. “I’m beginning to see that.”