Chapter 23 - Dominic
The mountain breathed.
Wind swept down from the peaks in long, whistling sighs, dragging snow in ghostly veils over the trees.
Beneath the sound, there was the steady drum of paw beats, soft, deliberate, endless.
Two packs moved as one: the dark-furred Volkhov and the pale Nordan, their bodies low, eyes bright, their breath steaming in the cold.
At their head ran Dominic.
His coat was black as obsidian, his shoulders broad, his paws carving deep into the snow. The pain in his chest was still there, dull but constant, a steady pulse beneath the rhythm of his stride. He ignored it.
“Keep moving,” he snarled to the wolves nearest him, “Stay in formation.”
A chorus of affirmations answered him, quick flickers of thought, of deference. Behind him, Arthur growled.
“You should have stayed at home, boy.”
Dominic didn’t slow. “My place is here.”
“You’re injured.”
“I’m fine.”
A rumble of amusement answered him, “Aye, if you say so.”
Dominic’s lip curled, revealing his teeth to the wind, “Concentrate on the mission, Arthur. In and out. We put them down before they have the chance to attack again.”
Arthur huffed and fell silent again.
The packs continued their descent from the peak of the mountain. The snow deepened, swallowing the sound of their movement. The air grew colder until every breath burned. Dominic pushed through it, eyes fixed on the slope ahead, on the dark cleft in the mountainside below that loomed like a wound.
Somewhere, deep below, something was stirring.
Every head lifted. Hackles rose. The smell was wrong, sharp, metallic, and old.
“Hold,” Dominic ordered, slowing to a stop as they approached the entrance to the mines. It squatted, low and wide, supported by crooked beams. Snow swirled around him, rustling through his fur. He lowered his muzzle to the ground, nostrils flaring.
Blood. Wolf. Cold. Death.
Arthur padded up beside him, his own massive form ghost-white beneath the snow, “Can you smell them?”
“Can you?”
Arthur’s ears flicked, “I think so. It’s hidden far beneath the rock.”
Dominic growled low. The sound echoed down the ridge, vibrating in the bones of those behind him. “We’re close.”
He could taste the corruption on the wind.
“Form up,” he ordered.
The wolves obeyed instantly, dark shapes tightening around him, dark and white ghosts taking up positions behind. Together they began to creep forward, silent save for the crunch of snow underfoot and the low growl of the wind.
His chest gave a sharp, stabbing ache, stealing his breath. He ignored it. He had to.
Arthur stopped beside him, his wolf eyes reflecting silver. “They’re in there.”
“Yes.”
“You can still turn back, you know.”
Dominic’s tail lashed, “You first.”
Arthur’s laugh came like a soft crack of thunder. “Very well. Let’s die like fools, then.”
Dominic didn’t answer. He stepped forward into the wind and sent the command, “Advance. Quietly.”
The packs moved as one.
Their paws met stone, slick and frozen. The mouth of the cave swallowed them whole. Inside, sound changed, the world went hollow, every drip of melting ice amplified into a heartbeat. The air was wet, thick with decay. It smelled of rust and old fear.
Dominic’s black shape led the way, his head low, ears forward, every muscle ready. His eyes adjusted quickly to the gloom. The tunnel walls pressed close, slick with ice, scratched by claws.
The ache in his chest pulsed again, harder this time. The bond between him and Layla sparked faintly, like static. Her scent was far away, ink, herbs, and salt, but still lodged in his mind.
“Focus,” he muttered to himself.
Arthur’s thoughts brushed against his. “Something on your mind, Volkhov?”
“Nothing that concerns you.”
“I doubt it.”
Dominic didn’t reply. The tunnel opened suddenly into a vast hollow chamber. Pale light filtered down through cracks in the roof, painting everything in ghost colors. A skeleton slumped miserably against the wall, bones stripped clean and scattered. The smell hit like a blow.
The wolves fanned out, silent, alert. Arthur padded to a stop beside Dominic, muzzle wrinkling. “Human,” he said.
Dominic’s growl reverberated in his chest, “We need to end this.”
He stepped forward, claws scraping against stone, and sent the signal through the packs. “Form a line. If they attack, fall back to the ridge. Arthur, hold the rear.”
Arthur nodded once. “Agreed.”
For a heartbeat, the cave was utterly still.
Then a sound rose, faint at first, then swelling until it filled the chamber. A low, wet hiss that made the fur along Dominic’s spine stand on end. It came from the tunnels ahead. From the dark.
“Positions!” Dominic barked.
Dozens of glowing eyes appeared in the gloom.
The first hybrid launched out of the shadows.
It was enormous, a wolf twisted wrong, its limbs too long, its jaw split with fangs that didn’t fit. It hit one of the Nordan wolves with a shriek, claws raking deep. The air filled with snarls and screams.
Dominic didn’t hesitate. He sprang forward, black fur a blur, meeting the creature mid-lunge. His teeth sank deep into its neck, tasting blood and bile. It writhed, shrieking. He threw it down, crushed its throat under his paws, and turned to the next.
“Now!”