Chapter 23 – Azaria
AZARIA
The forest swallowed sound as I walked. Branches, breathing, and heartbeat muffled the sound of each step. The silence pressed against my skin: cloying, thick, and crawling down my spine. The pull that had dragged me here shifted, replaced by an icy dread. My skin prickled. My senses flared.
I exhaled slowly, stretching my awareness into the dark. The air was heavy, choked, and too still. Darkness wrapped around me. Then I saw them.
Eyes.
At first, just one pair. Red and burning deep between the trunks. Then another. And another, flaring to life in the darkness, fixed and unblinking. My hands slid to my blades, breath shallow, knees loose. Every instinct screamed caution. Fight if you have to. Don’t run.
The first hound stepped forward.
Gods.
Massive and hunched, its body mottled gray-black, darkness clinging to its bones like a second skin. Its mouth parted, filled with jagged teeth. The breath that escaped stank of smoke, old blood, and rot. The scent of decay. But it didn’t snarl or lunge. It stared. I didn’t move.
I was alone. The word slammed through me. No backup, no squad—no Dain, no Thorne, no Quinton. Just me, my blades, and the warmth in my chest: the same pull that had led me here.
Another hound flanked the first, then another, closing in, but not attacking. Circling, like wolves testing the edge of their patience.
I counted them. Seven closing in. More in the trees; shadows moving between the trunks. A dozen. Maybe more. My grip tightened on my hilts. One wrong move and I knew they’d be on me. But they didn’t strike.
The lead hound dipped its head, never breaking eye contact, studying me. Not predator to prey, but recognition. Its eyes—abyssal, yes, but alive with understanding. A question answered.
The warmth in my chest shifted. It wasn’t pulling anymore. Instead, settled into a steady hum. Like calling to like.
But how? My magic was bound.
My throat tightened. Every part of me screamed to move, to retreat, to get back to the safety of the wards. But I knew—absolutely knew—one wrong step and it would all be over.
The lead hound’s head tilted. A low sound rumbled from its throat. Then its ears flattened. Target confirmed. And for the first time, in that terrible hush, I was certain:
They’d been waiting for me.
The moment the lead hound’s lip curled, I was already moving. Steel sang as I drew both blades: sword in my right hand, dagger in my left. The lead hound lunged first, the others holding formation behind it, trained and coordinated. I met it head-on.
My sword caught its jaw in an upward arc. Sparks flew as steel met bone. The creature snarled, thick ropes of saliva glinting with slick darkness. Not foam or blood.
Abyss.
Two more broke formation, one from each side. I spun, drove my dagger into the left one’s throat, yanked it free as my sword blocked the right. The stench hit me harder now: copper and rot and decay, so thick my eyes watered. The smell was getting stronger.
I ducked under a swipe, rolled, and came up slashing. My sword bit deep into a flank. The hound wailed a sound that rattled my teeth.
Three down.
The others regrouped. They circled, waiting for the signal. The lead hound barked once, harsh and commanding. The next wave came. Three at once this time. I caught the first across the throat with my sword. It dropped, gurgling. My dagger found the second’s eye socket as it leaped.
Four down.
My arms were already burning. Two weeks of recovery hadn’t prepared me for this. My thighs screamed. My lungs heaved. But adrenaline surged through my veins, drowning out everything except the need to survive.
Another lunged—too fast. I pivoted, but a massive paw caught my shoulder, claws raking across my ribs as I twisted away. The impact sent me stumbling. I didn’t feel the pain. Didn’t register the warmth spreading down my side.
Keep going.
I slashed. Again. Again.
Five down. Seven left.
But my movements were slowing. My sword felt heavier with each swing. Sweat and grime glued my leathers to my skin. The lead hound barked again. The remaining six spread out, flanking me on all sides. They were herding me.
One lunged from the left. I blocked with my dagger and drove my sword through its ribs. It collapsed on top of me, dead weight slamming me into the forest floor. My blade flew from my grip.
Six down.
I couldn’t breathe. Couldn’t move. The corpse pinned my chest, crushing it.
Then I heard them—more coming through the trees.
Shadows were closing in. I screamed, shoving at the weight with my free hand, my dagger still clenched in the other.
The nearest hound’s jaws yawned open, diving for my throat.
I drove my dagger up into its mouth. Hard enough that the blade punched through the roof of its skull.
Seven down.
It dropped, adding to the weight crushing me. I gasped, vision blurring at the edges. My arms shook. The smell—gods, the smell was everywhere now, thick and choking, like breathing through rot. The remaining five closed in. This was it. Then?—
“Azaria!”
The forest exploded with movement. My squad tore through the trees; Dain at the front, short sword already stained, eyes wild with panic. Kael and Zephyr on his heels, blades swinging. Thorne, Elias, Reyna, Lirael, Quinton—all of them, burning through the shadows.
The remaining five fell in seconds. Kael drove his blade through one's spine. Thorne's longsword cleaved through another's neck. Quinton's blood magic ripped the last three apart in sprays of black ichor. Dain went straight for the lead hound.
Too late. All of them too late.
I should’ve felt relief. Instead, I felt nothing but the sudden absence of noise and the crushing silence in my skull, like something inside me had cracked and the echo was the only thing left.
Hands pulled the corpses off me. I stumbled upright, but my knees threatened to buckle. My dagger dragged at my side. My sword still lay somewhere in the grass.
Dain was suddenly there, right in front of me, chest heaving. “What the fuck were you thinking?”
“I woke up and the pull—” I panted, voice raw. “I didn’t mean to go past the wards—I followed it and then—” The stench hit me like a wave. My stomach lurched, and I doubled over, retching into the grass, shaking with the force of it.
“What is it?” Elias asked behind me.
“Gods, they stink,” I spat, wiping my mouth. “Don’t you smell that?”
The others exchanged glances.
“No,” Dain said.
I stared at them. Nothing? They smelled nothing?
“We need to take one back. Dissect it—” I swallowed bile. “Burn the rest?—”
Nausea seized me again. I staggered, bracing on my thigh, and vomited hard. The world spun.
“Azaria,” Dain’s voice was low, grim now. The anger still simmered beneath, but something else overrode it. Concern.
“I’m fine,” I insisted.
A lie. Not even close. My skin was burning. Feverish, hot like broken glass shoved deep inside me. Something warm trickled down my side. I looked.
Blood seeped from the wound where claws had raked my ribs—dark and sluggish. Almost black. My blood shouldn’t look like that.
Dain reached my side in a heartbeat. “You’re bleeding.”
“I didn’t notice?—”
Then the cough hit. It tore out of me, metallic and wet. I stared at the ground as red splattered on my boots.
“Azaria?” Reyna’s voice—thin, afraid.
“I’m—”
My knees buckled. Dain’s arms caught me. Voices shouted my name. Once. Twice. A panicked chorus. And then?—
The world went black. The heat swallowed me whole. And the last thing I felt before darkness closed in was fear.
Not for myself, but for what this meant. For what was happening to me.