7. Chapter 7 - Matt #3
It slammed both hands against the platform as silver light erupted outward beneath its claws, forcing the widening crack to stop only inches short of the chamber wall.
The effort visibly strained it. Muscles tightened beneath scarred gray skin while deep growls vibrated through the room hard enough to shake loose fragments of stone overhead.
Matt stared. “Please tell me that thing is on our side.”
The King’s Hand laughed softly. “There are no sides left.”
The larger wolf never looked away from the fractured platform. “The prison must hold.”
Matt glanced toward Theron. “Okay. That sounded almost helpful.”
The Guardian wolf’s pale eyes shifted toward Theron and something ancient moved behind them.
“You remained,” it said.
Theron’s throat worked once before he answered. “So did you.”
The King’s Hand smiled through bloodied teeth. “Touching. Two loyal dogs still pretending duty is not just another kind of chain.”
The Guardian turned back toward him with terrifying calm. “You broke the seals.”
The Hand’s smile twisted. “They were already failing.”
“You hastened it.”
“I stopped pretending the prison could hold forever.”
The Guardian's pale eyes never left him. “It was never yours to decide.”
Theron flinched like the words had struck something buried too deep for Matt to see.
Matt resisted lowering the weapon. “So the enormous terrifying wolf is the prison’s security system?”
The King’s Hand regarded Matt for a long moment before the corner of his mouth lifted. “An inelegant way to put it,” he said. “But yes. One guardian among many.”
The Guardian's claws pressed harder into the glowing stone as another crack split across the chamber floor. “The King must remain below.”
Another tremor rippled beneath them as several of the silver symbols went dark. A crack split across the chamber floor and kept spreading.
The stone near the far tunnel entrance collapsed inward abruptly, revealing a vertical shaft descending far deeper into the mountain than the chamber itself.
Cold air rushed upward from the darkness below carrying the smell of wet earth, blood, and something old enough that Matt’s instincts reacted before his thoughts did.
His hyena recoiled as something deeper than fear surged through Matt: echoes of memory and a certainty old enough to feel inherited rather than learned.
Matt froze.
For one impossible second, images flashed through his mind that did not belong to him. Ancient stone corridors. Blood covering carved walls. A crown made from black antlers. Silver eyes staring upward through darkness while entire cities burned somewhere far above the earth.
Then the vision vanished. Matt staggered backward, breathing hard. Theron caught him before he hit the wall.
The touch sent another violent surge through Matt’s chest, sharp enough that both of them reacted instantly. Theron’s claws flexed hard against Matt’s arm before he jerked his hand away almost violently.
The larger creature turned toward them. Its pale eyes narrowed. “You feel him,” it said.
Matt swallowed hard while the lingering images still burned through the back of his mind. “Feel who?”
The King's Hand’s smile widened again. “My king beneath the mountain.”
The shaft below them answered.
A sound rose from the darkness deep beneath the chamber, low and distant at first before it rolled upward through the catacombs with enough force to shake the walls around them.
Matt felt the vibration in his bones. The larger creature stepped backward from the platform. Even Theron went still beside him. Then the roar came again, louder this time.
And somewhere far below them, something ancient became aware of him.
The roar echoed through the catacombs again, deeper now, as though the mountain itself had answered.
Dust drifted steadily from the chamber ceiling while the larger creature remained near the fractured platform, its attention fixed on the darkness below the newly opened shaft. Even the King's Hand had gone silent, the silver eyes narrowed with wary calculation rather than amusement now.
Theron stepped backward toward the nearest corridor entrance. “We leave,” he said. “We find your people. Then we find a way to stop him before the mountain fails.”
Matt did not argue this time.
Another violent tremor rolled through the floor beneath them while the silver markings carved into the chamber walls pulsed unevenly through the darkness. Somewhere deeper underground, stone collapsed with a distant thunderous crack followed by shrieks that cut off abruptly one after another.
The catacombs were coming apart.
Matt followed Theron into the adjoining corridor while the larger creature remained behind near the platform. He glanced back only once in time to see the King's Hand watching them leave with an expression that unsettled him far more than open hostility would have.
The thing looked intrigued.
The corridor beyond the chamber narrowed sharply as they descended.
Unlike the tunnels above, these passages looked untouched by excavation equipment or modern reinforcement.
Ancient stone curved around them in smooth, deliberate arches while faded markings covered portions of the walls beneath centuries of water damage.
Theron moved quickly despite the injuries crossing his body, though Matt noticed the strain becoming harder to hide now that the immediate fight had ended.
His breathing sounded rougher again, and fresh blood darkened the black fur along one side where the hungry ones had managed to tear into him earlier.
Theron stumbled again, the misstep lasting barely half a step before he corrected it, but Matt caught the strain behind it instantly.
“Stop,” he said.
Theron kept moving.
“Theron.”
Theron slowed reluctantly several yards farther down the corridor before turning back toward him. “Not here. We need distance first.”
“You’re bleeding through half your side.”
“I'll heal.”
“That is not actually the same thing as being fine.”
Theron’s pale eyes narrowed, though the reaction looked more tired than defensive now. “You should worry about yourself.”
Matt almost laughed at that. “You shoved me out of the way of homicidal cave creatures twice in the last twenty minutes. I feel like we’re well past the point of pretending this situation is emotionally detached.”
For a moment Theron simply stared at him.
Then another tremor rolled through the catacombs, violent enough that both of them instinctively caught themselves against the walls while dust poured from the ceiling overhead.
The roar rolled through the stone with enough force to vibrate beneath Matt’s boots.
Theron looked back toward the darkness they had come from before finally giving a short irritated growl. “Fine.”
Matt stepped closer carefully once Theron stopped moving.
Up close, the damage looked worse than he originally realized.
Deep claw marks crossed Theron’s ribs beneath the fur, some partially healed while others still bled sluggishly down his side.
One wound near his shoulder looked jagged enough that Matt suspected something had nearly torn the entire muscle open.
“You’ve been fighting these things alone for how long?” Matt asked softly.
Theron’s hand drifted unconsciously toward one of the older scars crossing his ribs. “Long enough.”
Matt let out a quiet breath. “Still hate that answer.”
He unclipped the small medical pouch attached to his vest and crouched beside him near the corridor wall.
The confined tunnel suddenly felt much smaller with Theron sitting this close.
Even injured, he radiated a dangerous physical presence Matt remained painfully aware of every second they occupied the same space.
Theron watched him carefully while Matt pulled gauze and antiseptic from the pouch.
“You carry healing supplies?” Theron asked.
Matt glanced up briefly while pulling gauze from the medical pouch attached to his vest.
“Five years in the Army teaches you how to patch people together whether it’s technically your job or not,” he said.
The wounds pulled an old memory to the surface. Lucero bleeding into the Iraqi dirt. Matt hauling him toward Mac and Melvin while mortar rounds still fell around them. Blood everywhere. The laminated card. A man everyone thought was dying who somehow walked away.
Matt pushed the memory aside and focused on the wounds crossing Theron’s ribs instead.
“You learn fast or people die.”
Something shifted subtly across Theron’s expression at that. Matt could not tell whether it was respect or that same unsettling recognition he had seen earlier.
Matt carefully pushed aside the torn fur surrounding the worst injury near Theron’s ribs.
The moment Matt’s fingers brushed exposed skin beneath the torn fur, Theron jerked sharply beneath the contact while a low involuntary growl vibrated through his chest. Matt froze instantly.
“Okay,” he said carefully. “That sounded concerning.”
Theron’s breathing had changed again, but not with aggression.
If anything, the restraint in it felt far more dangerous.
The pale eyes locked onto Matt with sudden intensity while every muscle along Theron’s body tightened beneath the partially shifted frame, like he was holding himself still through sheer force of will alone.
Then, very carefully, Theron leaned backward away from his hand.
The movement carried so much visible restraint that Matt understood what it had cost him.
“Oh,” he said softly.
The realization settled between them.
What Matt felt pulling between them had nothing to do with fear or violence.
Now that the adrenaline had finally lowered enough to let him think clearly, he realized every time they touched, something reacted beneath his skin with instinctive certainty powerful enough to cut through exhaustion, danger, and common sense all at once.
Theron looked away first. “That is dangerous,” he said.
Matt kept his hand near the wound without touching him again. “You keep saying things like that right before refusing to explain them.”