Chapter 82
Chapter Eighty-Two
Lorkan
For safe measure, or because Dalinda kept equally wretched company as herself, a werewolf kicked Lorkan for the third time in the same spot. An audible crack bounced off the nearby trees. Moons—they’d broken a rib.
Lorkan was losing count of the days, beatings, and the whispers of his captors.
Had it been a week? Three days? With the sky permanently gray, day and night bled together.
Lorkan had no sense of where exactly they traveled to, either.
He’d grown too busy fighting pain and his bloodthirst. In some cruel joke, he was grateful for the shackles binding his wolf.
With the curse so close to the edge, hissing to feed, he feared he’d lose control.
Another werewolf kicked him straight in the gut, and Lorkan clamped his eyes shut, driving his fingers into the dirt.
The moment darkness fell across his vision, his mind flashed with images of Alvin and Mya’s scorched bodies steaming in the daylight.
They’d left before he’d witnessed their deaths, but his mind replayed the horrific possibilities.
Perhaps he’d take this beating as atonement for the friends he’d failed, for the pain lancing through his side was more than an inconvenience compared to the loss of Alvin and Mya.
A werewolf glared down at him, and another came into view, its silhouette blurred into multiples and transformed into his father’s. Lorkan sat on the brink of losing consciousness.
Sorin still isn’t ready for your darkness, the mirage said.
A fist connected with Lorkan’s nose, and as his head snapped back, a boot rocked into his jaw, jolting him to the side. Blood rushed over his lips, and his body ached like one giant bruise.
The warrior dropped to his haunches, tilting his head as he sneered down at Lorkan. “It’s a pity we can’t fucking kill you.”
Kill me, Lorkan had once begged his father. Don’t let me live like this.
Now that death stood near, Lorkan recoiled from the notion. There was too much to live for—his brothers and pack, Fjall, still needed him. As did Blair. His beautiful, smart mate. Was this how she’d felt when he’d never shown up in Fika? Alone, frightened, hurting.
Hate beat down on him as fists and boots, the hurt he’d feared from his people all his life. This was why his father had told him to hide what he was. Aramis had been right all along.
“You’re pathetic,” one hissed.
Lorkan spat blood out. “Says the pup using a chained werewolf as a punching bag—”
“You’re not one of us,” the male said.
“Is that so?” Lorkan laughed, part delirium and part snark. “Release me, and I’ll show you my wolf.”
He bared his fangs and launched—
Someone yanked the chain connected to his collar, violently pulling him back. The force knocked the wind out of him.
“Don’t have too much fun. I need him alive,” she called. “We’re almost there.”
They chuckled, stepping back from him. Dalinda wrapped the chain around her wrist and dragged him towards her horse.
Lorkan struggled, but pain lanced through him with each movement.
She tied his chains to the rope attached to her horse, planning to drag him through the forest, like livestock, an animal—
An abomination.
For the next few hours, rattling chains, horses’ beating hooves, and laughter echoed in Lorkan’s ears.
Dalinda pulled him without an ounce of grace.
He couldn’t find balance or a position of reprieve.
If he braced the tug, his arms remained upright, and after a time, his shoulders screamed.
As he stood tall, the wolfbane’s effects trembled through his tired legs, and he stumbled through ice and mud.
When exhaustion won and he dozed off, his father’s figure appeared in the trees, his disappointed gaze trailing him up and down.
Our secrets will tarnish the Drengr name.
That’s when Lorkan smelled it—the familiar warming wheat scent of his village. He snapped back to the present. He peered up at the trees. Assessed the terrain. He knew these hills and the paths snaking through the pines.
The very ones where he’d spotted Riven all those weeks ago.
An agonizing chill raked down his spine, and it wasn’t from flurries collecting on his damp clothes. He’d assumed Dalinda was taking him to the Johannes Village, but his home’s palisade walls became clearer and clearer through the wintry thicket.
Decorative banners hung on the wall, and Lorkan’s mind reeled. Stars above, today was his brother’s ascension. It had to be. Dalinda planned to ruin his brother’s chances, all because he was a—
“No!” Lorkan roared.
He tugged the rope attached to Dalinda’s horse and dug his heels into the ground. Lorkan gritted his teeth; he refused to fail his father or Eldrick—
Dalinda reared her horse to a halt, and Lorkan’s rope slacked. He fell face-first into the snow. She laughed, and her unit joined in.
“I guess you figured it out, haven’t you?” she asked. “My father deserves to become Earl, not your pathetic excuse of a brother. You’re going to ruin it for him. After the other alphas witness the Drengr’s worst secret, they’ll have no choice but to rescind their votes and choose my father.”
“I won’t let you,” Lorkan said through gritted teeth.
He stood on shaky legs, rallied the last shred of strength he had and pulled.
Dalinda’s horse stumbled, crashing to the snow. It whined and flayed on its back, and Dalinda scrambled away.
Lorkan released his vampyr talons—it was so easy with the curse rearing so close in his blood.
He gripped the rope attached to his chains and hacked away at the tender material.
It frayed and snapped as Lorkan released himself.
No, he didn’t have access to his wolf with the shackles soaked in wolfsbane, but that didn’t bind his vampyrism.
He ran.
“Stop him!” Dalinda’s shrill command cut through the forest.
Lorkan kept moving north, putting distance between him and the Drengr Village. Something whizzed by his ear and planted in a nearby tree. An arrow trembled as he sprinted past it. More arrows shot through the forest. One, two—
Lorkan growled, falling to the ground. An arrow stuck out of his calf muscle, and crimson bled into white. He righted himself onto his back, crawling further and further back—
Another arrow lodged in his chest on the right side. Lorkan writhed as two arrows stuck out of his broken body.
Move, damn it. Move.
But it was no use. Lorkan was too weak for his healing ability to kick in. The wolfsbane worked against him, too, and Lorkan’s resolve dissipated like fog. His chest heaved as he fell deeper into the snow, wishing the winter terrain would open wide and swallow him whole.
The Johanneses caught up, and Dalinda pushed through them, rage warring in her gaze.
She growled and whirled towards her unit. “I told you I needed him alive!”
“They weren’t kill shots; I merely slowed him down.”
Dalinda seethed. She unsheathed her axe and in one swift movement, knocked the blunt end of it into Lorkan’s temple.
Black eclipsed his consciousness, and for a moment, Lorkan found peace, not pain.
*
Lorkan reared awake and instantly regretted it. The arrows, with their fletchings broken off, remained lodged in his chest and leg. Blood stained his clothes and seeped into the stone floor beneath him.
He blinked. The surrounding gray sharpened, and Lorkan recognized the inside of Lār. Ceremonial hymns echoed nearby, and his heart raced. Ahead, beyond a small door, the great hall awaited him.
How did Dalinda know the fortress so well? How had she gotten him inside?
“Ah, there you are. Awake at last.” The wretched werewolf in question squatted on her haunches, inspecting him up and down. “Just in time, too. Your brother’s ascension is about to start.”
Lorkan gritted his teeth, tasting chalk. He didn’t have time to wonder how Dalinda had pulled this off. He had to focus on tamping down his scorching anger. It only heightened his bloodthirst, and Dalinda’s sneering face did nothing to help.
Kill her, the voices of the curse hissed. Horrific images of shredding her throat flashed through his mind.
Lorkan flinched. No, that wasn’t who or what he was. He inhaled, exhaled. But his wolf was so near, sitting at attention—
He stiffened, inspecting himself. Ah, the arrows remained, but they’d removed the wolfsbane-soaked shackles. Nothing restrained his wolf, and with the curse worse than it had ever been since Lorkan had been turned, he had little control over his inner beast.
Dalinda’s smile grew. She held up a waterskin and unscrewed the top. A beautiful, sweet and distinct scent reached Lorkan’s senses. His bloodthirst reared to life, and his fangs released. He snarled and charged.
Eager. Wanting. Hungry—
“How long has it been since you fed? Does your kind need to feed as often as scáths?” Dalinda asked.
“Stop,” Lorkan hissed, feeling his fangs scrape against his bottom lip. “You’re risking everyone’s lives, even your own.”
“Then cooperate.” Dalinda tilted her head. “Reveal your identity with some shred of dignity left, or I drag you into that hall as the monster you are. Which is it?”
Dalinda had him. If she spilled a drop of the blood, he was fucked.
Think, Lorkan, think.
A beating echoed beyond the wall, and Eldrick—maybe even his father—waited on the other side. His entire pack. His people. Sure, Dalinda knew. His secret was out. But gods save him, not like this. Lorkan wasn’t ready.
His wolf danced in his cursed blood, but another instinct, one far fiercer and familiar, rose to the surface.
Hide, hide, hide, it screamed.
All Lorkan needed was time. For Eldrick to become Earl. For the Drengr Pack to lead the Vadon Mountains. Then he’d swallow his pride and face what he was.
“Alright,” he lied. “I choose dignity.”
Not an ounce of him felt anything close to the word. His skin crawled, like his shame oozed from his pores.
“Good. Now get up.”
He tracked Dalinda’s movement as she screwed the waterskin’s top back on. He stood on shaky legs.
“Move.” Dalinda nodded her head towards the door.
Lorkan waited three beats and then tackled her to the ground. She released the waterskin, and Lorkan kicked it out of reach. Breathless, he righted himself and ran—straight into the Johannes werewolves from earlier. He’d miscalculated. Panicked. He hadn’t heard them over his hounding fear.
They charged, herding him back into the small room. Dalinda kicked the arrow lodged in his calf, and Lorkan stumbled.
“Hold him steady.”
They grabbed his arms and dragged him towards the door. Lorkan had no time to prepare as Dalinda burst into the hall. Light from the candles and the fireplaces blinded him, and the ceremony halted.
Lorkan’s heart thudded in his chest, the only sound in the entire hall as all eyes fell on him.
Including Eldrick’s.
Shock rippled through his brother’s deep-green gaze, but something else lay in his expression. Something…deeper. Eldrick appeared lost and worn, as if he stood in the center of a battle, not a ceremony honoring his new title.
“Lorkan…” Eldrick shook his head and snapped his attention to Dalinda. “What is the meaning of this?”
Dalinda, with her nose high in the air and waterskin clutched in one hand, addressed her father, who stood at the front of the crowd with a wide grin. Alpha Johannes crossed his arms in triumph as pure pride glistened in his hard stare.
“What have you done to my son?”
Amid the stunned crowd, Aramis fought his way to the front, Lorkan’s mother not far behind. Her horror-stricken face roiled his stomach.
“Unhand my brother,” Eldrick said, lethally calm.
He stepped forward, but Bjorn and the other Johanneses intercepted his path.
“Lorkan Drengr, second born and scholar, is a vampyr!” Dalinda unscrewed the waterskin and threw it near Lorkan. “The Drengrs have kept secrets from us all!”
Blood splattered across the stone floor, and the sweat and delicious scent awakened his wolf.
Stars above. Sweat prickled on Lorkan’s brow, and his heart raced inside his chest. He fought the werewolves holding him in place, but they didn’t relent, pushing him to his knees.
He searched for a way out. Something. But it was no use.
The hundreds of eyes ahead pinned him in place, his secrets laid out bare for all to see.
His brother’s chest heaved, a thousand emotions swimming in his eyes.
“Eldrick, I’m so sorry.” Lorkan’s voice broke.
As did his heart.
He growled, and his wolf—so hungry, wild and cursed—unleashed.
Sound and reason vanished. Lorkan became broken bones, pain, and hunger as he shifted into his wolf form.
Midnight-black fur sprouted from his pale skin.
As his face changed and a snout formed, his glasses fell and shattered against the stone.
His clothes, not enchanted, split at the seams and shredded as he grew two feet taller, fragments piling around his elongated feet.
The werewolves holding him sprang out of reach, but all Lorkan felt was red. Blood, blood, blood, the curse chanted in his mind. He swiped left. Flesh shredded. More blood seeped into the air. He bit into the shoulder of another next, chucking them across the hall.
Swords unsheathed. Some werewolves shifted in the crowd, on the defense. Others shouted his name.
But Lorkan forgot he was anything but a monster.
With fangs released and talons dripping with blood, Lorkan howled to the ceiling, his days of hiding long gone.