Azael watched from atop his castle as Elana and the others waited to climb into the fancy mechanical carriages Thorne and Evren had brought—faster than horses, and hopefully werewolves too.
His mind had skipped telling Elana of Trisha's death, too focused on deflating her confidence in trying to coerce his decisions.
But Azael couldn't risk harm coming to her because of him.
It would be wiser to send her further than Sirence, or sever ties entirely—but he wouldn't. Or couldn't.
An eagle flew above the cloud over his castle, screeching.
Azael caught it midair, draining its warm, invigorating blood as it flapped helplessly.
The remembered sweetness of Elana's blood made him drink more hungrily as he watched her enter the carriage.
He needed strength.
The last situation with Fen's wolves had been less taxing because of their proximity; he believed the fire he had unleashed spread through fur-to-fur contact.
The same strategy could end this pointless outburst of Fen's careless ego.
If Fen posed to be the only problem, Azael would end him and claim Elana for himself.
Then, with liberty, he would kill Zane—or any man who dared to grovel for her affection.
His bat's vision flickered: Fen's hybrids attacking the ghost mediator's abode.
They had done considerable damage before he noticed. Another reason Elana was a distraction.
Azael scanned his territory, jaw tightening as the sky above the castle softened into falling drops. Rain.
It usually announced itself with wind and a dewy scent.
Instead, the stench of rot filled the land. Swift movements advanced from the darker parts of the forest toward the castle.
It was no coincidence. The cast had been breached.
**
Eira sighed. Fen was so stubborn—men in general were.
Despite her advice to strategically abduct Elana to lure Azael into a trap.
Fen had ignored her, determined to face Azael directly while Elana was out in the open and vulnerable.
Only she wasn't. Elana was protected, and Eira knew Fen was underestimating the twins' strength.
Fen was relying on numbers to win this battle. Azael wasn't and that alone could determine the outcome.
Eira only needed to ensure Fen honored their deal.
She also required time to observe the potency of wolf's blood and bite against vampires. Given that it was the only weakness she knew that Azael possessed.
She wasn't stupid. If she intended to conquer a man like Azael, she would need more than brute force—-unlike Fen, who was using a fraction of his brain.
Thunder rolled. Rain followed. Her monochrome vision caught movements around the castle territory. Fen was already here.
**
Evren's eyes met his brother's.
They both saw it—the lycans closing in.
Rage stirred within him. The bloody pests were not backing down, more disturbing with their new ability to see vampires in
invisible forms.
The cars had been brought to ensure the humans reached Sirence quickly and safely, but dread crept in as the threat drew closer to them, involuntarily turning the humans into bait if they let the cars depart anyway.
Evren's gaze lifted to the top of the castle, instinctively. As if summoned, he met Azael's eyes.
The count looked calm—his way of preparing for battle. He nodded, slow and sure, granting consent for the cars to move despite the danger.
"Drive," Evren ordered.
He thought of Diana. They were gambling with lives by letting the cars go.
The drivers moved. Thorne went invisible immediately, trailing the cars through the now pouring rain.
Evren glanced back to where Azael had stood.
Gone.
There was something about the blind girl Azael favored—something that spelled doom.
That favouritism pushed him out of character, yet he still restrained himself from claiming and keeping her.
Evren scoffed and dissolved into nothing.
The wolves once closer to the castle shifted back into the forest. Evren followed. The last time he had underestimated these lycans, it had cost him.
This time he had to be careful. One poisoned strike could spell disaster; they were too outnumbered for carelessness.
Two wolves ran ahead, Evren pursued silent and swift.
They hadn't sensed him.
He hurled himself forward, landing atop one wolf and snapped its neck mid-motion.
It collapsed as Evren flipped, landing before the second wolf. It halted and began snarling, struggling for footing on the wet, muddy ground.
An advantage—Evren's shoes held firm.
Smoke laced the scent of the wet forest ahead.
The wolf lunged, mindless, more animal than man. Evren caught it beneath the jaw, disgusting spittle dripping from its mouth.
"You're in the wrong place, Lycan," he said, wanting to get it to talk.
It only growled, still struggling to break free.
Evren tore through its chest, ripping out its heart before it could escape.
He teleported ahead, closer to the path of the cars.
Thorne was still following closely in the rainy shadows of the trees—so was he.
His monochrome vision detected a good number of wolves spaced out in pairs.
An intentional formation. He hoped Azael would recognize it too.
The smell of burning flesh drew nearer.
A wolf burst from the trees. Thorne blocked the attack, punching it back.
Diana screamed.
The sound sliced through Evren. They had to make sure she got out of here safe.
A wolf ran alongside the cars, injuring itself as it chased, driven by blind violence.
Thorne pursued, his supernatural strength catching up in no time.
Ahead, Azael hovered above the smoke—definitely the source of it.
**
Azael watched the wolves he had cornered burn.
Better this than continued existence as abominations.
He preferred true lycans to these warped creatures.
Fen had grown smarter—pairing and scattering his wolves so Azael's magic could not consume them all at once.
The carriages approached. Evren followed unseen. Thorne emerged behind them, doing the same.
Azael stretched his vision.
Where was Fen?
Wolves closed in along the path.
Azael moved swiftly, knocking down trees to block them. Rain hammered down as he hovered, ready to ignite the next cluster.
Pain struck from behind.
Fen's scent hit him first.
Azael fell, the familiar pain of a stake twisting into his back. He teleported before he could hit the ground among the wolves.
His muscles clenched, forcing the wooden stake free.
He hadn't seen Fen.
"You bloody coward. Fen!" Azael roared, rising and scanning furiously as rain muddled scent and sight.
He gritted his teeth as he found the wolves he'd trapped were gone.
Now racing for the carriage.
Azael followed.
The carriage wasn't fast enough.
And worse, wolves were approaching from ahead.
Evren halted the convoy, his eyes catching exactly what Azael had.
Thorne attacked wolves flanking from the sides.
It was dangerous to remain in one place.
Azael teleported ahead, dropping another massive tree to block the wolves on his side.
Another sharp pierce came from behind—but this time Azael dragged Fen with him.
They fell, separating violently into the mud.
Azael groaned as he tore the stake free again.
Despite his back still struggling to heal from the first stab.
"You were so confident you still risked your dame's fragile life out here," Fen taunted.
Azael rose despite the agony, wolves closed in from ahead.
"I was right, brother," Fen said, returning to the shadows. "Your limits are your doom!"
Azael's focus widened, he couldn't rely on the trees to spread fire, the rain would dull that advantage.
He had to burn the wolves ahead for the carriage to continue moving.
Thorne battled behind the carriage. Evren waited ahead of it.
"Lehava!" Azael roared.
The wolves approaching from his end to Thorne ignited where they stood.
Pain flared through his back, forcing him lower.
His body was protesting but he couldn't yield, not yet, also trying to watch out for Fen and his sneak attacks.
The carriage still hadn't moved.
Azael clenched his jaw, surging forward to Evren.
"Let them ride," he said.
"Lord Azael—" Evren started.
"Let them ride."
If they turned back, it would be worse. Especially now that his body was fighting through incomplete healing and the exhaustion left behind by the sheer force of his magic.
Evren moved. So did the carriage. It passed him and he saw Elana, her head resting on Cara's shoulders, their hands clenched together.
She did not deserve this. Not for his sins.
Maybe she was right—maybe he wasn't a monster to that point.
"Watch out!" Thorne shouted, taking
Fen's next attack instead.
Azael lunged, but Fen dodged, retreating into the forest.
There was no time to go after him, the wolves ahead of the carriage were his major concern.
"Thorne!" he called, not letting his focus waver again from the danger around him.
"I'm going after the carriage, my lord," Thorne said, his voice already fading as he raced forward, assuring Azael he was okay.
Azael rose above the chaos, tracking the paired wolves ahead.
As he opened his mouth, his demon stirred.
His undead heart accelerated, burning from within.
It had been centuries since the demon last surfaced. Only the sorcerer who had torn him from death could awaken it.
Whispered incantations clawed at his mind.
This was not Fen's doing. Fen could not read magic. The army sorcerer was long dead.
The carriage moved faster toward the remaining wolves.
Azael forced himself ahead, toppling trees to block the wolves as the internal burning intensified.
Memories surged—of a body engineered to exceed limits, crafted to sate a kingdom's hunger for conquest.
The whispers grew louder in his head.
He had to release the flames.
The ground split. Fire erupted from fissures in the earth, consuming wolves despite the rain.
Even through the rain, fire seared from the cracks Azael's power had torn into the earth.
Azael fought to restrain it. If he lost control, the carriage would burn as well.
He plunged to the ground, tearing at his clothes, as if the rain could soothe the inferno inside him.
His heart pounded as the demon clawed from within; dropping to all fours, he gripped the hot, muddy earth, fighting with every fiber to hold it back.
The carriage passed.
Evren and Thorne followed.
Azael flung himself further back into his territory—
Then the whispers ceased.
He lay sprawled on the forest floor, body hollow and trembling, his empire breached and scarred at last—by his own hands.
He stared up at the rain-soaked sky, as though it mourned his cruel fate.
And still, the memory of her fear and desire lingered with him from that night in the spring.