severed head rolling across the muddy yard. A sob escaped her lips, and she lowered her arm. A crimson tear trickled down her cheek. “Thank you, good Lucian,” she replied. “So much has happened in these past hours, there has been no time to mourn for my poor mother, let alone all the others in our company who perished this awful morning.” She looked over at him, a scarlet film glistening over her luminous blue eyes. “Were there no other survivors?”
Lucian gave Sonja an uncertain shrug. “I saw Soren make it through the gates of the keep. I cannot say if he eluded the rabble assembled outside.” In truth, Lucian cared not whether the sadistic overseer had survived the massacre. “Take comfort at least that your father still lives and that, if fate is kind, you and your noble sire shall soon be reunited.”
She looked over at him. Hope warred with despair in her eyes and voice. She fingered the pendant bearing her family crest. “Do you truly think that we will live to see our kinsmen again?”
“I swear it, milady… that is, Sonja.”
I shall do everything in my power, he added silently, to see to it that you make it safely to Ordoghaz in time for Viktor’s Awakening, even if it means exposing my inner beast to your revolted gaze.
His confident assertion seemed to ease her fears somewhat. “What of your parents?” she inquired pleasantly, as though eager to change the subject to less daunting matters. “Do I know them?”
“Not at all,” Lucian admitted. Although deeply mortified by his bestial origins, he could not find it in his heart to lie to Sonja of all people. “My mother and father were feral lycans, living like animals in the forest. They were exterminated by your father centuries ago, when he first brought the pillaging lycan hordes under control.” His words recalled a bygone era when fierce packs of werewolves terrorized the countryside, before Viktor and his original Death Dealers forced the unruly beasts into submission for the good of all. “I was captured as an infant during the same raid in which my parents were killed.”
Sonja reacted with horror to his confession. “How terrible for you!”
“Do not injure your poor heart on my behalf,” he said, dismissing his parents’ fate with a wave of his hand. “If not for your father, I would have been reared as an ignorant savage, no better than my barbaric forebears.”
Nor would I have ever met you, he added privately. The V-shaped brand on his bicep was a small price to pay for so transcendent a blessing.
“I cannot imagine you could ever be a renegade,” Sonja stated. She laid a gentle hand upon his cheek. “You are too thoughtful, too noble of mind and spirit.”
Her generous praise, which plainly came from her heart, unsettled Lucian, tempting him once more to declare his love. Instead, he rose from the tapestry and extended a hand to help Sonja to her feet. “Come,” he said. “Let us find a less confining locale in which to wait out the day.”
She eyed him worriedly. “Are you quite certain you are ready for such activity?” She gestured at the improvised bandages encircling his torso. “Better, perhaps, that you rest awhile longer?”
“That shall not be necessary,” he assured her, not entirely without cause. Now that the silver had been purged from his body, its grievous effects were quickly fading away. He still felt weary enough to sleep like a hibernating Elder, but his wounds no longer throbbed quite so mercilessly. The chills and nausea had abated, the profuse bleeding had been stanched, and an itching sensation beneath his bandages indicated that his perforated skin had begun to reknit itself. “I am well enough to walk, thanks to your skillful nursing.”
Sonja took him at his word, rising from the tapestry to stand beside him. An unlit torch rested in a sconce upon the wall, and Lucian wrested the brand from its perch, then lit the tallow-dipped fibers at the end of the torch with a flint
Lucian gave Sonja an uncertain shrug. “I saw Soren make it through the gates of the keep. I cannot say if he eluded the rabble assembled outside.” In truth, Lucian cared not whether the sadistic overseer had survived the massacre. “Take comfort at least that your father still lives and that, if fate is kind, you and your noble sire shall soon be reunited.”
She looked over at him. Hope warred with despair in her eyes and voice. She fingered the pendant bearing her family crest. “Do you truly think that we will live to see our kinsmen again?”
“I swear it, milady… that is, Sonja.”
I shall do everything in my power, he added silently, to see to it that you make it safely to Ordoghaz in time for Viktor’s Awakening, even if it means exposing my inner beast to your revolted gaze.
His confident assertion seemed to ease her fears somewhat. “What of your parents?” she inquired pleasantly, as though eager to change the subject to less daunting matters. “Do I know them?”
“Not at all,” Lucian admitted. Although deeply mortified by his bestial origins, he could not find it in his heart to lie to Sonja of all people. “My mother and father were feral lycans, living like animals in the forest. They were exterminated by your father centuries ago, when he first brought the pillaging lycan hordes under control.” His words recalled a bygone era when fierce packs of werewolves terrorized the countryside, before Viktor and his original Death Dealers forced the unruly beasts into submission for the good of all. “I was captured as an infant during the same raid in which my parents were killed.”
Sonja reacted with horror to his confession. “How terrible for you!”
“Do not injure your poor heart on my behalf,” he said, dismissing his parents’ fate with a wave of his hand. “If not for your father, I would have been reared as an ignorant savage, no better than my barbaric forebears.”
Nor would I have ever met you, he added privately. The V-shaped brand on his bicep was a small price to pay for so transcendent a blessing.
“I cannot imagine you could ever be a renegade,” Sonja stated. She laid a gentle hand upon his cheek. “You are too thoughtful, too noble of mind and spirit.”
Her generous praise, which plainly came from her heart, unsettled Lucian, tempting him once more to declare his love. Instead, he rose from the tapestry and extended a hand to help Sonja to her feet. “Come,” he said. “Let us find a less confining locale in which to wait out the day.”
She eyed him worriedly. “Are you quite certain you are ready for such activity?” She gestured at the improvised bandages encircling his torso. “Better, perhaps, that you rest awhile longer?”
“That shall not be necessary,” he assured her, not entirely without cause. Now that the silver had been purged from his body, its grievous effects were quickly fading away. He still felt weary enough to sleep like a hibernating Elder, but his wounds no longer throbbed quite so mercilessly. The chills and nausea had abated, the profuse bleeding had been stanched, and an itching sensation beneath his bandages indicated that his perforated skin had begun to reknit itself. “I am well enough to walk, thanks to your skillful nursing.”
Sonja took him at his word, rising from the tapestry to stand beside him. An unlit torch rested in a sconce upon the wall, and Lucian wrested the brand from its perch, then lit the tallow-dipped fibers at the end of the torch with a flint
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