04 - Rise of the Lycans (13 page)

If only for the moment…

She squeezed Lucian’s hand as they faced the teeming pack together. She had
no illusions that even his matchless strength and courage could prevail against
such overwhelming odds.
At least I will not die alone,
she consoled
herself.
If I must perish, let it be at my true love’s side.

But Lucian had another idea.

Dropping the sword, he reached beneath his belt and pulled something from a
small woolen pouch. Sonja’s eyes widened in alarm as he plucked the key from the
pouch. Her heart stopped as she grasped what he intended.

“No,” she murmured weakly.
It’s forbidden.

Ignoring her protests, Lucian jammed the key into the lock holding the moon
shackle around his neck. A metallic click greeted the key and the collar snapped
open. The silver spikes fell away from his throat. He grabbed onto the open shackle
and hurled it away from him.

The effect was instantaneous.

His fair skin darkened, turning a mottled shade of gray. His unruly scalp
birthed a mane of coarse black fur that sprouted from his head and shoulders,
then spread across his body and limbs, which themselves lengthened and grew
larger in the space of a heartbeat. His blood-splattered vest and breeches came
apart at the seams as he assumed the proportions of a giant. His fists curled
into paws. Clawed feet shredded his leather boots.

The moon pulled on his flesh and bone, so that it flowed like the tide. His
very skull underwent a grotesque metamorphosis. A canine muzzle protruded from
his face. His brow sloped backward over fierce cobalt eyes. Tufted ears tapered
to a point. Flattened nostrils flared above a maw full of jagged incisors. Foam
dripped from his wolfen jaws.

Sonja gazed up at him in awe. Despite their past intimacies, she had never
seen him like this before. Tall and strong and ferocious beyond belief, like the
great beast Fenris of the Norsemen’s myth. Although she had known, on an
intellectual level, that Lucian was indeed a lycan, she had never imagined that
the wolf inside was so wild, so… magnificent.

Lucian exulted in his newfound power. An overwhelming sense of exhilaration
accompanied his transformation. More than two centuries had passed since he had
last taken this shape, and he was no longer an insecure boy locked away in
Viktor’s dungeon. This time he had changed of his own accord. He flexed his
shaggy limbs, feeling the inhuman strength and vitality in them. He had never
felt so free.

Or so deadly.

Nevertheless, he was still sorely outnumbered. Six other werewolves stalked
him warily, while more dropped from the trees or came crawling out of the
tunnels. His startling metamorphosis had given the other wolves pause, but not
sent them into retreat. Lucian bared his fangs and crouched defensively in front
of Sonja. He realized he was in for the fight of his life. This was going to get
bloody….

So be it,
he resolved. These beasts would get to Sonja over his dead
body.

Throwing back his head, he let out a tremendous roar.

And other wolves stopped in their tracks.

Lucian couldn’t believe his eyes. He held his breath as a hush fell over the
werewolf horde. Their leathery snouts crinkled and they cocked their heads to
the side. They lowered their eyes in submission. Lucian tried to understand what
was happening. Although it seemed inconceivable, he would have sworn that the pack was
obeying
him.

One by one, the werewolves backed away, disappearing back into the forest.
They leapt into the sheltering tree branches or else slunk away into fog. Within
moments, to Lucian’s vast astonishment, he and Sonja were alone upon the pitted
roadway. Gaping cavities in the earth were all that remained of the marauding
horde.

He looked down at her, fearing her reaction to his grotesque appearance. Even
though the change had been their only hope, he had never wanted her to see him
like this. What if she stared back at him in horror or revulsion? Now she knew
that he was truly a beast and not a man. He wouldn’t blame her if she never
loved him again.

But, to his surprise and relief, he saw only awe in her beautiful chestnut
eyes. She looked just as dumbfounded by the pack’s abrupt departure as he was.

What happened there?
he pondered.
Why did they listen to me?

A large figure stumbled out of the fog, and Lucian immediately tensed for
battle once more. Perhaps not all of the werewolves had abandoned the hunt after
all? Then the figure stepped into a patch of moonlight and he saw that it was
not a werewolf but rather the towering dark-skinned slave he had noticed before.
The one who had slain a wolf with nothing more than a broken length of chain. A
veritable mountain of a man, the bald warrior contemplated the werewolf and the
vampire noblewoman from a safe distance. The sword Lucian had shared with him
was still in his possession. Lucian wondered just how much the mortal had seen.

Does he understand that I saved us all?

The clicking of crossbow triggers intruded on the silence. A volley of
silver-tipped bolts came whistling through the fog, thudding into the trunks of
trees and striking sparks off the armored carriage. The clamor of pounding
hooves preceded the sudden arrival of four more Death Dealers, who immediately
took aim at the sole remaining werewolf before them.

Lucian.

Wait!
he tried to call out, throwing up his paws, but only an
inarticulate snarl escape his canine snout. Blood dripped from his claws. He
realized to his dismay that it no doubt looked at though he was attacking Sonja.
You don’t understand. I’m not one of them!

The crossbows fired again. A silver quarrel zoomed toward his head with
lethal precision.

Sonja leapt from the ground with blinding speed, swiping the bolt from the
air only inches away from Lucian’s skull. The lethal silver had no effect on
her; only werewolves were poisoned by the precious metal. She flung the
offending missile away from her.

Alas, a second bolt zipped below her arm and struck Lucian in the thigh. He
howled in pain and grabbed for the arrow, but his clumsy paws could not take
hold of the shaft. The silver arrowhead burned inside his thigh like a red-hot
coal. He dropped to his knees, even as the metal stole his lycanthropic strength
and stature from him. Sable fur receded from limbs and his bones contorted back
into human guise. Wolfen claws retracted. Cobalt eyes dimmed to brown.

A third bolt stabbed him in the leg.

“No!” Sonja shouted. She threw herself in front of Lucian. “Stop!”

The lead horseman lowered his crossbow. A cruel chuckle revealed that he was
none other than Kosta. A crooked smile showed through his Corinthian helmet. He
watched with obvious satisfaction as the wounded werewolf turned back into
Lucian. The naked slave writhed in agony upon the ground.

More riders emerged from the mist. Viktor rode past Kosta. Unlike the armored
soldiers, the Elder wore a stately black robe and cape. A nervous-looking Tanis
followed after him, riding a pale gray palfrey instead of a proper warhorse. The
scribe held aloft a blazing torch. His eyes anxiously searched the woods around
them. He clearly wished he were anywhere else than this treacherous crossroads.
He flinched at the sight of the overturned carriage and the ravaged bodies
surrounding it.

Concerned only with tending to Lucian’s wounds, Sonja failed to acknowledge
her father’s arrival. Dropping to his side, she gently worked the barbed
arrowheads from his punctured flesh and bone. Despite her delicate touch, every
motion sent a fresh jolt of agony through his tortured body. Throbbing purple
veins spread from each wound. Cramps and nausea gripped his innards. Sonja
worked the blood-slick bolts back and forth in order to extricate them without
breaking the birchwood shafts. He clenched his teeth to keep from screaming. It
took all his willpower not to turn and snap at Sonja like a maddened hound.

Viktor observed the tender scene with visible distaste. His icy gaze went
from Lucian’s bare throat to the discarded moon shackle lying several yards
away. He speared the collar with the tip of his sword and lifted it up for all
to see. Anger flared in his eyes and voice.

“What is this?”

Alarmed by her father’s outraged tone, Sonja rushed to explain. She looked up
at him urgently. Tearful eyes beseeched his mercy. “He did it to save me!”

The vehemence of her cry only seemed to provoke him further. His eyes
narrowed suspiciously, as though an ugly thought had begun to scrape at the back
of his mind. Dismounting from his steed, he strode over to where Lucian lay
bleeding and grabbed the lycan’s hair. He jerked Lucian’s head back and hissed
into his face.

“Am I not the master of my house?”

His armored gauntlet slapped Lucian across the face. The force of the blow
loosened the slave’s teeth and sent him tumbling across the road. Lucian’s head
rang like a gong. He spit a mouthful of blood onto the ground. A flash of anger
burnt brightly amidst the pain.

Was this his reward for saving Sonja’s life?

“Father!” Sonja shouted. She stared aghast at her father, as if she didn’t
know who he was anymore. “Stop it!”

“Am
I
not the master of my house?!”
he bellowed, as much at Sonja
as at the brutalized lycan. He grabbed onto Lucian’s throat and squeezed
tightly. “Answer me, cur!”

Lucian struggled to lift his head from the road. A large purple bruise discolored his face. Blood trickled from a split lip. One
eye was swollen shut. His voice was hoarse and barely audible.

“I… yes.”

“Yet you break my law.” Viktor thrust the unlocked collar in Lucian’s face.
“After I gave you your life so many years ago.” He yanked Lucian to his feet.
“Your days of plush living are over, slave!”

Riding up behind Viktor, Tanis watched the humiliating spectacle with acute
interest. Lucian glimpsed the scribe’s sly smile and amused eyes. He seemed to
be enjoying this almost as much as Kosta was.

Viktor drew back his hand to administer another crippling blow.

“Father!” Sonja grabbed his wrist. “Leave him be! I told you, he was merely—”

Viktor yanked his arm from her grip. His face was livid beneath his helmet as
he spun around to confront her. “Hold your tongue!” Centuries of pent-up anger
and frustration boiled over into his voice. “You have defied me for the last
time.”

He barked at Tanis. “Get her out of here!” Turning his back on his daughter,
he nodded at Kosta and the other Death Dealers. “And take this ungrateful
mongrel away!”

The knights descended on Lucian, kicking him in the ribs as they threw him
back onto the ground. Rough hands rolled him onto his stomach and chained his
hands and feet together. Dazed from Viktor’s blow, and still smarting where the
silver quarrels had pierced his flesh, Lucian lacked the strength to put up a
fight. He could only hope that Viktor’s temper would abate once they got back to the castle. Or had his desperate ploy with the key
condemned him forever?

Kosta got down from his horse and spit on Lucian. Finally seeing his chance,
he stepped vengefully on the back of the lycan’s head. His heavy boot ground
Lucian’s face into the dirt.

Viktor did nothing to curb the overseer’s cruelty. Sonja flinched, but seemed
to realize that her protests on Lucian’s behalf were only making things worse.
Her eyes glistened moistly as she bit down on her lip and let Tanis guide her
back toward Hecate, who had somehow come through the massacre with only a few
more scars. Lucian watched her go.

At least I saved her life,
he thought.
That’s worth any punishment.

Viktor muttered darkly beneath his breath. “I will have the skin off his
back.” He tossed the discarded collar over to Tanis. Venom dripped from his
voice. “Dispose of this.”

Leaving Lucian to Kosta’s untender mercies, the Elder surveyed the ghastly
carnage surrounding the carriage. Dismembered Death Dealers lay in pieces, their
butchered mounts reduced to bloody heaps of bone and horseflesh. The daughter of
a mortal noble was sprawled at the foot of the coach’s open door, her throat
torn open, her virgin blood wasted upon the mucky soil. The smell of death
emanated from the interior of the carriage, which was now nothing more than an
abattoir.

Viktor watched unhappily as his men rounded up a handful of mortal slaves who
appeared to have come through the slaughter unscathed. Among them was a large Moor or Nubian who reluctantly surrendered a bloody sword to the
knights. The Death Dealers led the prisoners away. Hoods covered the heads of
all but the black giant.

Two centuries ago, Viktor would have worried about the murdered mortals
coming back to life as werewolves, but, thankfully, William’s curse had grown
less infectious with each successive generation. Now only those who survived a
werewolf’s attack risked joining their loathsome ranks.

Still, there was no point in taking chances.

“Burn the bodies!” Viktor ordered. “Burn them all!”

Despite the imminent arrival of the other human nobles, practically the
entire coven had turned out to witness Lucian’s punishment. Burning braziers and
flambeaux lit up the courtyard in front of the keep. Vampire lords and ladies,
soldiers, servants, and courtesans mingled together, murmuring excitedly amongst
themselves. The story of the ambush upon the caravan, and Lucian’s subsequent
rebellion, had spread like wildfire through the fortress. Avid spectators waited
impatiently for tonight’s entertainment.

Off to one side, the castle’s lycan population had been herded together in
the shadow of the unfinished tower and its scaffolding. Death Dealers watched
over the restless slaves. Afraid to speak, the lycans shifted uneasily and
exchanged furtive glances with each other.