Fen observed his pack with pride.
The wolves he was assembling were far stronger than the old version of his hybrids.
His pact with the tree witch was even more beneficial—these creatures had no soul. They were mindless, more savage, raw animal strength fused with that of a supernatural.
To Fen, it was similar to Azael's fighting spirit.
"Fen."
Azael's voice rose from the shadows crowning the mountain where Fen's domain lay.
Fen grinned, his eyes probing the darkness, trying to track the exact point where Azael stood.
"You have come to my territory to finish what we started," Fen called, his voice carrying as the wolves snarled, straining to detect Azael's presence.
"Let us end this madness," Azael said. "Our feud is between us. There is no need to go after anyone else."
Laughter burst from Fen's throat, harsh and mocking, echoing across the mountain.
Heaving, he said. "You have no idea how deliciously accurate this is. I finally win this centuries-old game of chess."
Fen straightened, arms spread wide, staring into the shadows.
"I'd rather win as a dishonorable man than die as an honorable one. I'm coming for her, Azael. Not just her—everyone you dare to protect."
"What do you want?" Azael asked, his voice laced with the usual lethal calm before violence.
Fen's grin widened, the sweet, abhorring scent of longing drifting from the shadows where Azael waited.
"This is beyond lands and domains. I am now your enemy—fully, completely. I will stop at nothing until I conquer you and place your head beneath my feet."
He waited, arms open, inviting Azael into a fight. His wolves, ready to test their strength.
A sudden growl rose from the center of the pack, followed by whimpering, a wolf was knocked down.
Fen's head snapped toward the sound.
He spotted a white-haired man—a vampire—already bitten by one of the newer hybrids.
**
Azael observed the wolves surrounding Evren.
How had they seen him in his invisible form? Only animals could perceive what humans and even supernaturals could not—ghosts and the unseen states of vampires, beings already beyond life.
These were not ordinary werewolves like Fen. The stench of their savagery mixed with the earthy mountain forced itself into his nostrils.
Thorne had not yet been discovered but that relief shattered as a violent force struck two wolves closing in aggressively on Evren.
Evren had been bitten. His strength was failing fast even as he stood.
"Now you're bringing prey to my pack, Azael," Fen called. "I don't think I'm done celebrating the first one."
All the lycans in the mountain turned their attention. Those still in human form began to shift, focusing on Evren and Thorne.
Thorne would not teleport without his brother. Teleporting was impossible in pairs.
Azael had to carve space through the wolves—enough to lift Evren and give Thorne time to escape alone, since he had not been bitten, not yet.
It would take strength but Azael would still have enough left to ascend with Evren.
He descended before Evren and Thorne, his eyes igniting before his words, "Lehava!"
Flames erupted among the wolves, forming a ring of fire. Azael seized Evren and ascended above the chaos, trusting Thorne had gained enough time to flee.
**
Syrus rubbed his temples, the consequence of his obsession with deciphering ancient sorcery throbbing through his skull.
Huge books and pens lay scattered across the table in his spellroom as his fingers thrummed restlessly.
Wisteria was not in the Ancient's castle for beauty.
It was a personal containment—a vessel for extreme demonic power.
An important factor in unleashing.
The kind of power Syrus needed to bow to no king ever again.
Not even to God.
He was certain that if there was an incantation to contain a demon's limits, then there had to be one to bind and imprison it.
**
Fen moved swiftly through his pack toward the heat of the fading flames Azael had left behind.
A growl tore from his chest as he counted the damage—nearly fifty wolves burned to death, including the new ones.
He lifted his face to the moon cresting above his mountain.
Memories surfaced of how the kingdom had praised Azael—the most sacrificial, the strongest warrior.
Even in death, they had reached into the deepest sorcery to resurrect him, rather than placing their fate in other warriors who had fought just as fiercely.
Warriors like Fen.
"Until I draw my last breath," he snarled into the night. "I will not rest till I have you groveling beneath my feet. Azael."
**
Diana sat conflicted in the room she shared with the kings of Sirence kingdom.
They didn't seem available tonight like they were last night.
Her cheeks warmed as gentle, cold air drifted through the window.
Until now, Diana had only believed it was morally right to be with one man, but the twins had snapped her out of it.
Introducing her body to something forbidden—something it seemed to crave despite her shame.
She was even too shy to tell Cara how they'd undone her in one of the most frighteningly intimate ways.
Diana's anticipation grew, though she told herself it was anxiety.
A gust of wind brought Lord Azael in, and even with such force he landed precisely.
Diana's eyes widened as she saw he held Evren's limp body, red blood nearly black dripping from his arm.
Where was Thorne? Could this be a chance to escape? She stood from the bed as the lord placed Evren on it.
Even in pain, Evren's mesmerizing crimson eyes held her gaze.
His skin was paler than usual.
"The poison would be gone soon," Lord Azael said after he lightly observed Evren with his eyes, then disappeared from the room.
Diana, shaken by urgency, crept around the bed slowly.
"Not another step," Evren whispered, his voice still wavering with pain.
Diana turned to him, even if she didn't want to.
Swallowing as his gaze pierced her fear and uncertainty, yet she couldn't look away as the pain in his eyes softened into subtle ease.
"Evren!" Thorne's voice broke through their shared glance, and Diana felt an unwanted but profound relief that both were alive.