The vampire enforcers moved with the silent, fluid lethality of snakes uncoiling. There were three of them, their darkened steel armor absorbing the faint, bloody light of the crystals, their faces emotionless masks of duty. They did not see a man; they saw a task to be completed, a stain to be wiped clean.
Lucien's world narrowed to the space between heartbeats. The Council's verdict still echoed in the chamber, but the time for words was over. The beast within him, both wolf and vampire, roared to the surface, not as separate warring entities, but as a unified engine of survival.
As the first enforcer lunged, hand outstretched to seize his arm, Lucien didn't dodge. He met the charge. rotating on his good leg, he used the enforcer's own momentum, grabbing the extended arm and twisting it with a brutal, sharp crack of bone. The enforcer's grunt of pain was the first human sound in the chamber since the sentencing.
He didn't wait. He shoved the wounded enforcer into the path of the second, creating a moment of chaos. The third enforcer came at him from the side, a dagger of polished black crystal appearing in his hand. Lucien felt the whisper of the blade as it sliced through the air where his throat had been a split-second before. He dropped low, his claws—black and sharp as shattered night—tearing through the leather strapping at the enforcer's knee. The vampire crumpled with a choked cry.
It was a fleeting victory. He was outnumbered, wounded, and trapped in the heart of his enemies' power. The other Council members watched from their pillars, their burning eyes registering not alarm, but a cold, displeased interest, as if watching a flawed weapon finally break.
"Enough." Elder Vorian's voice was a whip-crack of power that vibrated through the very stone.
A force, invisible and immense, slammed into Lucien. It was not a physical blow, but a psychic one, a command woven of ancient blood magic that sought to still his limbs and shatter his will. He staggered, his muscles locking, a growl of pure fury trapped in his chest. He fought it, the dual nature of his blood giving him a resistance a pure vampire would not have, but it was like trying to hold back the tide.
Through the haze of the compulsion, he saw Malakor gesture. A section of the black crystal wall shone, revealing not an exit, but a hollow, dark tunnel that smelled of damp rock and the wild, musky scent of… wolf.
"Since the impurity seeks to flee," Malakor's voice boomed. "Let the woods have him. Let the Silvermanes finish what we no longer have the stomach to witness directly.
The psychic pressure vanished as suddenly as it had come, replaced by a shove of air that propelled Lucien, stumbling, into the tunnel. The opening sealed behind him, plunging him into absolute darkness. He was not being freed. He was being thrown to the wolves. Literally.
He ran. Ignoring the fire in his leg, he ran through the underground passages, driven by instinct and the fading echo of the compulsion. He burst out onto a rocky edge high in the Dragon's Spine, the cold night air a slap in the face. The wind carried a scent that made the gold in his eye flare with primal recognition.
The Silvermane pack was gathering.
Far below, in the heart of their territory, he could see the movement around the Standing Stone. He couldn't hear the words, but he didn't need to. The intent was a wave of pure, focused malice that washed over the mountainside. It was a promise of fangs and fury, a vow written in the very air.
He had escaped the Council's immediate execution only to be delivered into the jaws of the hunt.
---
At the base of the Standing Stone, Kaelen stood, the gash on his shoulder a dark, angry testament to his failure. The pack was a sea of restless fur and low growls around him.
"The Blood Moon's poison remains!" Kaelen's roar shook the leaves. "We faced the Abomination and saw its true nature! It is a weapon, a creature of two damned bloodlines, now touched by a third—the corrupted magic of a witch who betrayed her own kind!"
He gestured to Fenris, who crouched nearby, his snout a ruined, blackened mess. "She burned our brother with moonfire! She shielded the monster! The bond the Goddess spoke of is not a mystery; it is a blight! A perversion that mocks the pure bond of the pack!"
He slammed a fist against the ancient rock. "The vampires hide in their stone tombs. They see him as a stain, just as we do. They will seek to erase their shame. But his death cannot be theirs to claim. It is ours! Our sacred duty! Our burden of honor!"
He lifted his head, his gaze piercing the canopy, aiming for the waxing moon above. "The next full moon! When our power is at its peak, we hunt! We will tear the stain of his existence from this world! And if the corrupted witch stands in our way…" His eyes glinted with deadly promise. "…then her light will be the first we extinguish."
A unified, savage howl erupted from the pack, a sound of such pure vengeance it seemed to bleed the stars of their light. It was not a song of the wild, but a hymn of hatred.
The Wolf King had spoken. The decree was given. The countdown had begun.
Back on the ledge, Lucien turned and melted into the shadows, the howls chasing him like a curse. He had survived the Council. But the true hunt, was now inevitable.