Matthew stood in a small clearing, one arm wrapped around Marie's waist, the other holding a knife near her throat...close enough to threaten but not yet touching.
Marie was frozen in terror, tears streaming down her face.
Behind Matthew, dozens of armed men emerged from the forest—surrounding them on all sides.
Forty men at least. Maybe more.
They had been waiting. Watching. Planning.
Matthew grinned, his ruined face twisted with malicious triumph.
"Found you, little bird," he said, his voice a singsong taunt.
Lorenzo's hand went to her sword, drawing it in one smooth motion.
"Release her," Lorenzo said, her voice deadly calm. "Now."
Matthew laughed, shifting the knife closer to Marie's throat—still not touching, but the threat was clear.
Marie whimpered.
"The little prince wants his favourite toy back," Matthew said mockingly. "What are you going to do about it, Your Highness?"
Lorenzo took a step forward, her eyes locked on Matthew.
"I swear," Lorenzo said, her voice dropping to a lethal whisper, "if you hurt her, I will kill all of you."
Matthew laughed again, louder this time, and his men joined in.
"Even surrounded like a dog, you still think you can order people around?"Matthew said, shaking his head. "You really are an arrogant piece of shit"
Marie was crying openly now, her eyes fixed on Lorenzo.
"Don't hurt him," Marie begged, her voice breaking. "Please, Matthew, I will come with you willingly. Just do not hurt him. Please."
Matthew leaned in and licked a slow line up Marie's throat.
She flinched violently, sobbing harder.
"You are in for a surprise, cousin," Matthew said, his breath hot against her ear. "This dog dies here today. But do not worry... I will take good care of you."
He grinned at Lorenzo.
"I hope he did not stretch you too much. I want to have a try before we deliver you to the King. How does it feel to be the most wanted cunt in England?"
Marie was shaking so hard she could barely stand, her voice raw with desperation.
"Please,"she sobbed. "Please, I will do anything you ask. Anything. Just spare him. Please."
Matthew sighed theatrically, then gestured to his men.
"Kill him."
The charge began.
Forty men rushed Lorenzo from all sides, swords raised, axes swinging, spears thrust forward.
Lorenzo met them head-on.
She moved like water, her sword a silver blur in the morning light.
She was fast. And merciless.
The first man to reach her lost his head before he even registered, she had moved.
The second took her blade through his throat.
The third had his chest opened from shoulder to hip.
She danced between them, her movements precise and economical, wasting no motion, no energy.
Every strike was lethal. Every movement ended a life.
Matthew watched with growing alarm as his men fell one by one.
"He can actually fight!" Matthew said, genuine surprise in his voice. "The rumors about your skills are true!"
He gestured frantically to the men still waiting.
"What are you waiting for? All of you! Go!"
More men charged.
Lorenzo was holding them off, cutting them down with brutal efficiency.
But they kept coming.
One sword pierced her side.
Lorenzo grunted but did not slow. She killed the man who had stabbed her and kept moving.
Another blade slashed across her back.
She spun and decapitated him.
Blood poured from her wounds, because Lorenzo was holding back, hopping she wouldn't have to show her true powers here and now.
The wounds were closing slow enough, her blood flow slowing and stopping. But none noticed yet.
Matthew stared in growing annoyance as Lorenzo continued to fight despite injuries that should have crippled or killed her.
"Sforzas are really hard to kill!! Soldiers finish him!!" Matthew whispered.
But he was already dragging Marie backward, toward the horses tied at the far edge of the clearing.
Lorenzo saw the movement and called out desperately.
"Marie! Hold on! I am coming for you!"
Three men hit her at once from different angles.
One sword pierced her shoulder.
Another drove into her stomach.
A third stabbed through her side.
Lorenzo went down on one knee, blood pouring from the wounds.
"No!" Marie screamed, struggling against Matthew's grip. "Lorenzo!"
Matthew saw it and smiled triumphantly as he said: "They all die eventually!
He threw Marie over his horse's saddle and quickly tied her wrists to the pommel.
Marie was sobbing, craning her neck to see Lorenzo still on her knees immobile.
"Lorenzo!" Marie screamed. "Lorenzo, please!"
Matthew mounted behind her and kicked the horse into a gallop, disappearing into the forest with his three remaining guards.
Marie's screams faded into the distance.
Lorenzo knelt in the blood-soaked clearing, surrounded by the bodies of the men she had killed.
But more were coming. Always more.
Three men closed in, their swords raised.
One stabbed her through the shoulder.
Another drove his blade deep into her stomach.
The third pierced her side again.
Lorenzo looked down at the blades protruding from her body.
The wounds were already beginning to heal around the steel, her flesh trying to push the foreign objects out.
Then she looked up at the men surrounding her.
And she smiled.
It was not a human smile.
Then she screamed.
It was a sound that did not belong to anything mortal—a shriek of rage and hunger and something ancient and wrong.
Her eyes blazed red—not just the irises, but red veins spreading across her face like cracks in porcelain.
The soldiers nearest her stumbled back in shock.
"What the fuck is this?" one of them whispered.
Lorenzo reached up with both hands and grabbed the blades still buried in her body.
With inhuman strength, she yanked them free, not even flinching at the pain.
Blood poured from the wounds for only a moment before they began to close—faster now, accelerated by whatever dark power had awakened in her.
She stood slowly, still smiling that terrible smile.
Her fangs extended fully, long and sharp and gleaming white against her blood-stained lips.
Then she moved.
Faster than before. Faster than humanly possible.
She became a blur of motion and death.
Her sword sang through the air, severing limbs and heads with each pass.
When one man tried to run, Lorenzo simply reached out...moving so fast he had no time to react and thrust her hand directly into his chest.
She withdrew it holding his still-beating heart.
She crushed it in her fist and laughed, a high, manic sound that echoed through the forest.
"Run!"one soldier screamed. "Fucking run!"
But Lorenzo was already on him.
She tackled him to the ground and tore his throat out with her teeth, blood spraying across the grass.
Another man tried to stab her from behind.
She spun, caught his wrist, and twisted so violently his arm snapped like a dry branch.
As he screamed, she drove her sword through his chest and lifted him off the ground with one arm.
She flung his body into two other men, knocking them down.
Before they could rise, she was on them, her hands plunging into their torsos, ripping out organs and intestines with savage efficiency.
The clearing had become an abattoir.
Blood soaked the ground. Body parts littered the grass. The air was thick with the copper smell of death.
And Lorenzo stood in the center of it all, covered head to toe in gore, her red eyes glowing, her fangs dripping blood.
She was laughing, a broken, manic sound that was equal parts rage and joy.
Of the forty men who had been in the clearing, none remained alive.
Lorenzo stood there for a moment, panting, her chest heaving.
Then she tilted her head back and sniffed the air.
She could smell her.
The scent of her fear. The faint trail of her presence leading away through the forest.
Lorenzo sheathed her sword and began to run.
Faster than any horse could gallop.
Faster than any human could sprint.
She moved through the forest like a ghost, following Marie's scent with predatory focus.
Matthew had sent one of his men ahead to find William and report their success—that they had captured Marie and that Lorenzo was being dealt with.
Now he rode hard with his three remaining guards, Marie tied and sobbing on the saddle in front of him.
After about an hour of hard riding, Matthew pulled his horse to a stop in a secluded grove.
"We will rest here," he announced.
"But my lord,"one of his men said nervously, "should we not keep moving? What if—"
"I saw him stabbed through multiple times," Matthew snapped. "He is dead for sure. Besides we have hours before we need to meet William."
He dismounted and dragged Marie down from the horse roughly.
She landed hard on the ground, her tied wrists preventing her from catching herself properly.
She looked up at him with swollen, red eyes, her face streaked with tears and dirt.
"My poor cousin," Matthew said mockingly. "A widow you have become."
Marie said nothing, just stared at the ground, her whole body shaking with silent sobs.
Matthew grabbed a water skin and threw the contents at her face.
Marie sputtered and coughed, trying to turn away.
"Look at me when I am speaking to you,"Matthew snarled, grabbing her chin roughly.
He forced her to look up at him.
"I do not think I can wait," Matthew said, his eyes roaming over her body. "Your sorrow is forcing my hand. Making you even more appealing."
He turned to his three men.
"Stand watch at the edge of the grove. If anyone approaches, call out immediately."
The men exchanged uneasy glances but obeyed, moving to take up positions where they could watch the surrounding forest.
Matthew grabbed Marie and dragged her deeper into the trees, away from his men.
He threw her down onto the ground.
Before she could scramble away, he was on top of her, his weight pinning her down.
Marie fought, kicking and struggling, her tied wrists limiting her ability to push him away.
"No!" Marie screamed. "No, please! Get off of me!"
Matthew ignored her, his hands roaming over her body—groping her breasts, her hips, her thighs.
He ground his arousal against her inner thigh, groaning with satisfaction.
"I have always wondered how you would feel beneath me," Matthew panted, his breath hot and foul against her face. "You are even softer than I imagined."
He kissed her neck sloppily, his tongue leaving a wet trail on her skin.
Marie turned her head violently, sobbing.
"We are cousins!" Marie begged, her voice breaking. "Please, Matthew, we are family!"
"Family makes it sweeter," Matthew growled.
He grabbed the front of her shirt and ripped it open, exposing her breasts.
Marie sobbed harder, trying to cover herself with her bound hands.
Matthew shoved her hands away and groped her roughly, pinching and squeezing.
"Perfect," he breathed. "Absolutely perfect."
He began undoing his trousers with shaking hands, his breath coming faster.
Marie screamed and thrashed, but he was too strong, too heavy.
Then, from somewhere nearby, a scream pierced the air.
Then another.
Then a third—cut off abruptly with a wet, gurgling sound.
Matthew froze, his hands stilling on Marie's hips.
"What the fuck—"
He yanked his trousers back up hastily and grabbed Marie, hauling her to her feet.
He drew his sword with his free hand and dragged her back toward where his men had been standing guard.
"That fucking dog will not die! I guess I will do it myself and then I will give you what you deserve"Matthew muttered, anger and lust creeping into his voice now.
When they reached the edge of the grove, Matthew stopped dead.
All three of his men were dead.
Their bodies lay in twisted, broken heaps.
And standing in the center of them, holding one of the corpses by the throat, was Lorenzo.
She looked like something from a nightmare.
She was covered head to toe in blood and gore, her hair matted with it, her face streaked with it, her clothes soaked through.
Her eyes glowed red in the dimming afternoon light.
Her fangs gleamed white against her blood-stained lips.
She held the beheaded corpse of one of Matthew's guards almost casually, as though it weighed nothing.
When she saw Marie, she dropped the body and tilted her head slightly—a disturbingly inhuman gesture.
"Did he touch you, my love?" Lorenzo asked, her voice deadly calm.
Marie stared at this creature that wore Lorenzo's face.
She looked like Lorenzo. Moved like Lorenzo. Sounded like Lorenzo.
But her eyes were wrong. Her teeth were wrong. The aura around her was wrong—predatory and ancient and terrifying.
Marie opened her mouth, but no sound came out.
Matthew stared at the massacre around them—the bodies torn apart, the blood, the impossible carnage.
"What manner of beast are you?" Matthew whispered, his voice shaking. "Monster."
Lorenzo chuckled—a low, dark sound.
She bent down and picked up a severed arm from the ground, examining it almost playfully.
"The kind that loves their wives," Lorenzo said conversationally. She tossed the arm aside and wiped blood from her hair with her hand. "And would kill—"
She laughed, a manic edge to it.
"—no, burn the world for his wife."
She took a step closer.
Matthew immediately pressed his sword to Marie's throat, the blade biting into her skin.
A thin line of blood appeared.
Lorenzo stopped, raising her hands in a placating gesture, though the smile never left her face.
"Marie," Lorenzo said, her red eyes locked on her. "I am going to ask you one last time. Did he touch you?"
Marie's voice came out as barely a whisper. "No."
She swallowed hard, her throat moving against the blade.
"He was about to, but he stopped halfway."
Lorenzo's expression darkened.
She clicked her tongue, then looked directly at Matthew.
"I condemn you to death for your transgression," Lorenzo said simply.
Matthew panicked, pressing the sword harder against Marie's throat.
Marie whimpered as the blade cut deeper, blood trickling down her neck.
Lorenzo's eyes locked onto that single drop of blood.
Her entire body went rigid.
Her pupils dilated until only thin rings of red remained.
A low growl rumbled from her chest, inhuman, predatory.
Then she moved.
So fast Matthew did not even see it.
One moment she was ten feet away.
The next, she was directly in front of them.
Her hand shot out and grabbed the sword blade with her bare hand—the steel cutting deep into her palm.
Blood dripped from her clenched fist, but she did not even flinch.
She yanked the sword away from Marie's throat with such force that Matthew lost his grip entirely.
The weapon clattered to the ground.
With her other hand, Lorenzo grabbed Marie and pulled her behind her back in one smooth motion, positioning her own body between Marie and Matthew.
"Close your eyes," Lorenzo said to Marie, her voice rough and strained. "Do not open them no matter what you hear."
Marie immediately squeezed her eyes shut.
Matthew tried to do the same, tried to close his eyes, tried to move,
But he could not.
His body was locked in place, rigid and unresponsive to his commands.
His eyes remained wide open, fixed on Lorenzo.
"Why—" Matthew gasped. "Why can I not move? Why can I not close my eyes?"
Lorenzo began to walk around him slowly, almost dancing.
She moved with an eerie grace, a waltz of death through a field of corpses.
"Those who have seen my true form," Lorenzo said, her voice taking on an otherworldly quality, "find themselves bound to my will in... interesting ways."
"Never knew why. Some quirk of the curse, I suppose."
"But now I am going to let you in on a secret," Lorenzo whispered, leaning close to Matthew's frozen face. "I am going to let you see everything I have done. Every life I have taken. Every battle I have fought. Every kill I have made."
She placed her hand on Matthew's face almost gently.
"Let me show you my first battlefield."
Matthew's eyes widened impossibly further.
Then he began to scream.
Marie heard it even with her eyes closed—heard his agonized, horrified screaming as Lorenzo forced visions directly into his mind.
She tried to keep her eyes closed. She truly did.
But fear and morbid curiosity got the best of her.
Marie opened her eyes.
Lorenzo was holding Matthew's face in both hands now, her forehead nearly touching his, her red eyes blazing.
Matthew was still screaming—high-pitched and broken, like an animal caught in a trap.
"Let me take you down deeper," Lorenzo growled.