King Victor fought to catch his breath as he sat up,
the young soldier who had supported him through the night now positioned closer to the entrance of the massive tree they hid within.
The boy held his dagger defensively—the only thing that had proven more useful against the wolves than guns.
It was another day and all except Victor and the young soldier had been killed through the night.
Victor had noticed that the wolves killed the resistant soldiers but dragged away the ones that surrendered without much of a fight.
"Leave me here," Victor managed, "There's a good chance you can get to Lumere alone, alive."
The boy turned to him slowly, still maintaining his low gaze and respect.
Victor noted the youth of his face—too young to be in a war.
"My king is my priority," the boy whispered. "The palace is also my home upon the king's enforcement of boys like us to join the army. My family… left Lumere and me behind. I have nowhere to go if His majesty dies in this forest."
The boy turned back to the entrance, signaling he wasn't going to budge on his decision to carry Victor along.
Guilt panged at Victor's chest, recognizing the damage of his hunger for the wrong things—the faith his people had lost in him weighed heavier than his injuries.
The ground trembled.
The boy rose again, dagger raised.
The pungent smell of smoke and the violent sounds of growls and whimpers followed.
Fear surged through Victor as a wolf collapsed at the entrance, flames consuming it as it writhed, its form shrinking, twisting in agony—turning human for a heartbeat before turning to ash.
The young soldier flinched, retreating instinctively.
He probably did not know about the greater threat they had faced at the front lines—the Ancient—but Victor did.
The flames were already familiar.
Outside, chaos swelled—wolves retreating, their massive paws leaping over the space they hid in.
Gritting his teeth, Victor asked. "What is your name, boy?"
The soldier turned fully now, meeting his gaze.
Fear mixed with bravery as he swallowed, gripping his knife tight.
"Aiden."
"Aiden, your bravery will be rewarded even in my absence as King of Lumere," Victor said, desperate to do at least one good thing before he died.
But his words crashed almost instantly as wood cracking followed.
Neither Victor nor Aiden had time to react only shielding their heads with their hands from splinters as the crown of the tree shattered above them.
Wind tore through the space, dragging the chaos in with it—now full force as both surviving soldiers and wolves scattered alike.
Aiden had barely reached Victor when an unseen force seized him.
Victor was lifted by the throat.
Twenty feet above the ground, pain blooming around his neck, as he stared into the flaming red eyes of the Ancient.
**
Azael eased his grip on the king's neck enough to allow him speak.
"Where is the Sorcerer?" Azael asked, his voice strained with the effort to remain calm, to keep his anger at bay.
The king clawed uselessly at Azael's arms, legs kicking weakly, face flushing as breath failed him.
A pathetic ingrate.
"I…I don't…" the king rasped.
Azael's ears picked up the sound of an approaching object from behind.
He tilted his head to the side as a knife flew past his face, grazing the king's cheek before striking the ground below.
"You're not done trying, are you?" Azael said as he turned, tightening his grip as he turned toward the attacker hidden among the trees.
His monochrome vision marked the boy's exact position.
Azael moved, intent on crushing the fragile courage that dared rise against him to play a hero.
"Please," the king whispered, voice breaking. "Let him be, he's…j-just a boy."
Azael's jaw tightened as he leveled his gaze with Victor.
"Insolent human," he said softly, increasing the heat of his breath against the king's face. "How dare you beg my mercy after squandering it once already?"
Familiar annoying loud thumps against Azael's back came next before he seized the boy telekinetically,
squeezing the air as the child gasped and struggled against an invincible hold.
Terror flooded the king's eyes—feeding Azael's strength.
The boy's suffocating groan.
The pungent smell of the fear of death.
Azael heard the blood streaming through their veins.
The blood of royalty always left him drunk with power and rage.
Both were struggling prey—of the best flavor.
Young and honorable.
He watched as the king's eyes began to sink into their sockets, the inferno of dominance soothing the hunger rising within Azael.
The whispers in his mind became audible as flames began to emerge.
Azael dropped them.
Both bodies dropped to the forest floor the moment he recoiled from the realization—he was slipping.
His demon had surfaced—and worse, it had come out this time with ease and no struggle.
Azael's gaze found the boy first, already struggling to rise.
He then saw the king shift weakly where he lay.
The wolves were mostly gone from his territory.
Flames had spread through a good part of the forest, smoke slowly darkening the already grey sky.
From where he hovered, Azael's eyes caught the spring below—its steam rising untouched by destruction, tugged at his memory.
Ginger hair.
Soft warm hands that he'd missed touching the sides of his face.
Elana.
He turned away, retreating to his castle.
He could not compromise further than this.
Besides, the king would be better off alive if he were to be useful in revealing the sorcerer's location.
**
Theo rolled his eyes as he approached the shed at the center of the refuge.
Men clustered inside, fire flickering across their faces.
He spotted Caesar immediately—the glow reflecting off his bald head.
A man played a guitar, giving melody to the men's voices as they drank from bottles, joking away their sorrows.
Caesar had invited Theo—since the escape was tomorrow, he had to stay close, and from the gin they drank, probably loosen up a little too.
"Theo!" Caesar called, beckoning him over.
Theo sighed as he moved toward the spot Caesar tapped for him to sit.
"I hope you're not planning to lose control tonight," Theo said quietly as he settled beside him.
"Nothing to worry about," Caesar assured him with a grin.
Theo scoffed. He didn't trust Caesar, but the man was an important piece in executing a smooth removal of Elana from Sirence.
He wished Eira would simply kill him.
"Here," Caesar said, offering him a bottle. "Really good gin—even for a non-human."
Theo shot him a glare as he accepted it.
Tension driving him to drink despite the open seal.
The men laughed around him as night deepened.
Music lingered.
The air carried porridge beans with hints of tobacco and alcohol.
Theo took a swig from his bottle again.
"I envy Eira's zeal," Caesar murmured, making sure only Theo heard. "To conquer a predator like Azael."
"You should be careful about how much knowledge you assume you have," Theo warned without looking at him.
Caesar laughed and drank from his bottle. "What's there to hide? It's the ultimate classic strategy—baiting life for gain."
Theo's head throbbed slightly.
He downed another swig, unwilling to indulge Caesar further.
"I'll be going inside," Theo said.
His body felt light—it was indeed strong alcohol, given how it quickly affected him despite not being human.
As Theo stood, Caesar called out. "Take it easy climbing the stairs. As I said—it's quite potent."
Theo scoffed lightly and walked out.
He tried using his inhuman speed to skip the stairs but even then, he was slow.
His breathing had already increased before he reached the door.
Unwanted sweat broke out as he entered and sank onto the bed.
Theo's mind replayed the elegant lines of Eira's neck and her seductive eyes, the alcohol awakening the pleasure she made him feel every time he saw her.
He served a love he could not claim.
Theo's eyes began to drift shut as his body succumbed to its weakness, as though the bed would swallow him whole.
As darkness closed in, one thought surfaced through the haze—
Was ordinary gin truly this potent—potent enough to knock even a werewolf out?