The ventilation shaft was Kael's sanctuary, a tight, filthy tunnel of cold metal and darkness that kept the scent of the Pack and the city's other monsters at bay.
He crawled for almost an hour, moving away from the Neutral Zone toward the outskirts of the human city, stopping only when the low rumble of a subway line signaled he was deep beneath concrete safety.
He dropped out into an abandoned subway maintenance access point a forgotten vault beneath the city's bustle. He immediately shifted back fully, the Lycan's innate healing power kicking into overdrive, but the damage was done. The two thin scratches along his ribs where the vampire's silver-tipped blade had grazed him still sizzled. Silver was slower to heal than iron or steel, acting like a persistent, painful acid in his bloodstream. The wounds would close, but the weakness would linger for hours.
He stripped the remains of his torn shirt, wadded it up, and pressed it hard against the burns. The adrenaline was fading, replaced by a cold, calculating fury. His escape had been successful, but it was a pyrrhic victory.
By the time the first shafts of sunlight pierced the dusty vents above, the news of the Rogue Lycan's violent intervention had done exactly what Kael feared: it had unified the entire supernatural underworld briefly against him. The story was everywhere, twisted and amplified by fear and hatred.
The Bloodmoon Pack saw the confrontation as proof. The Alpha-Slayer had returned, fought their Beta , and ensured the Omega sister was captured by their rivals. The bounty on the "Treason-Dog" quadrupled.
The Vampire Syndicate viewed Kael's interference as an intolerable insult. The Rogue Lycan had embarrassed two Enforcers and cost them their captive. Syndicate hunters were now searching the Neutral Zone and every delivery route Kael was known to frequent, seeking him out to make a brutal public example.
The Witch Clans, while not actively hunting, were furious.
Kael's chaotic fight had drawn too much attention to the Neutral Zone, risking their secret operations.
His courier routeh is source of income was now burned.
He checked his hidden cache a small metal box embedded in the concrete floor.
The money was safe, enough for a few months, but useless if he couldn't move.
The silver wound burned, a debilitating weakness.
The silver burn was the problem.
It wasn't the pain; it was the way it slowed his regeneration and dulled his instincts
In his current state, facing a Pack patrol or a Syndicate team meant death.
He needed a cure that wasn't standard Pack medicine, and he needed it fast.
He thought of the witch. Not the silent, cowled woman who collected the package, but the one who sent the package the mysterious entity who operated behind the veil of the city's oldest black magic.
The witches valued two things above all their secrets, and their contracts.
Kael had completed his delivery, under severe duress, even when the Pack and the Syndicate had been breathing down his neck. That established a debt.
A small, dangerous debt, but a debt nonetheless.
Kael used his healing shirt as a compress and began to move. He was heading for the deepest, most confusing section of the old city the labyrinth of antique shops and hidden temples where the witches sometimes conducted their business. He wasn't seeking a friend; he was seeking a mysterious favor from a creature that thrived on balanced accounts.
He reached the back entrance of a defunct clockmaker's shop a place known only to a few select couriers. He didn't knock.
He simply pressed his silver scorched ribs against the specific brick near the foundation.
A moment later, the aged wooden d
oor cracked open, revealing a wall of impenetrable shadow and a voice like rustling leaves.
"You are late, Rogue. And you smell of silver and bad judgment," the voice rasped, genderless and cold. "The payment was finalized. We owe you nothing."
"You owe me silence, Witch," Kael growled, using his deepest Lycan resonance, even through the pain.
"I delivered your unstable magic while your enemies tried to kill me.
That is exceptional service. I require three hours in your care, and a salve for silver. Then the contract is concluded."
The silence on the other side of the door stretched, thick and dangerous. Kael knew he was risking being handed over to the Pack for a substantial reward, but he had no other option.
Finally, the shadow shifted. A single, ancient-looking vial made of dark, swirling glass appeared on the dusty threshold.
"Take it," the voice commanded. "It will heal the burn and cloud your scent for two days.
Now get out of the city, Rogue, before your shadow pulls us into your war."
Kael snatched the vial. "Understood."
He backed away, never turning his back to the shadowy entrance.
He had his temporary freedom, a healing salve, and a clear two-day window before his presence became a public risk again.
He was alive, but the Witch's command confirmed his only path: survival required him to disappear entirely.
But Kael wasn't built for hiding.
He had two days to use his clouded scent to accomplish the impossible .
Kael didn't need two days to plan; he needed two days to act.
He swallowed the bitter, swirling liquid from the vial. Immediately, a dull numbness spread from his silverscorched ribs, and the persistent metallic scent of his Lycan blood was muted, replaced by a faint, earthy smell the perfect, temporary cloak.
The Witch's salve had granted him the most dangerous gift ,untraceable movement.
Ignoring the Witch's warning to flee, Kael turned his focus entirely onto the Syndicate. The vampires would not keep the Omega at a standard lair; she was too valuable, both as a hostage against the Bloodmoon Pack and as pure, uncorrupted Lycan blood for their research or consumption. They would move her fast, likely to a secure processing house in the deep industrial districts.
Kael used his phenomenal sense of smell, tracking the faint, lingering trail of the two Enforcers who had taken her. He bypassed all common routes, instead leaping across rooftops and traversing abandoned train lines places the Pack couldn't reach and the Syndicate rarely bothered with.
He spent precious hours shadowing lowlevel Syndicate runners, gradually piecing together their unusual activity and heading straight for the city's decommissioned power plant, a site notorious for black market organ harvesting and secret vampire operations.
He had less than 48 hours before the scent-masking wore off, leaving him vulnerable to every hunter in the city.
He wouldn't let the Omega be harmed while he had the power to prevent it.
He was plunging headfirst into the Syndicate's web, trading his survival for her chance at escape.
He had less than 48 hours before the scentmasking wore off, leaving him vulnerable to every hunter in the city.
He wouldn't let the Omega be harmed while he had the power to prevent it.
He was plunging headfirst into the Syndicates web, trading his survival for her chance at escape.