Chapter 8 The Crescent Mark

I stood beside Vasilis at the threshold of the wooden gates. I gripped the heavy fur cloak tighter around my shoulders. My heart battered against my ribs. These were not men. They were gods of a ruined world.

Ignatius took a step forward. The mud did not seem to touch his polished black boots.

"Alpha," Ignatius said. His voice was smooth ice. It carried over the massive distance without effort. "You possess something that belongs to the realm."

Vasilis crossed his arms. He stepped in front of me, shielding my body with his bulk.

"She fell in my territory, leech," Vasilis roared back. "By the old laws, she is mine."

Orson let out a sharp, mocking laugh. He swung his leg over his horse and dropped to the dirt. He moved with a chaotic, fluid grace. "The old laws do not apply to miracles, mutt. You think you can keep a star in a dirty cage? Look at her. She is shivering. Give her to me. I have silk sheets and warm fires."

Isidore did not smile. He did not taunt. He kept his silver eyes locked on the space where I stood behind the Alpha.

"Her soul is heavy," Isidore stated. His voice held a strange, resonant echo. "She is the prophecy. She must be brought to the Silver Citadel for judgment. You risk a holy war, Vasilis."

"Then let it burn!" Vasilis snarled. His claws extended, ripping through the leather gloves covering his hands. "Try to take her. I will feed your hearts to my wolves."

The three kings drew their weapons.

Ignatius produced a slender, silver longsword. Orson summoned twin blades of black fire from thin air. Isidore unsheathed a blade that glowed with a blinding, celestial light.

The armies behind them raised their spears. The beast clan warriors around me let out a collective, deafening roar.

They were going to slaughter each other. Thousands of men and monsters would die in the mud, and I would be left in the center of the carnage.

I closed my eyes for one fraction of a second. I buried the terror deep in my chest.

Then, I stepped out from behind Vasilis.

"Victoria, no!" Vasilis barked, reaching for my arm.

I dodged his grasp and walked past the wooden gates. I stepped into the neutral space between the warlord and the three kings. The cold mud squished between my bare toes.

I stopped in the center of the clearing.

I let the heavy wolf fur slip open.

The fabric parted. The firelight from the camp torches hit my skin. The torn black silk of my dress exposed my upper chest, the bruised swell of my breasts, and the smooth line of my neck.

And there, resting near my collarbone, the birthmark was exposed to the world.

The crescent shape glowed a faint, angry red. It pulsed with a strange heat.

The reaction was instantaneous.

I looked at the four most dangerous men in this broken world. They were frozen.

"Are you finished measuring your egos?" I demanded. My voice rang out, sharp and demanding. "Because if you plan to kill each other, do it. But do not pretend you are doing it for me."

Orson recovered first. He tilted his head, his violet eyes burning into mine. "You have no idea what you are, do you?"

"I am a woman who wants a bath," I snapped.

Ignatius sheathed his sword. The movement was elegant and precise. He did not look at Vasilis. He looked only at me.

"The prophecy speaks the truth," Ignatius murmured. His voice slid over my skin like velvet. "The crescent moon. The iron wings. You are the one."

"I do not care about your fairy tales," I said. "I am not a prize to be won in the mud. I am not cattle to be traded. If you want my cooperation, you will treat me with respect."

Vasilis stepped up behind me. His heat washed over my back. "She stays with the wolves."

"She goes to the Citadel," Isidore countered, his tone leaving no room for debate.

The tension spiked again. The four men formed a deadly circle around me. The air grew thick, heavy with the promise of violence. They wanted me. They hated each other.

I was about to speak, to force a compromise, to use their obsession to my advantage.

I never got the chance.

A shadow moved on the roof of the Alpha's tent.

My eyes caught the motion. A figure cloaked in black leather, blending perfectly with the dark sky.

The figure raised an arm.

Something whistled through the night air. The sound was high and sharp, a deadly song cutting through the silence.

Vasilis roared, lunging forward.

But he was too slow.

A silver throwing dagger struck my chest, biting deep into the flesh right below the crescent mark.