Chapter 3 The Blood

The smoke rolled under the door gap in thick, greasy waves. It smelled horrible, like burnt wool and rotten eggs. The heat hit my face, making my skin prickle. I didn't scream. Screaming wastes oxygen, and I didn't have any to spare.

I dropped flat onto my stomach, pressing my nose against the damp floorboards where the air was still cool and clear. My hand reached straight under my rotting straw mattress. My fingers searched the rough wood until they wrapped around cold metal. I pulled it out. It was a nine-inch iron spike, rusted and sharp, something I had spent three long years prying loose from the base of my bedframe.

"Nyra!" Marcus screamed from the hallway. "They're up the stairs! They're—"

A massive blast tore through the corridor.

The heavy oak door didn't just break; it flew completely off its iron hinges with a deafening screech. The solid wood slammed down right over the threshold, hitting the floor with a heavy crash.

"Marcus!" I shouted.

A choked groan came from under the splintered wood. The door had fallen directly on top of him, crushing him instantly under the weight. His fingers twitched once against the stone floor, then went completely still.

Dust and grey ash filled the doorway. Through the haze, a massive figure stepped right over the broken door and into my cell.

King Lucien Draven.

He looked exactly like he did seven years ago, only larger, colder, and covered in grime. His black armor was covered in thick dents, dripping with fresh, steaming blood that hissed against the hot floor. His chest heaved up and down as he drew deep, ragged breaths. He held a massive broadsword in his right hand, the tip trailing along the ground, leaving a dark red line behind him. He stopped right in the middle of the room, his piercing grey eyes locking onto mine through the thick smoke.

"Get up," Lucien said. His voice was a deep, rough growl that vibrated the walls. "You're coming with me."

I didn't move from my spot by the cot. I stood up slowly, keeping my knees bent and hiding the iron spike behind my right thigh. "Are you lost, King Lucien? This is the prison wing. The treasury is downstairs."

"I know exactly where I am, Nyra Evercrest," he said, taking a heavy step toward me. The metal plates of his boots crunched against the loose gravel on the floor. "And I don't have time for your games. The whole courtyard is crawling with monsters. We leave now."

"I’m not going anywhere with you," I said, tightening my grip on the rusted spike until my knuckles turned white. "You think I forgot? Seven years ago, you sat right there in your heavy furs and watched my family strip my name. You watched them drag me down here in chains. You didn't say a damn word."

"Your father was a fool, and Corin is a coward," Lucien snapped, his eyes flashing with a dangerous, cold light. He didn't raise his sword, but his whole body went tense. "If I had stepped in then, my own elders would have skinned me alive. The politics have changed. The world is rotting."

"Then let it rot," I spat, taking a half-step back as he moved closer. "Why do you care about a powerless human now? I'm a defect, remember? That’s what your precious alpha world calls me."

"You think I care about your lack of a wolf?" Lucien let out a harsh, mocking laugh that sounded like grinding stones. He sheared his sword into the scabbard at his hip with a loud metallic ring. "Look out that window. The great alphas of Bloodmoon are tearing their own skin off. Their power is their executioner. You are the only thing in this entire territory that isn't infected."

"So you came to use me as a shield?" I asked, keeping my eyes fixed right on his throat.

"I came because I need you," he said flatly. He reached deep into his heavy leather coat, his hand coming out with a piece of dark, ancient parchment. It was stained with old, dried blood around the edges. He tossed it onto my straw cot. "Read it."

I glanced down at the parchment but didn't drop my guard. "What is this?"

"A prophecy from the old northern seers," Lucien said, his breathing finally slowing down, though his eyes never left my hands. "It details a wolfless savior. Someone born of elite blood but carrying no internal beast. Someone who can cross the infected zones without turning into a screaming monster."

I let out a bitter laugh. "A savior? You've got the wrong girl. I'm just a prisoner trying not to choke on your smoke."

"Your father knew about it," Lucien said coldly.

My heart skipped a beat. "What did you just say?"

"Your father, General Evercrest. He didn't hide you because he was ashamed, Nyra. He hid you in this tower to keep you away from Malakai's rituals because he knew what was coming," Lucien said, his voice dropping an octave. "But he ran out of time. He's dead. He died in the northern trenches two nights ago, trying to stop the infected from crossing into my lands."

The words hit me like a physical blow. My father. The man who never came back for me, but the only person who hadn't looked at me with disgust on that ritual stage. Dead.

"My kingdom is rotting from the inside out," Lucien continued, stepping right into my personal space, his massive frame blocking out the light from the corridor. "My people are dying. Your home is already gone. You stay here, you burn or you get eaten by your former pack. You come with me, and we find a way to stop this."

I looked at the parchment on the bed, then up at his blood-stained face. He thought he had me cornered. He thought because my father was dead and the tower was burning, I would just fall in line and play the hero for his broken kingdom.

A slow, bitter smile crept onto my face.

"You really don't get it, do you?" I whispered.

Lucien frowned, his heavy brows pulling together. "Get what?"

"I don't care about your kingdom," I said.

Before he could even blink, I lunged forward with everything I had, driving the rusted iron spike straight at his exposed throat.