❝NOW THE DARK BEGINS TO RISE❞

Even in his right mind, Kershov would not have cared about the distress of the young female. He heard her muffled whimpers, her quiet sobs as they traveled, and he wasted no breath attempting to console her. The time for that had passed; Ker in any state would have focused himself completely on that task at hand, and shown the lass harsh indifference if she continued her pitiful display. Tears solve nothing. Sorrow slows us down. It’s not that the blizzard dragon thought the girl had endured a mere “mishap” . . . indeed, the raw ugliness she’d survived brought burning bile to the back of his throat, mixing with a seismic growl when he thought of it. Disgusting. No one should have to suffer what she had suffered. What she may have suffered before. Despite his monstrous reputation, Kershov had never condoned or applauded rape—it was something sick cowards delighted in, an activity steeped in repugnant weakness. However, to hesitate at all on his mission meant all the more danger for Gwyneira. The pallid she-wolf was fine right now. No danger would find her, as long as the merciless tundra gangster followed in her pawsteps. Anyone stupid enough to cross them or halt their progress was as good as fertilizer, shredded up and sprayed over the dirt.

Eventually, the subdued sounds of sadness dripping from the girl’s lips stilled. The Beast noted dispassionately that she’d calmed at last, expression hauntingly numb. It hummed in approval, marching closer so that it could travel directly by her side, aggressive strides matching her own. Their pace carried them quickly along the river, and up into the foothills of Culter Unlaedodd—confirming the demon’s suspicions. Yes . . . Caidir Olc. Land of jungle. I wonder if it will stink like Munshii Gekko used to? Kershov had ruled Abendrot when the “vampires” of old Blossom Forest walked the earth. They’d named themselves after the red-eyed leeches of today, when in reality they’d been no more than insane cannibals playing make-believe. Their territory had reeked of rot and decay, of offal drying in the sun and the imbalance of brain chemicals. Ivory daggers ground together angrily in the Beast’s snarling mouth. Were these true vampires any different? Or were they just as repulsive as the bastard who’d harmed his guide?

At last they arrived at the gates of Caidir Olc. Even in the chilly air, the pack exuded an odd, insulated warmth, its interior still mostly green and lush. A savage expression warped Kershov’s already mutilated façade, deep scar tissue pulling back to form horrendous lines across his ravaged muzzle. A thunderous noise reverberated from his chest, reaching a crescendo as the speckled lady crept past the territory line. He did not think she’d betray him . . . but if she did . . .

After a second’s pause, the colossal warrior plunged over the border. Their entry into the pack was easy. Ridiculously so. No warriors arrived to halt their progress, no packmembers crept in to question their motives; they simply walked over the invisible, faintly bloodstained border, unchallenged. It made the Beast’s jowls tighten into a cold, mistrustful grimace. All the same, he traced the she-wolf’s trail, surprised when she led him to a den not yards away from the kingdom’s edge. No vampiric scent hovered over the entrance . . . yet Kershov detected plenty of other information with his acute senses. His guide’s own agonized perfume practically painted the earth. He understood at once just how much she’d undergone while trapped by the leeches. “Gwyneira . . .” The Beast’s voice was a hundredfold icier than Kershov’s own lyrics; it slipped between his knives like a frosted breeze, brittle on his tongue. “Your father has come for you. It’s time to come home.”

❝NOW THE DARK IS TAKING OVER❞

♛〖 King of Uyaraut ✦ bonded to Athene ✦ father of many ✦ xathira 〗♛