Chapter 99: When Power Is Used for Sport
{IRIS}
Morgana frowned.
It was not the theatrical scowl of a villain displeased, nor the careless sneer of someone accustomed to victory. It was a frown sharpened by irritation rather than anger.
The sort of look one gave a puzzle that refused to be solved.
"For someone packless," she said at last, voice smooth and cold as polished obsidian, "unshifted and arcane-less, you fight remarkably well."
Her gaze slid over me with unsettling thoroughness, dissecting more than my movements—my posture, my breath, the way I favored my left side. She was cataloguing me. Measuring.
The thought sent a chill crawling down my spine.
"And those trinkets you carry," she continued. "Extraordinary." Her eyes lingered on the faint gleam at my throat, the necklace warm against my skin, pulsing faintly like a living thing.
Then her attention snapped to the blade in my hand, already slick with blood.
"That necklace. That dagger. Such artifacts do not fall into wolfless—or arcane less—hands by chance. Where did you get them?"
I did not bother answering her.
Instead, I stepped forward and drove my dagger into the chest of the nearest vampire, the blade sliding between ribs with a wet, crunching sound.
His body stiffened, eyes wide with surprise, before collapsing at my feet like a discarded puppet.
Ashes pooled across the fractured marble, dark and steaming.
"I’m not obligated to answer you," I hissed, wrenching the dagger free.
Morgana’s lips thinned.
"Well," she said lightly, though irritation flickered beneath the calm, "no matter."
She turned sharply, black skirts whispering across the floor like something alive.
"Valerius!" Her voice cut through the chamber like a whip crack. "Kill her already so we can finish with the human bitch."
Caroline.
The single word echoed in my head, sharp and burning.
My grip tightened around the dagger.
Valerius sighed.
Actually sighed—as if he were being asked to fetch a dropped glove rather than end a life.
"Must you shout?" he drawled. "That’s what I’m here for, remember?"
He rolled his shoulders, the bones cracking audibly, and tilted his head from side to side as though loosening himself before a casual stretch.
When his gaze finally settled on me, his grin was bright, lazy, and unmistakably dangerous.
"Sorry about this, little wolf," he said pleasantly. "Nothing personal."
I met his gaze without flinching, though every instinct screamed at me to run.
"Looks personal to me," I shot back. "You don’t seem capable of leaving us alone. Why are you so obsessed with us?"
There was silence at first.
Then laughter that burst from him was sharp and utterly devoid of warmth.
It echoed too long in the cavernous hall, bouncing off stone and shadow alike, until it sounded almost manic.
He raised one hand.
The floor split.
Stone groaned and fractured beneath my feet as if the earth itself recoiled from his will.
From the fissures burst thorns—massive, jagged, blackened spires that surged upward with violent intent. They writhed and twisted, barbs catching the torchlight as they shot toward me like living spears.
"It isn’t obsession," Valerius said lightly, his tone conversational even as death lunged for me. "It’s amusement."
The thorns screamed through the air, thick as tree trunks and sharp enough to skewer armor.
"We simply enjoy watching the weak struggle so desperately," he finished.
Maniac.
The word surfaced in my mind without effort, fitting him perfectly.
Calling arcane against me—now, of all moments—was grotesquely excessive.
I was unshifted.
Stripped of my wolf.
Reduced to flesh, bone, instinct, and stubborn refusal to die.
And yet he reached for power meant to level halls and break armies.
Not because he needed it.
But because cruelty, to them, was always more entertaining when it was unnecessary.
One strike would skewer me clean through. There would be no time to scream. No second chance. Just impact—pain—darkness.
I shifted my weight, already calculating angles, distances, the slim possibility of slipping between the thorns—
But I never got the chance.
The Shadow Guard surged forward.
It moved like a living absence, darkness folding in on itself with lethal grace.
With a single sweeping motion, it severed the thorns mid-flight, shadows slicing through arcane as if it were nothing more than silk.
The shattered remnants clattered harmlessly to the floor, dissolving into ash before they could touch me.
Silence slammed into the chamber.
Morgana froze.
Valerius froze.
Shock flickered across both their faces—brief, but unmistakable.
About time you helped, I thought grimly, chest heaving.
Valerius stared at the Shadow Guard, disbelief sharpening his features. "How did you get that?" he demanded. "What did you do to Sol to make him lend you one of his guards?"
I smiled weakly, blood still roaring in my ears. "We struck a deal."
Morgana clicked her tongue, irritation flaring openly now. "That idiot," she snapped. "What is he thinking, helping you? Is he openly challenging me now?"
She did not wait for an answer.
Flames erupted from her hands.
Not ordinary fire.
Black fire.
It poured forth like a living tide, devouring light as it advanced, heat so intense it seemed to warp the air itself.
The inferno roared toward us with devastating force, hunger radiating from it like a physical presence.
The Shadow Guard reacted instantly.
It stepped between me and the flames, shadows expanding, condensing into a barrier of impossible density.
Black Fire and darkness collided with a thunderous impact that rattled the walls. Heat washed over my skin, searing even through the guard’s protection, forcing the air from my lungs.
The blast hurled dust and debris into the air, obscuring everything.
For a heartbeat, I thought it was over.
Then the shadows dispersed.
Smoke.
Mist.
Nothingness.
My heart lurched.
And then—
The Shadow Guard reformed.
Whole.
Untouched.
It rose from the darkness like a specter reborn, its form sharper, deeper, as if the attack had only fed it. The black fire guttered and died against its presence, snuffed out as though it had never existed.
My breath caught painfully in my throat.
Sol’s arcane was no joke.
