Chapter 7 “Blood, Blades, and Bastards”

The world slams back into focus—hard, jarring.

The teleport drops us just outside the cabin.

And at first glance, everything looks the same.

Too same.

Too still.

The door is closed.

The garden untouched.

The soft glow of Nymerial's trees hums gently like nothing's wrong.

But something is. I feel it like a splinter beneath my skin.

I draw in a sharp breath—slow.

My hearing sharpens.

The silence isn't silence—it's muted, wrong, like the world is holding its breath.

I stretch my senses outward.

Every rustle. Every heartbeat. Every trace of scent.

There.

There's something—someone—close. Too many. Moving like ghosts through leaves.

Darian doesn't ask. Doesn't speak.

He just steps beside me, body tense, hand ready.

He knows what I'm doing.

Of course he does.

I part my lips to speak—

"GET DOWN!"

Sylas's voice shatters the stillness—

And then the world explodes.

A sound like the sky splitting in half—

Light. Heat. Smoke.

A blast slams into us, throwing dirt and flame in every direction.

My ears scream. The sound is too much—too sharp. It drills into my skull and leaves me blinking, disoriented, furious.

But Darian—

He does not let go of me.

His arm clamps around my waist the moment the force hits, pulling me down with him, shielding my body with his like he's done it a thousand times.

We hit the ground hard.

My heart's still racing. My vision spins. But my blades are already in my hands.

"Sylas?!" I shout, coughing smoke.

"I'm alive!" his voice yells through the chaos. "And still prettier than both of you!"

That bastard.

But there's no time to reply.

Because the explosion was just a distraction.

They're here.

Dozens of them.

Sliding from the trees.

Silent. Coordinated. Deadly.

Soldiers from the palace—cloaked in shadow and steel, trained to kill and blessed by court magic.

Their armor hums with enchantments.

Their faces are stone.

Their orders are clear.

"Bring her in!" someone shouts.

"Dead or alive!"

And oh…

They shouldn't have said that.

Something clicks inside me.

I grin.

I run.

I crash into the first soldier like a wave of teeth and rage.

Blade to blade. Bone to bone. Blood to ground.

I twist, strike, duck, rip.

There's joy in it—pure, violent joy.

I love this.

The rhythm. The chaos. The way my enemies fall apart beneath me.

Another comes at me and I laugh.

Actually laugh—because he thinks he's fast.

He's not.

I spin and slash him across the thigh, then grab him by the collar and headbutt him so hard his helmet flies off.

Something flickers to my left.

I glance over—just a second—

And I catch it.

Darian is watching me.

Not worried. Not shocked.

Just… amused.

There's a smirk on his face.

A small, slow, dangerous smirk.

And my heart—

My heart spikes so hard I nearly miss a blade flying toward my ribs.

I dodge it in time. Barely.

Then stab the bastard who threw it.

Gods. I hate him.

Gods. I might kill someone if he looks at me like that again.

"I see we've started without me!" Sylas shouts, joining the chaos like it's a party.

He flips into the fight, slices a soldier's leg, then turns and grins.

"Hi, Darian!"

Darian doesn't even blink. "Not now."

"Right, right." Sylas ducks an arrow. "We'll catch up after the bloodbath."

And just like that—

We fall into rhythm.

The three of us. One body. One machine.

Sylas dances.

Darian slices.

And I destroy.

I tear into them.

One screams and I grab him by the throat and slam him into a tree so hard bark shatters.

Another rushes Sylas and he vanishes, reappearing behind him and whispering, "Boo," before stabbing him in the back.

Darian moves like shadows—quiet, clean, lethal.

A sword through the chest. A kick to the spine. A blast of green rune-light that knocks five to the ground.

We don't speak.

We don't need to.

They came to take me.

But they didn't bring enough.

And when this is done, they'll remember my name.

They'll remember that I was never just wolf or vampire.

I was both.

And I was death.

The last body hits the ground with a dull, wet thud.

Silence follows—sharp, hot, ringing in my ears.

I stand in the wreckage, chest heaving.

Blood slicks my blades.

My clothes are torn. My arms are burning.

And I've never felt more alive.

Smoke curls in lazy trails through the shattered garden.

The grass is soaked with ash and magic.

The air smells like sweat, steel, and the copper tang of victory.

I look down at the body at my feet.

Split open. Still twitching.

Good.

Across the clearing, Sylas wipes his blade on a fallen soldier's cloak and sighs dramatically.

"Well. That was unpleasant," he says, glancing at his ruined sleeve. "These were my favorite combat leathers."

I snort, too breathless to answer.

He catches my eye and grins, cocky and blood-speckled like the ridiculous fairy menace he is.

And then I see Darian.

He's standing near the edge of the blast crater, blood streaked across his jaw, runes glowing faintly on his arms.

One shoulder of his coat is torn open, revealing skin that's bruised but already healing.

He lifts a hand, murmurs something under his breath.

Light gathers in his palm—green and pulsing—and flows over the wound in smooth waves.

He's healing himself.

The knot in my stomach untangles just a little.

I didn't even realize I was watching him so closely.

Didn't realize I was holding my breath.

I look away fast, furious with myself.

We still need to talk.

About all of it.

About us.

But not now.

A groan rises behind me.

One soldier. Still breathing. Barely.

His armor is cracked. His chest heaves shallowly. His face is twisted in pain.

Darian approaches him without hesitation.

No words. Just slow, deadly steps and eyes that look carved from emerald fire.

He crouches beside the soldier and tilts his head slightly. Calm. Cold.

"Who sent you?"

The soldier spits blood.

"Your queen?" Darian asks, voice low. "Or someone worse?"

Silence. Gritted teeth.

Sylas drifts closer, blades still in hand, bouncing on his heels like this is a game.

I stay still. Watching.

Darian's voice drops lower. Sharper.

"How did you find us?"

Still no answer.

And then—

The soldier laughs. Bitter. Broken.

He looks up at Darian, blood dripping down his chin, and sneers.

"You think you're gods, don't you?" he rasps. "You think you're special. But you're all just… mistakes. Failed things pretending to be royalty."

Darian doesn't react.

But I do.

My jaw clenches. My fingers twitch around the hilt of my blade.

And I swear—

I hate how good Darian looks like this.

Lit by the glow of his own magic.

Covered in blood.

Crouched and calm like a storm waiting to break.

This is not the time to think about kissing him.

Absolutely not.

And yet—

"Say that again," I whisper, stepping closer, voice like ice.

Because I dare him to.

The soldier grins with blood in his teeth.

"You're already losing," he breathes. "The queen sent us. And now all five kingdoms know you're alive."

The words hit like ice down my spine.

Darian stays perfectly still. Unshaken. Focused.

But the soldier isn't done.

"Doesn't matter if I die here," he spits, voice cracking. "You'll be next. You and your mongrel blood. You'll burn just like your parents did."

That's it.

I move before anyone can stop me.

My blade slides clean across his throat, but I don't stop there.

I grab him. Slam his body into the earth. Stab once. Twice. Again.

Until the light leaves his eyes and the dirt is soaked in red.

No one speaks.

Not Sylas.

Not Darian.

Not even me.

The only sound is my breath, ragged and wild, and the faint drip of blood from my blade.

Then Darian stands.

"We need to leave," he says quietly.

Sylas blinks. "I mean… yes? But also—where exactly are we going now that we've just murdered a battalion of royal thugs?"

Darian turns to me. "The mortal world."

I blink.

Sylas blinks harder.

"What?" I say.

"I'm sorry," Sylas says, raising a brow. "Did you just say we're going to the mortal world? As in, full of loud metal machines and people who can't smell magic from two feet away?"

"Yes," Darian says simply. "Now."

"Why?" I snap. "Why in all the gods-damned realms would we ever do that?"

Darian meets my eyes. Calm. Certain.

"I found the dagger."

Everything in me goes still.

"The dagger?" I echo. "What dagger? What the hell are you talking about?"

He steps closer, voice steady. "The dagger. The one they tried to erase from history. The one your bloodline was tied to. The one that proves who you are."

I open my mouth to demand more—

To demand everything—

And the world vanishes.