Chapter 4 Friction and Iron

Lucien didn't even reach for his sword. His hand moved like a flash of dark lightning, his bare palm smacking straight against my oncoming fist.

The rusted iron spike pierced right through the meat of his hand. Thick, dark red blood welled up instantly, spilling over my fingers and dripping onto the floorboards. But he didn't even flinch. His grip closed around my wrist like a steel vice, squeezing until my bones grated together.

"Is that all you've got?" Lucien growled.

He threw his weight forward, slamming my back hard against the rough granite wall. The impact knocked the breath right out of my lungs, but I didn't stop fighting. I brought my right knee up with everything I had, driving it straight toward his groin.

He twisted his hip just enough to catch my thigh against his armored leg, neutralizing the blow.

"Let go of me!" I screamed, leaning forward and driving my teeth straight into his thick leather forearm sleeve, trying to bite through to the flesh beneath.

"Stop fighting me, Nyra!" Lucien hissed, using his free hand to pin my shoulder flat against the stone. His massive frame completely boxed me in, cutting off all my exits. He was breathing hard, a thin sheen of sweat breaking out across his forehead. "Listen to me!"

"Why should I?" I thrashed against him, trying to wrench my wrist free, but his grip remained unbroken even as his blood mixed with mine. "You're just another alpha king who wants to use me as a tool! Die in this fire for all I care!"

"I am dying!" Lucien whispered hoarsely.

I froze, my teeth still pressed against his sleeve. I looked up into his grey eyes. They weren't bright with alpha power anymore. They looked dim, clouded with a strange, dark film.

"What did you say?" I asked, my voice dropping.

"My wolf," Lucien said, his voice dropping to a raw, ragged whisper that barely carried over the roar of the fire downstairs. His chest was heaving, and I could feel a strange, unnatural heat radiating from his skin. "The plague. It’s inside me, Nyra. My Lycan beast is rotting right now. It's dying in my chest. Every time I try to use my strength, the infection tears at my heart. I’m running on human fumes right now. If I had my full strength, you wouldn't have been able to pierce my skin with a rusted nail."

I stared at his bleeding palm, the spike still wedged slightly between his fingers. "The King of the Winter Shadows is weak? Is that supposed to make me trust you?"

"No, it's supposed to make you realize we are out of options," Lucien said, his grip on my wrist loosening just a fraction, though he didn't let go. "I didn't come here as a conqueror. I came because I have nowhere else to turn. If my wolf dies completely, my territory falls. And if you stay here, you don't even get the chance to fight."

"I've survived seven years in this room," I said, glaring at him. "I can handle myself."

"Not against what's coming up those stairs," Lucien said, his face hardening. "Your cousin Elena. She didn't waste any time. The moment King Corin fled the lower courts, she seized the Bloodmoon throne. She’s leading the vanguard right now."

"Elena?" The name felt like ash in my mouth. "She was always a snake, but she doesn't have the authority to take the crown."

"She has an army, Nyra. That’s all the authority she needs," Lucien said, his eyes scanning my face. "She’s bringing a whole execution squad straight to this tower. She told the remaining elders that sacrificing the wolfless defect—you—is the only way to appease the High Priest and stop the plague. She's using your execution to solidify her rank."

"She always hated me," I muttered, my heart hammering against my ribs. "Even when we were kids."

"She doesn't just hate you, she wants you erased so there's no question about her claim," Lucien said, finally letting go of my wrist and pulling the iron spike out of his hand with a sharp grunt. He tossed the bloody metal aside. "So make your choice. Stay here and let your cousin cut your head off for a show, or come with me and give her a real fight."

I looked from his bloody palm to the smoke rising through the floorboards. "If I come with you, I'm not your servant, Draven. I don't bow to kings."

"Good," Lucien said, a grim, humorless smile touching his lips. "I don't need a servant. I need an asset."

Before I could answer, a sharp thud-thud-thud echoed from the narrow window slit behind us.

We both turned our heads.

Three black-tipped arrows slammed straight through the opening, embedding themselves deep into the straw cot. The tips weren't just sharp—they were wrapped in rags soaked in a thick, green-burning liquid that smelled instantly of rotten weeds.

"Wolfsbane," Lucien growled, taking a fast step back as the straw mattress erupted into bright, unnatural green flames.

More arrows rained through the narrow gap, clattering against the stone walls and sending sparks flying across the cramped room. The fire spread in seconds, feeding on the dry wood of the floorboards.

From down below the tower walls, a loud, unified horn blew three sharp blasts.

"They're not waiting for the stairs," I said, my voice tight as I backed away from the heat. "They've surrounded the base."

"Trackers," Lucien said, drawing his broadsword with his uninjured hand, his face pale as the smoke thickened. "Elena’s has completely ringed the tower. We're boxed in.”