"Then you'll have to trust me," he said, and stepped back into the great hall.
Nero emerged from the tunnel entrance just in time to see another guard who had clearly changed loyalties bragging how the silver wolf had run away, bringing a sword up to a servant brandishing a small knife. Behind him, Casteel's anguished cry echoed from the darkness—a sound that made the wolf within Nero howl for vengeance.
"You want to see the Silver Wolf?" Nero asked, his voice carrying harmonics that made the remaining wine goblets shatter on the table. "Then witness what prophecy truly means."
The transformation was instantaneous, as explosive as before. A detonation of power that sent the traitor stumbling backward. The massive silver wolf that materialized seemed to fill the entire hall, its presence pressing against the stone walls like barely contained lightning.
"Impossible," the man whispered, his sword trembling in suddenly nerveless fingers. "The prophecy speaks—"
His words cut off as the wolf's jaws closed around his throat. There was no dramatic struggle, no drawn-out death scene. One moment he stood sneering, the next he was gone, leaving only silence and the metallic scent of spilled blood.
The great hall's main doors exploded inward as Silver Guard poured through, their armor gleaming like scales in the torchlight. At their head strode High Priest Doran himself, his pale eyes scanning the destruction with cold satisfaction. Nero could disappear before they took one more step, but then three guards pushed captive servants before them, knives held against their throats, and one was a terrified girl. He couldn’t leave now.
Nero had already shifted back to human form, something in him urging him to maintain the ruse. Blood stained his clothes, and when he smiled, it was the expression of a predator who had tasted prey.
"Hello, Doran," he said conversationally. "You're looking well for a dead man."
The High Priest's laugh was like breaking glass. "Did you truly think that pathetic assassination attempt would succeed? I've survived far more competent killers than you."
Doran gestured, and his guards spread out in a practiced formation, crossbows trained on Nero from multiple angles. "The boy. Where is he?"
"Which boy?" Nero asked innocently. "I've met so many recently."
"Don't play games with me." Doran's composure cracked slightly, revealing the fanatic beneath the polished exterior. "Casteel of Abergenny. The vessel I prepared so carefully for this moment."
Nero knew Casteel hadn't gone far and bit off a frustrated growl. He was probably hidden in the tunnel entrance.
"Ah, that boy," Nero said, wiping blood from his fingers with deliberate slowness. "I'm afraid he's indisposed."
Doran's eyes narrowed to pale slits. "Bring him out, or I'll burn this entire estate to ash with everyone in it."
"You'll do that anyway," Nero replied calmly, though his muscles coiled for action. "It's your nature. Like a rabid dog that bites everything within reach."
"Perhaps." Doran stepped closer, his guards maintaining their crossbow aim. "But I can make their deaths swift, or I can make them... educational. The choice depends on your cooperation."
Nero felt Casteel's anguish spike—his mate had heard every word through the tunnel entrance. The knowledge that innocents would suffer for his defiance was tearing at Casteel's conscience, just as Doran intended.
"You want the Silver Wolf?" Nero asked, spreading his arms wide. "Here I am."
"No," Doran said softly, his pale eyes gleaming with malicious satisfaction. "You're merely the thief who stole what belongs to me. The true wolf hides in the shadows like the coward he's become."
The insult hung in the air like poison.
"I know you can hear me, boy," Doran called toward the tunnel entrance. "Your borrowed wolf may have strength, but you still have a weak heart. How many servants will die for your cowardice? How many guards will burn because you lack the courage to face what you were made to become?"
Silence stretched taut as a bowstring. Then, to Nero's horror, he felt Casteel's resolve crystallizing—not the wolf's reckless courage, but something purely human and therefore more dangerous.
"No," Nero whispered, but it was too late.
Casteel emerged from the tunnel entrance, his hands empty, his face set with quiet determination. "I'm here, Doran. Let the others go."
The High Priest's smile was radiant with triumph.
Nero's mind raced. Doran believed Casteel still carried the wolf-soul—a misconception they could use. He sent a pulse of understanding to his mate, hoping their connection was strong enough to convey his plan.
"Your games are tiresome," Doran said, studying Casteel with the clinical interest of a collector examining a prized specimen. "Did you truly believe this... soldier... could protect you from your destiny?"
Casteel straightened, shoulders squaring with a confidence that Nero recognized wasn't entirely feigned. His mate might have surrendered the wolf, but he'd retained the courage that had first drawn them together.
