"I've never needed protection," Casteel replied, his voice steady despite the dozen crossbows now trained on his chest. "The prophecy speaks of choice, Doran. Something you've never understood."
The High Priest's pale eyes narrowed. "Choice? You speak of choice when fate itself marked you from birth?" His attention remained fixed on Casteel, dismissing Nero as merely a bodyguard, a disposable obstacle. "The silver wolf was never meant for freedom—it was meant for service."
"Service to whom?" Casteel challenged, taking a careful step forward. Through their bond, Nero felt his mate's strategy—keepDoran talking, keep his focus away from Nero. "The people? Or your ambitions?"
Doran laughed, the sound echoing coldly from the stone walls. "The two are inseparable. I am the voice of divine will in this kingdom."
As Doran spoke, Nero caught a familiar scent beneath the metallic tang of armor and weapons—smoke, fear, and something else. The manor's kitchens lay directly below this wing. River was still in the building.
"A divine will that demands burning villages?" Casteel pressed, taking another step that drew Doran's guards' attention with him. "Executing families? Strange how your gods always thirst for innocent blood."
The High Priest's composure slipped, just for an instant. "Sacrifices necessary for the greater restoration. The wolf-soul was meant to purify, not to rebel." His gaze burned with fanatical intensity. "You'll understand once we've completed the binding ritual."
Through their bond, Nero sent a warning. Binding ritual? What binding ritual? Casteel's almost imperceptible nod was his only acknowledgment.
On the count of three.
"There will be no ritual," Casteel declared, his voice ringing with authority. "The Silver Wolf has made its choice."
One.
"Insolent boy," Doran snarled, his mask of civility cracking further. "You think you understand power? You've barely tasted it."
Two.
"Perhaps," Casteel agreed, his eyes meeting Nero's for the briefest moment. "But I understand freedom."
Three.
Nero exploded into motion as silver light erupted beneath his skin. The transformation was instant—one heartbeat human, the next a massive silver wolf launching itself at the nearest cluster of guards. Crossbow bolts whistled through the air, but Nero was already among them, a whirlwind of teeth and claws that sent armored men flying like broken dolls.
"What—" Doran's exclamation cut short as understanding dawned on his pale features.
Casteel seized the moment of confusion, diving beneath the table as the remaining guards swung their weapons toward Nero's silver form. He emerged on the far side, snatching up a fallen guard's sword in one fluid motion.
"The kitchens!" he shouted to Nero above the chaos. "River!"
Nero acknowledged with a bone-chilling howl that shattered the remaining windows. Through their bond, Casteel felt his mate's understanding—Nero would create the diversion while Casteel found the boy.
"The wolf!" Doran screamed, his composure completely shattered. "Bring me the wolf!"
But the Silver Guard found themselves facing a nightmare. Nero moved with supernatural speed, his massive form seeming to be everywhere at once. Claws ripped through armor as if it were parchment. Jaws closed on limbs with bone-crushing force. The wolf-soul that had never truly awakened in Casteel now expressed its full potential through Nero's battle-hardened instincts. And the soldiers were stuck fighting Morven's man as well. Doran was screaming at them to make sure Nero stayed alive, and there were only so many that could fit inside the hall.
Casteel fought his way toward the servant's entrance, his borrowed sword moving with a precision that surprised even him. Without the wolf's enhanced abilities, he relied on determination and the skills he'd learned growing up. He might not be good with a broadsword, but years of often avoidingenraged hooves made him quick. Three guards moved to intercept him, but a silver blur tore through their formation before they could strike.
Casteel felt Nero's fierce joy in battle mingled with urgent concern—for him, for River, for all the innocents caught in Doran's web of violence. The wolf-soul amplified those emotions, turning protective instinct into devastating action.
Casteel reached the servant's entrance, slipping through while Nero held the High Priest's attention. The corridor beyond led toward the kitchens, where River had been taken for safety. Smoke thickened the air—some part of the manor had been set ablaze during the attack.
"Martha!" Casteel called, coughing as he navigated the smoke-filled passage. "River!"
A small cry answered from behind a heavy oak door. Casteel threw his weight against it, finding it barred from within. "It's me!" he shouted. "Casteel! Open the door!"
The bar scraped aside, and the door opened to reveal Martha's soot-streaked face. Behind her, River huddled beneath a table, his small face pale with terror. Relief flooded the boy's eyes when he spotted Casteel.
"Nero?" he asked immediately, scrambling out from his hiding place.
"Fighting," Casteel said, dropping to one knee to check the child for injuries. "Are you hurt?"
