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“I did.” Cord looked into the mouth of the cave. “One more stop.”
Taras extended his arm, and Cord clasped the forearm of the Lycan in farewell. “You should make haste. When my magic is finished here, there will be nothing left.” Cord turned and entered the cave before the three Lycan had even taken a step away. The smell assaulted his senses, and he had to stop himself from gagging against the stench. He found the source when he got deeper into the cave. The rotting corpses were piled against the cave wall, and Cord did not feel shame when he found that he could not look at them.
Finally, he was able to stand upright, and his eyes were drawn to the bloodied mattress. He recognised the sneaker tossed to the side and the shredded jeans lying around the mattress. His Flare swelled within him. He was glad that it did, as he had worried he had tapped out his source of power as he raged through the night. However, he felt it almost throbbing within him.
The idea that this could have been Tegan made him blind with rage. She was so sure it was not her that they sought. Even as he listened to her in the medical wing, she had spoken with a confidence that he doubted. Cord had his doubts it was Tove they sought; she had been travelling through this forest on her own for years. Her reputation as one of the fiercest Lycans had not come about for her shy and gentle nature. Which is why when she so readily believed he had been working with the Drakhyn, it caused him a bitterness that he was surprised at.
His only consolation was that although Marcus listened to the allegations, he had not immediately believed them. A strong alpha he was. He was wasted as Salem’s Second. Had Marcus been doing his duty and leading his packs in the war against Drakhyn, the Drakhyn wouldn’t have been able to infiltrate the camps. An alpha would have noticed immediately. He would need to have strong words with the alpha when he returned.
Cord assessed the nest, looking for clues, even as his mind raced over all the things he needed to do. His Mark warmed as if in reassurance, and Cord almost snorted at the idea Velvore was trying to comfort him.
“You should show yourself to me, and I can have a nicelongtalk with you about all this.” Cord gestured to the filth and ruin of the cave, the atrocities that had been carried out in here all too evident in the discarded corpses, in the blood of the victims. “Why would you let them take her?” Cord shook his head in frustration. “She was helpless.”
The Mark throbbed once. “It was a lesson?” Cord asked out loud in surprise. The Mark throbbed again. “For the curse of the shade, it was one hell of a lesson,” he said bitterly. “There is nothing here,” he sighed in despair. “I cannot even offer these poor souls a proper burial.” Cord forced himself to look at the dead. Some were so far gone in decay that he wasn’t sure where one ended and the next victim started. He felt tears prick his eyes. “How can any Akrhyn support this?” he whispered even as his eyes closed in despair while he stood with his head bowed in the dimming light.
Burn it
Cord’s eyes snapped open, and he looked around wildly. “Who is it?”
The Mark pulsed softly. Almost…teasingly.
Burn it
“Velvore?” Cord’s voice was barely audible.
Burn it, my son, blacken the earth so they know what has come to pass here
A less stubborn, less obstinate, less arrogant man would fall to his knees on knowing a God spoke to him. Cord Ivanov cocked his head to the side. Hewasstubborn, hewasobstinate, and by the Ancients, he was arrogant.
“When we get back, you will tell me everything,” he warned the Ancient as he raised his hands. The fire escaped and ignited instantly. Cord did not feel the flames as his hands swept out in an arc in front of him. He said a brief blessing over the fallen, and with flames rushing behind him, he left the cave. His fire scorched the ground where he burned the corpses of the Drakhyn and eradicated from the earth their stain.
He stood untouched within the circle of fire and watched impassively as the fire burned and erased everything. The fire did not touch the trees though. He waited until the fire died, and as the land lay smoking from his purging, Cord put his hands to the blackened earth.
“Heal,” he whispered.
The flow of power this time was soothing. He could almost see it as his hands dug into the soil, and from it, seedlings shot up and grass grew rapidly as he watched the land restore itself from the power given to him by an Ancient. He stood wearily. He had been drained almost when he and Taras had set forth this morning. Now it was almost night, and he stood...barely. “I need to sleep,” Cord told no one. He looked around the newly budding ground, and a smile played around his mouth as he felt a peace descend on him at the newly regenerated ground. “This was for Zahra and the ones who fell. May the Ancients bless this ground, and may the fallen know eternal peace.” Cord closed his eyes in prayer for a moment. “Take me to her,” he murmured as he portalled to the medical wing.
Lucas had been waiting anxiously for the young Castor to return and had refused to leave the wing, even as the Pure Castors spent the night working on saving Zahra Holt. Garrick had sat with him, and no other Castor had been brave enough to approach them after they had both threatened Rorik, the Pure Cast Prime, with harm if he tried to remove them.
Cord appeared in the middle of the room. He was clearly unconscious, and both males ran to him, Garrick catching the young Castor before he hit the floor.
“He is hurt?” a Castor asked, running forward even as Marcus leapt to his feet at the sight.
“He is exhausted,” Lucas replied. “We have him.” He exchanged a look with Garrick who nodded. The two Prime Castors looked over at Marcus, who took a step back in acknowledgement, then they disappeared with him.
Rorik came out from the curtain he had been behind as he worked tirelessly to heal Zahra. “What was that?” he asked sharply. “Did they leave?”
“It was nothing,” Marcus told him as he resumed his seat. He glanced at the young healer, who dipped their head as they went back out the room. Rorik glared at the Lycan before he strode back behind the curtain.
Marcus exhaled long and low. There were too many questions he needed answers to. He thought of the behaviour of the Prime Castors towards Cord. The male was powerful. He had always been powerful, but Marcus sensed the shift in the attitudes of the Crimson Castor’s Prime and that of the Dark Cast Prime. They knew more than they were telling. Marcus heard a whimper from behind the curtain and stood reflexively. He walked over to where the youngest Holt lay recovering. Once he knew she would be okay, he would find out what the Castors were up to.
There was a war coming, and the time for secrets was past.
Cord woke in his chambers at the Crimson Cast dwelling in the northern territory. He looked down at himself for injury, noting that he was bandaged around his middle, and immediately felt panic at the knowledge his back had been exposed. He sat up quickly and fought the nausea rising within him.
“You are safe.”
Cord turned to look at Garrick, his Prime Castor. “Who told you?”
