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Fer-Diorich shrugged. “It’s the least I can do since I’m the one who gave you the lethal claws. Make sure to keep your head down. Even though the cloak is spelled to keep people from noticing you, not everyone is as susceptible to suggestion and will see beyond the disguise. You do not want to be discovered in this place. It won’t end well for you, and I will not be able to mount a rescue.”
“You wouldn’t anyway.”
“True.”
Émilien turned to the castle, now shrouded in a heavy veil of fog as a summer storm rolled in. “I only need to retrace my original steps and go to the deepest level, right? That’s all? Just to retrieve your spell book?”
“Yes. A word of warning, though. The man who controls this is every bit as eager as I all those years ago. He is determined to break the code in my journal to create the ultimate army. One that was never meant to remain on Midgard. That fighting force belongs in the Unseelie Court with me, so get my book. If you must, kill the Nazi fool and anyone else you come across that he’s experimented on. They are abominations, nothing more.”
Émilien’s gaze narrowed. “Harsh words from a man who wants the same thing.”
“I am not a simple man. Now go, before the fog dissipates, and recover what’s mine.”
Émilien turned and took a step toward the edge of the tree line before stopping. He glanced over one shoulder. “And where will you be when I return?”
“I will be waiting for you deeper in the forest.”
Needing to get away, he marched toward the castle, but with every step, dread grew. He didn’t like this place any more than he liked helping the man who cursed him. But, if this simple feat returned him to Hel’s side, he would do it. He would do anything for his wife. Whether she liked it or not, they were still very much married. He had never renounced their vows and never would. They were just as binding now as they were the day they said them.
His thoughts turned to Shalendra. He had trained their daughter to face just about anything, but he would always worry, no matter how good she was. And she was amazing with just about every known weapon. The only thing he had never been able to work through with her was her compassion. If someone were to threaten her best friend, family, even a pet, she folded. Her compassion would be her downfall.
Stepping next to the large gray stone blocks of the castle wall, he listened, hearing a multitude of sounds from inside the fortress. Closest to him, were sounds of fighting. Metal clanking against metal, angry shouts, and cries of pain filled his ears. Underlying those were deeper sounds, muffled but there.
Straining his hearing, he focused on the low growls. Turning his head away from the direction he’d come, the sound increased. He followed it, edging along the outside wall until he came to a side door. Glancing around and seeing no one, he tried the knob, which turned without any resistance.
He inched the door inward and listened. Cool air caressed the hair on his face, and the musty smell wafting through the opening wasn’t unpleasant, but the space needed airing out. He had been in caves that hadn’t smelled like wet dirt as much as this place did. In complete darkness, the only light was the outside dimness from the fog, but he crept inside, unsure what the room was. Closing the door behind him with a softsnick, he let his eyes adjust, more than grateful for the wolf’s enhanced vision.
The surrounding walls were lined with shelves laden with cans of what looked like food, as well as boxes and bags. Multiple barrels were stacked in one corner, and one entire wall was covered with several hundred wine bottles. From the looks of some of the labels, Himmler had expensive taste.
In a couple of strides, he reached the door on the other side of the room. He cracked it open but hesitated. A god-awful stench hit him in the face, and he almost closed the door. Instead, he braced himself for what he knew he would find. The smell of death permeated every nook and cranny in this room and was something he would never and could never forget, much less get out of his nose, so he breathed through his mouth, which helped.
He let the door creak open and walked farther into the room, passing piles of corpses taller than he. In more than half the room, the dead had been stacked one on the other, with a few more pushed into any open space. There were a mixture of humans, wolves, and a combination of the two. Some simply couldn’t handle the pain fromthe experiments done to them by Himmler and those who helped him. Their deaths were a blessing.
“You’re going to pay for this, Himmler, if it’s the last thing I ever do,” Émilien muttered, then momentarily closed his eyes to rein in his anger before edging along the narrow pathway to a door on the opposite side from where he stood.
Creeping down the stone stairwell, he reached the bottom and once more immediately wished he couldn’t breathe. The stench of urine, stale sweat, and other unmentionable smells bombarded his nose. The darkness was heavy and stagnant as he felt his way along what he thought was a path until he walked into something solid.
Reaching in front of him, he ran his gloved paws down the wall, but instead of plaster, he felt metal bars. A muffled sound came from within, answered by snuffling from farther in the room. Listening, something scraped across the floor, as if being dragged.
“Who’s there?” He held out his hand in front of him and willed a ball of light to appear, which infused the room with a soft white light.
“Dim the light! Dim the light!” a pain-filled voice pleaded. Émilien did as the voice asked, dimming the ball until it was barely a flicker.
“I’ve done as you asked and am sorry if I caused you any pain. I only wanted to save my face from ramming into any more bars.” A soft snuffle sounded near his feet, and he glanced down. His eyes widened in horror at the sight before him. He dropped to his knees and gripped the cell bar with one hand, staring at the half-man, half-wolf lying on the cold, stone floor. Both skin, bloody and raw, and what was left of his fur was covered in filth.
“Dear gods, what happened?”
The miserable creature met his gaze, eyes so filled with pain, Émilien felt like weeping. “This is what happens to soldiers stupid enough to get caught by the Nazi who runs this castle.” Leaning forward, Émilien strained to hear the man’s weak voice. “We are what’s left of his experiments.”
“Who are you?”
The man coughed, tiny drops of blood appearing in the corner of his mouth. “Who I was doesn’t matter. If you are a friend, please save those who remain alive. They deserve better than this.”
“Are they here with you?”
“Scattered. Many cells...many here. And below.” The creature grasped Émilien’s wrist. “Save...them...my broth—” His voice trailed off in a gurgling breath, then his hand fell to the floor. Somewhere farther in the dark room, a pain-filled cry sounded, only for a second before it, too, disappeared.
Saying a quick prayer for the man’s soul, Émilien stood, holding the dim light in front of him. Two rows of cells on either side of him disappeared in front of him, the darkness swallowing the cells and whatever lay inside. “My name is Émilien Elasalor. I, too, was created and, like you, survived. I was once an Elf Lord, my home in Alfheimr. Please, let me help you.”
