Chapter 5

The blue torchlight flickered against the damp stone walls as we climbed the spiral stairwell. With every step, the stench of the chasm faded, replaced by the cold draft of the mountain night.

Ronan walked beside me, his tall frame taking up nearly the entire passage. His broken iron chains clanked softly against the stone steps, a steady sound echoing in the narrow space.

"The upper barracks are right behind this wall," I whispered, slowing down as we reached an iron grate set into the rock. "Alpha Dracon keeps twenty border guards here to watch the northern pass."

Ronan stopped, his eyes fixing on the iron bars. Shadows swirled around his knuckles.

"Then let us see if Dracon’s men can actually fight," he said.

I raised a hand, stopping him before he could smash the iron.

"No noise, Ronan. The main packhouse is celebrating my death down in the valley. If you make a sound now, Dracon will lock down the fortress. We kill them quietly, take their weapons, and move to the border."

Ronan looked at me, tilting his head slightly.

"You don't miss a thing, Vesper."

"I spent twenty years learning every blind spot in this territory," I said, leaning closer to the grate.

Through the bars, I could see a wide, high-ceilinged hall. Torches lit the stone pillars, throwing light over a dozen wolves in Ironfang leather armor. They sat around a oak table, drinking ale and rolling dice.

Weapon racks lined the far wall, stocked with broadswords, crossbows, and silver armor.

"The lock on this grate is rusted," I whispered, touching the iron bolt. "It opens right behind the weapon rack. If we move fast, they won't even reach their blades."

"I'll handle the guards," Ronan said, his voice dropping low. "Pick what you need."

He placed his palm against the rusted lock. Pitch-black magic seeped from his skin into the iron.

The rust turned to gray dust, and the bolt slid open silently.

Ronan pushed the grate open and stepped into the room's shadows.

I slipped through right after him, keeping my back pressed against the cold stone behind the weapon stands.

I held my breath, listening.

Across the hall, two guards leaned against their spears near the main wooden archway. Neither saw the shadow moving behind them.

Ronan closed the distance in a second. His hands shot out, grabbing both men by their throats.

With a fast, brutal twist, he snapped their necks. He caught their heavy bodies before they hit the floor and laid them quietly in the corner.

My heart hammered against my ribs, but my hands stayed steady.

Ronan kept moving. He stepped behind three guards near the fireplace, wrapping dark mist around their heads before they could even yell.

They dropped to their knees, silent.

Four more fell just as fast as Ronan struck their necks with his claws.

In under two minutes, all twelve guards were lying dead on the floor.

No alarm sounded.

No horn blew.

Ronan turned back to me, wiping a smear of blood off his jaw with the back of his hand. He pointed toward the weapon racks.

"Take what you want," he said.

I walked over to the stands, stepping right over a dead guard.

My eyes swept the iron blades. As a Null, I had never been allowed to touch a weapon. Cressida used to mock me whenever I looked at the armory, telling me I was too weak to even lift a knife.

I reached out and pulled a double-edged shortsword from the rack. It was lighter than a broadsword, made for fast, clean cuts.

I swung it once, testing the weight.

It felt natural in my hand.

Next to the blades hung a thick leather cloak lined with dark fur and silver shoulder guards. I pulled it on over my thin, blood-stained tunic, buckling the straps across my chest to hide the glowing mark underneath.

"You look ready," Ronan said, stepping up behind me.

He reached down and strapped a leather sheath to my belt.

"I'm not finished," I said, pulling the hood over my hair, leaving only my eyes visible.

"First, we take out the border gates. Alaric’s father left fifty men on the main road to the capital."

"And when we get there?" Ronan asked.

I pulled the shortsword from its sheath, letting the steel catch the torchlight.

"We leave no one alive to warn Dracon," I said. "By morning, the Ironfang Pack will find their border destroyed, their guards dead, and the daughter they threw away marching on the capital."

Ronan gave a short, cold laugh.

"Lead the way."