Cassandra felt the castle rumble, had felt the reverberations through her feet as she trained in her usual ballroom.
It was different from before. She didn't know what, but it was enough for her to stop her routine to peer out the windows lining the one wall.
Some screams from the servants reached her, all panicked and frightened. Cassandra didn't think anything of it, assuming it was her mother doing something again.
But then her mother came barreling into the ballroom, near shattering the outline of the threshold, eyes wide and filled with fear, yet a predatory assessment lay within, a purpose.
She's never seen her mother so angry, and it's scares the hell out of her.
That was enough to make Cassandra's stomach drop.
She held onto the sword she'd been practicing with as she follows a step behind her mother.
"What was that?" she dares to ask.
"I don't know, but I am going to find out. And someone is going to pay!" She doesn't yell, and she doesn't curse — she just goes very still and very quiet. The only signs of her rage are her golden eyes, glittering with a deadly calm.
They're ascending the steps, Daniela having already joined them after they'd found her in the library, as usual, looking just as confused as Cassandra at the shake of the castle.
They've just reached the floor where Erika's bedroom had been assigned.
And that's when they hear the screaming.
A noise so full of anguish and pain, so raw and unforgiving that if Cassandra had any blood in her veins, it would've chilled it.
Her mother isn't fast enough as Cassandra barrels down the hallway, sword in hand, near flying as her body begins to disperse in an attempt to give her more speed.
Her mother is only a step behind, Daniela on her left as they reach the Erika's door.
It looks locked. Undisturbed.
But still that screaming persists, barely stopping for a breath.
"Bela!" Daniela calls, panic growing in her eyes.
Cassandra yanks her littlest sister out of the way as their mother shatters the door with a single swipe of her hand.
The greeting cold immediately has Cassandra hissing, Daniela shrieking.
Cassandra takes her breaths, fights the pain as Erika had taught her. Daniela grits her teeth and yowls, only pursuing forward for Bela, but Cassandra can tell her sister is unable to handle it.
Their mother strides into the room, and they are two steps behind her.
Cassandra can't breathe right, can't think right—
The windows of Erika's room have been destroyed, the rubble evidence that it was broken from the outside. The searing chill can peel the skin from her hollow bones – Cassandra and Daniela sheltering behind their mother, who stands as still as a deer.
Cassandra peers around and finds her eldest sister kneeling before the gaping hole, naked in the middle of the rubble, and still screaming.
Only her sobs are slowly turning into a wrath that could rattle the stars.
Daniela whimpers as she steps out from behind their mother, the cold already blowing off several of her flies, and goes to grab a sheet that had been discarded on the other side of the bed. Likely ending up there when the push of air knocked Bela from the bed.
For a heartbeat, anger veils Cassandra's shock at what her sister and Erika had likely been doing before all of this.
"Bela, darling," her mother whimpers – whimpers – as she tries to approach Bela, who is still crumpled before the gaping maw, screaming enough to shred her vocal chords.
Daniela has wrapped the blanket around their sister's shoulders, but Bela doesn't acknowledge her presence.
Doesn't acknowledge any of them as she stares out into the skeletal remains of the village. Holes have already formed in her face, like a kink in a porcelain vase from the death of her flies.
Multiple scents hit Cassandra at once – near smothered by the razor touch of the wind.
Metal and scales, cigar and musk, sweat and blood. Erika's blood.
It looks like she fought back – viciously. A large spray and trail of blood, that doesn't smell of hers, leads towards the window. Like she'd fought every inch of the way.
That's when Cassandra notices Bela's hands.
Shaded in red, like she crawled on her hands and knees, despite the pain, despite the cold, to get to her.
Cassandra tracks Erika's scent all around the room, but it goes no further.
Goes up to the edge of jagged stone, and vanishes.
"ERIKA!"
The howling wind devours Bela's roar before it can echo across the expanse.
Someone had poured sand into my mouth. And taken a hammer to my head.
Is still pounding on it, apparently.
I pry my tongue from my teeth, swallowing a few times to work some moisture back into my mouth. My aching head—
Scents hit me. Iron, rust, blood and ash and moistened wood —
Hard, cold ground lies beneath my legs, pine needles poking through the thin material of my tunic. Chill, blood-icing wind carries all those scents above a tide of snow and pine and dirt—
My eyes fly open.
A broad male back fills my vision, most of it obscured by spread of dark grey fur.
Images pelt me: the man who'd grabbed me, how I'd fought until he'd pushed something against my face that had me blacking out, hearing Bela scream—
I jolt upright.
The view is worse than I expected. Far, far worse.
Slowly, silently, I twist in place. Bodies are strewn around me. At my back, at my head. At my booted feet. More surround me, at least two hundred, stretching between the towering pines. All varying between human . . . and lycan.
All resting atop a spotted lake of dried blood. Like warriors dead on a killing field.
I press a hand over my mouth to keep my trembling exhale to near-silence. I know my shaking isn't entirely from the cold. Move. I have to move.
Aware of every fiber of my muscles, I ease to my feet. Away from the shield of the lycan's body, the cold slams into me, nearly robbing me of breath. My shaking deepens.
Once at my full height, I see it.
A factory resting atop a jagged rock plateau. Its power lines acting as sentinels, the cooling towers having belched their last cloud of smoke years ago. Its iron fence make it look like a stronghold. Not at all warm and welcoming, or even homey.
So small in comparison to Castle Dimitrescu, but the expanse of the factory lies beneath, embedded in the rock, tunneled beneath the earth so that Heisenberg might conduct his experiments in peace. Where no one can hear the victims scream.
Whatever time I have won't last long. Some of these bodies might not be dead. I pat myself down, and of course, the knife I had is gone.
I need something warmer. Need to make a weapon.
I peer at the water sun, as if it'll tell me what direction to go. But the light sears my eyes, worsening the pounding in my head.
"Glad to see you're away, princess."
I gasp as I frantically look around, trying to find the source of Heisenberg's voice.
His laugh is wretched and lifeless. I follow the source to a chillingly clean radio set at the base of a pile of bodies, a mingling of lycan and man, stacked as if someone had tried to clean their bodies off the mountain, but gave up.
"I was worried you'd be a disappointment."
I snarl, only rage coursing through me as I spit to the Lord, "I'm going to fucking kill you."
A single huff of a laugh breaks through the white noise. "You can certainly try. A "warrior" such as yourself is wasted on someone like that lady-super-sized-bitch."
"You sound like Mother Miranda. Did she put you up to this again?"
"No. I've decided it's not worth my time, she's not worth my time. But, I won't deny that you are something special. I've never seen anyone like you."
I don't bother trying to walk away. I have no doubt that he can see me, somehow. But I do try to pace around the pile of bodies, searching for any salvageable clothing or weapon.
I snarl, "You've never seen any woman like me?"
"Any-one, in general, my darling."
My stomach sinks at the pet name, its proprietary claim. Like a sharp talon tracing across my throat.
"So what, you went through all that trouble to try and persuade me to leave Lady Dimitrescu and come live with you in your little factory?"
A heartbeat of silence, then the radio buzzes to life, "I would be lying if I said it didn't cross my mind."
"Then why am I out here?"
"Because I knew you'd say no. And, we have a little score to settle since the dinner."
"I didn't realize you were keeping track."
White noise hums across the radio for a moment. And then he says, "I don't take to being made a fool, Erika."
"You made those choices yourself." I spite. "You chose to follow Miranda's orders. It's your own damn fault and idiocy for thinking she wasn't playing some game. And for what? To watch a poor, defenseless woman plead and beg?"
"The bruise you left me would say otherwise."
I smirk. "I live to please."
"Well, today I'd like to see just how much you retained from your father. It's a little something I've been putting some of the lycans, and my own experiments, to the test. It's called: The Ordeal."
As if on cue, there's movement in my periphery.
The rustle of crusted clothes gives him away. I whirl.
A hundred feet off, separated from me by the sea of bodies, stands a beast of a lycan.
Fear burns like acid through my entire body.
"It's something to help me flush out the weak, sort of like a cleansing of the failures. Helps me see what works and what doesn't."
The lycan's maw is dripping with fresh blood, probably feasting on one of the bodies. A makeshift axe is held in one hand, his clawed fingers aching to tear out my throat. His breath plumes in front of him as his soulless, icy eyes take me in.
"Ever since the dinner, I've decided that you're much better off dead than alive. Saves me the hassle of dealing with Miranda's schemes, and I get to have the last word of our exchanges."
I back away a step, a single step. "No matter what happens to me, you'll still have to answer to Mother Miranda, and Lady Dimitrescu for what you did to her daughter."
Heisenberg snorts. "A few flies don't bother me. And I can handle that fucking bitch on my worst day. Besides, being Mother Miranda's favorite does have its benefits. I at least have potential with my abilities than just swinging my sharp claws around."
"You're going to die, Heisenberg. And I'm going to be the one to do it."
He chuckles. "We'll see. Enjoy yourself, Erika. I can't say I'll miss our conversations."
"I can make it."
"Oh, I know. That's why I've planned a little something extra just for you. So far, he seems to be my most successful experiment so far. I do hope you live long enough to see him. You might actually be impressed."
"Fuck you!" I scream, but the radio has already gone dead.
But seconds later, a shrill, pitched ringing erupts from the device.
I clap my hands over my ears – hearing the phantom shrill from when he blew out the windows in my room.
The lycan before me slams his hammer upon the ground, roaring at me.
Off in the distance, a mirrored roar echoes in response.
I glance to my left – just for a blink. Embedded in the trunk of a tree, gleaming faintly, is a knife. Likely thrown there during some former exchange here.
I break into a flat-out sprint towards the trees, the lycan launching into movement only a heartbeat afterward.
He trips over the scattered bodies, but I keep my knees up. Muscle memory quickly kicks in; I barely glance at the tangle of limbs as I aim for the threes. But the lycan finds his footing and closes in fast.
I break free of the bodies, legs flying as I run the last few feet to the tree trunk with my hand outstretched. I brush the knife's handle –
The male barrels into me with all the force of a roughened boulder.
The breath whooshes out of me at the impact as we go down – and over the hill's edge on the other side of the tree.
We tumble towards the streambed a hundred feet below, flipping as we careen down the side of the hill. Rocks and leaves crack and scratch against me, teeth snapping above and below me, my hair lashing my face as my hands grapple –
I slam into the streamed hard enough to make my spine groan, the male landing atop me, sending every remaining scrap of breath exploding from my lungs.
His fingers twitch. But he doesn't move.
I open my eyes to find his jaw slackened, his unseeing eyes burning into mine. To find my hand clenching the dagger I buried into his throat soaked with warm blood.
I snarl as I roll him off me. Leaving the dagger sticking out of his throat, blood still leaking from the wound. The knife had pierced through to the nape of his neck.
I spit a mouthful of blood onto the dry stones. My clothes are covered in blood and dirt, my skin raw and stinging. But I am alive. And the lycan is not.
In seconds, I lather my hands in the blood and smear it across my face. I don't allow myself time to think, to contemplate, as I grab more, this time coating my hair, then my neck. I even roll on the ground. Every inch of me has to be covered. Every damn inch.
They might not be blind, but if they rely on smell, I need to have an advantage.
I rub blood on my until I am certain I am nothing more than a pair of teal-blue eyes. I douse myself a final time, my hand slick, but quickly becoming sticky as the cold wind dries the blood. I won't have much time before it's carried away, and my body will begin to sweat, opening my pores.
Grunts and yowls echo from the trees. More will be coming, soon.
I pull the knife from the lycan's throat. Then I waste precious seconds scouring the bodies of this dumping ground for anything that might help me. I manage to find a thicker, blood-coated jacket, and a discarded lever-action rifle with five rounds in it. A quick search of the former owner yields nothing. I tuck the knife into the belt I cinch as tight as it will go around my waist. I dress myself with cool efficiency, picking item by item like a vulture to carrion.
I can hear heavy footfalls approaching, and I'm forced to abandon a decent-looking recurve bow before I take off into a run once more. Even if I were to grab it, my hands will be too unsteady to aim properly.
Stilling my mind and focusing my energy, my drive, I run deeper into the trees.
If Heisenberg wants to test me, fine.
I can feel a few chains snap within me, loosening my grip on the monster that my father worked so hard to contain. To control.
I'll play his game. I'll take his test.
And may the Black God help him when I come for his head.