Chapter XII: Raven of Mørkehule
The Mørkehule Coven
Time: 2:36 pm
A few miles away.
Darkness was falling…
…and in the depths of Mørkehule, a tall, lanky man sat before an enormous wooden table, his hair shining black, his fingers long and sinewy, stretched out upon metal, the other hand covering his face. He was thinking, pensive and alone even when surrounded by a ring of creatures. He did not want them to exist yet, and so they would make no sound. They would make no movement. Twenty-four of them, their sleek bodies tightly covered in black leather, trimmed fur and sharp metal. Guns, knives, and silver holstering them against what awaited outside…water, snow, ice, and blood. The room might have been freezing had they been mortal. Silent, they looked to their leader, waiting for his command, ignoring the screams that emitted from the box on the table. They knew he would send them forth as soon as the sun fell from the sky. They knew he would not dally a second longer than he needed to…for their leader, Hrafn, was not a patient man. His skin had the look of pale marble, brackish-brown eyes pecking irritably at noises from the speakers, his mouth curving into a malcontent sneer at the sound of gun-shots. All of his attention focused on the small metal box and the sound it played for him, over and over again.
They waited, while he burned with the desire to move. Centuries ago, in his youth, he had tried to curb his taste for the blood-rush. For hours, he would stare at a single word on a page, a glass on the sill, a rock in the snow. He had fought the beating in his blood. He had shown them he could wait upon branches, the years it might take before his moment came to strike. Two hundred years, they said. Wait until the time is ripe…but he had not waited. He had stabbed his father in the head and assumed the mantle before his fortieth birthday. Bowing to Viktor and regrettably informing him of Aurelius' untimely death. The Council had been forced to give him a new name in the absence of his father. No longer Aurelius II…but Hrafn. Raven in the old Norse tongue. Above them, an enormous black, metal circle in the ceiling began to swivel slowly outwards, allowing darkness, snow, and starlight to fall upon their heads.
Hrafn stood up, cutting the last scream off with a finger.
"Go," he said.
Immediately, the ring spread out, swift and sure, warriors sprinting to their respective places. The sound of car engines, snow crunching beneath tires. They would go to the complex. They would find the creature that blackened the cameras with blood. They would silence the wolf their comrades had begged upon for mercy. Left behind, the tall raven, Hrafn, sat before his table again, his veins starting to beat, indifferent to the snow drifting down from above. The icy wind that came with an open skylight. But there would be no warmth in this house. Not now. Not tonight. Covering his face again, he stretched his hand out and pressed the tiny button on the metal box. In fifteen minutes, he would have news.
The last scream…
…the sound of crunching snow…
And then only silence.
He hated waiting. He pressed the button again.
Screaming…gunshots…the last scream…
…the sound of crunching snow…
And then only silence.
Twelve times he pressed the button until the phone finally rang, his face growing darker as he listened to the words on the other end. Jora had been among the dead. Though he did not care for her, she would be avenged as his only heir. Moving to a cabinet, he took his knives from the casing. Guns already holstered. Silver-ready bullets and a dark, fur-trimmed coat of lycan leather. A raven feather curling from the cord around his neck. His blood already running before him. Pulsating like the storm from the previous night. He would meet his deathdealers halfway along the track and from there, they would continue following the scent into Trondheim. A secondary force moving down the track from the inside, and a third already combing the city. Silver, poison, and blood.
It was time to hunt wolves.
A/N: Not much to say...perhaps the quickest chapter I've ever written. Please read and review. (Yes, the confrontation between Lucian and Aris will eventually come...I'm still writing it.) Also please note, in terms of weather, there's only about five hours of light during this particular time of year, hence, the sun setting so early.