Page 118 of His Mark

The Nyktos stilled, their bodies pausing in unison, like an army awaiting a command.

A dark shadow stepped forward.

“The King.”Silas’s voice echoed in my head. I met his gaze and nodded.

“I love you,”I replied in return.

“I love you too, my sweet mate.”

The King cleared its throat.

It was vastly bigger than the others, its grotesque, hunched form unfurling as it entered the cavern. It moved laboriously, as if it had all the time in the world, its long-clawed fingers screeching along the cavern walls.

“You should not have come,” it rasped with amusement. “But I am pleased you did.”

Silas growled, his fur bristling.

The King smiled.

“Kill them,” it whispered.

The swarm rushed us.

I barely dodged the next attack, my wolf form twisting and turning as three of them lunged for me at once. I ripped through one, my fangs sinking into its throat, but another tackled me from the side, its claws raking across my shoulder. Pain flared, but it didn’t stop me. I rolled, knocking it back, snapping its neck like a twig.

Rowan and Silas were surrounded, their wolves fighting brutally, but their movements were slowed by exhaustion. Varek was bleeding heavily, his silver fur matted with blood. Ryan was barely keeping two of them off him, his back against the cavern wall.

The King was watching, waiting,smiling.

I darted toward it, my fangs sinking deep into its throat, expecting it to fall, expecting its body to go limp beneath me. Instead of dropping, it laughed, a sound that crawled up my spine, not just from its utter bizarreness, but in the way it vibrated through the cavern walls, sending a tremor through me.

Then its hands latched onto me.

Its claws curled into my fur, gripping me with foul strength. My instincts screamed at me to move, but it was too late. In one violent motion, it ripped me away from its body and threw me aside like a piece of trash.

The impact forced my breath from my lungs. My ribs cracked as I slammed into the cavern wall, stone splitting under the force of my body. Agonizing pain stabbed through my side. I crumpled to the ground, wheezing, my vision spinning, ears ringing.

Somewhere, far away, I heard my name. A roar.

Silas.

He charged, his huge wolf leaping over Nyktos and barreling toward the King, his massive jaws clamping onto its arm. Bones crunched between his fangs, black blood spurting from the wound, but the King didn’t even flinch.

Rowan was next. His black wolf was a darting shadow, a blur of speed as he leapt, going for the King’s throat, fangs piercing flesh, ripping, but then the King moved.

Its body shifted, its limbs splitting, like a snake shedding its skin, bones cracking as new arms formed, grabbing, clawing, ripping. Its twisted, long, skeletal fingers plunged into Silas’s side, digging into his flesh.

Silas howled, stumbling back, his own blood spilling onto the cavern floor.

Rowan went for the legs now, his fangs tearing into sinew and tendon, but the King didn’t fall. It struck out again, catching him with one clawed hand, slamming him into the ground with enough force that I swore I heard bones break even over the cacophony of the battle.

Varek was still standing, just barely, his fur slick with blood. He lunged, his claws tearing at the King’s ribcage, slicing deep, but the wound sealed itself almost instantly, the flesh knitting together as if nothing had happened.

The King grinned.

It wasplayingwith us.

That realization sank into my bones, colder than the air around us, heavier than the ache in my ribs. It wasn’t worried or desperate. It was waiting for us to realize that we were going to lose.

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