Page 52 of Anatomy of the Immortal Species
‘If I show you the most terrible things you could do to yourself, would you try to save yourself?’
Mikhail and Amelia’s thread of conversation buzzed in his ears.
“Didn’t you mention a bar in Sofia where organs are traded?” she asked.
“The Seven Horses… I bet it’s the Righteous’ dirty business.”
“Why haven’t you reported it to the Tribunal yet?”
A few seconds passed before the manticore replied through clenched teeth, “It’s complicated.”
Viktor found the strength to intervene. “The Righteous isn’t involved in this. The corpse bears a symbol.” He turned the body over. Between the victim’s shoulder blades were the three interlocked triangles, roughly the size of a woman’s hand.
Mikhail examined the mark.“She’s hardly the first immortal with tattoos.”
Viktor shook his head. “This isn’t a tattoo. It’s a brand. A valknut.”
“A valknut? That doesn’t mean anything to me.” The manticore’s brow furrowed.
“It’s a Scandinavian symbol. The name translates to ‘knot of the slain in battle.’ It carries many meanings, including as a symbol of life after death and the Norse god Odin. But in this case, the valknut is used differently.”
Amelia looked at Viktor over the body. “What does it mean here?”
Viktor traced his fingers over the three triangles, which he had believed he would never see again. “Racism. These triangles represent lineage, a pure bloodline… Superiority. The valknut signifies supremacy.”
Mikhail slipped his phone back into his pocket and gestured towards the symbols. “Are you saying this lycanthrope comes from some special lineage?”
Viktor’s smile was bitter. “I’m saying the one who killed her branded her with the valknut – the symbol he claims as his own. To mark her as his property. In fifteenth-century Germany, there was a secret society called the Kreiss Hunters. They were humans searching for the truth about the world, hunters of occult knowledge. The valknut was their emblem, signifying the knowledge of their ancestors. The Kreiss Hunters discovered the existence of immortals, but their curiosity was limited to gathering information about the different species. They even managed to collect drawings of lycanthropes, vampires, and manticores. But one of them, Cristiano König, took it too far – he hunted immortals and turned them into his trophies, branding them with the valknut. It seems the society is active once again…”
Mikhail’s expression hardened as he processed Viktor’s words.
Amelia’s gaze flickered between the two men. “How… do you know about them?”
The wolf within him didn’t want to speak out of shame. But Viktor… Viktor had to speak to protect others from suffering the same fate. The stench of decaying flesh pierced his nostrils, more nauseating than ever. He removed his gloves and said, “I know because I bear their symbol on my back.”
Mikhail frowned. “I’ve seen your tattoo, and it looks nothing like this.”
“It does not… because the valknut is hidden within it. I couldn’t bear the thought of it being on my back forever. So while it still exists, it’s transformed.”
Hisbrandwas one of the things Viktor had never shared with anyone since Raphael. Not even with Mikhail, who knew almost everything about him.
He swallowed the lump in his throat and told them the entire story about the greatest loss of his life.
19
Amelia had believed she understood the depths of loss, but Viktor’s story was far more devastating than anything she’d experienced. Each word he spoke wove a mournful thread around her, ensnaring her in a web of sorrow and emptiness.
Walking back to the lift with Mikhail, she offered a silent thanks to whatever merciful force had taken her family from her. There were far worse fates.
Given Mikhail’s uncharacteristic silence, she had a feeling he shared her grave mood. Thinking he might want to be alone, she prepared to exit the lift on the floor where her room was.
But when the lift reached the fourteenth floor, Mikhail stopped her with a barely perceptible touch on her shoulder. “Stay with me.”
Amelia hesitated. The bitterness of their earlier encounter still lingered, and she was eager to retreat to her room and shed the weight of the day’s emotions. She needed space to sort through her thoughts and decide on her next move.
The door began to close, but Mikhail blocked it with his shoulder. “Please,” he said, his voice low. The lift doors remained open, giving her the chance to leave if she wished.
But at that moment, Mikhail was a different man from the one she’d faced in the Council chamber earlier. The slumped shoulders, the tension etched on his face – his mask of cold detachment had slipped.
