Page 54 of Anatomy of the Immortal Species
The wolf landed in a dark room with a few candlesticks placed in the corners. A small red armchair with a few thick-covered tomes piled on top of it faced a fireplace at the far end. To the side of the entrance was another door, and Amelia assumed the wolf would head towards it. But to her surprise, it turned back towards the wall with the shattered window it had just crashed through.
On either side of the broken glass were tall wooden shelves, crowded with transparent jars – each one filled with organs.
The stench was overpowering, and Amelia only now recognised the smell. The wolf approached the macabre display, its gaze fixated on one of the jars.
A jar holding a human embryo.
Suddenly, she was no longer in the wolf’s body but that of a naked man. Wild raven strands clung to his brow, streaked with blood and sweat. He grasped the jar, tears streaming down his cheeks, his sobs building from quiet whimpersto loud, gut-wrenching cries of despair. His entire body convulsed with grief. Amelia managed to detach herself from his overwhelming emotions and observe the scene as a mere bystander to this raw display of loss and helplessness.
The embryo, though it appeared human, was not. It was, in fact, a creature – Viktor’s unborn child.
A soft creak drew their attention to the door. A middle-aged man with dark hair, clad in a long brown robe and black leather gloves, stepped into the room. His face was long and gaunt, with deep shadows under his eyes. Those eyes, black and sinister, gleamed with a disturbing mix of life, enthusiasm, and madness.
Viktor lunged at the man, striking with his fists. He still held the jar in one hand and smashed it against the man’s head. The glass shattered, the liquid spilt out, and the preserved embryo’s flesh collapsed onto the floor.
For a brief moment, Viktor froze, his gaze fixed on the remains. The child he had dreamed of for two hundred years lay before him.
His moment of hesitation gave the other man an opening. He seized it, rendering Viktor powerless with a needle in his side. Viktor couldn’t move – he could only shift his eyes between the fallen embryo and the man who had kidnapped his pregnant lover.
Where was Gabriella? What had this man done to her after ripping the child from her womb?
Amelia jolted awake just as Viktor lost consciousness in the dream.
She already knew the story from Viktor. The man in her dream was Cristiano König. One of the Kreiss Hunters. An aristocrat. A doctor. A psychopath.
König had kidnapped Viktor’s girlfriend to experiment on her immortal, pregnant body – dissecting and re-stitching itwhile meticulously documenting the extraordinary regenerative abilities of the lycanthrope species. From each organism, König took a trophy – a preserved organ stored in a jar, proudly displayed alongside the others on his wall of conquests. Each time he gazed at his collection, Cristiano felt like a god, even though he inhabited a human form.
20
Kathrine watched the bustling day in Antambazi from her room’s window while braiding her hair into a triple plait. Thoughts of the new Oracle surfaced, and her fingers immediately began fumbling with the braid. She let her hands fall, allowing her hair to cascade over her shoulders. She had once believed her secrets were buried with the old Oracle. But did Amelia’s emergence mean the resurrection of those hidden truths?
The Queen’s reticence during the last couple of weeks only worsened Kathrine’s restlessness. Since Sevar’s return from Earth, their leader had gained a secretive demeanour, veiling her plans. It wasn’t the first time she was keeping them in the dark, but aseveryother time, Kathrine’s guilty thoughts surfaced in the quiet.
Her gaze drifted over the stony paths of Antambazi. As a young girl, she would spend hours observing the streets, hoping to catch sight of Sevar’s confident stride on his way to the palace. The moment she spotted him, the harsh, rocky contours of the realm seemed to soften, taking on brighter, happier hues.
She glanced over her shoulder, eyes trailing Sevar’s sleeping shape. Last night, he’d collapsed in bed, still in his suit and reeking of witch’s scotch. The drink was illegal on Antambazi, but for Sevar, it was child’s play to obtain it. Kathrine despised the liquor. It had destroyed her mother, turning her from a caring single parent into a desperate drunkard who’d beat her daughter every time she’d felt low. Yet, Kathrine didn’t hate hermother for ruining the first eight years of her life. The only thing she’d never forgiven her for was hiding her father’s identity.
Kathrine pushed her past in the suburbs aside and frowned. She was still wearing the black satin lingerie from a luxury shop in the human realm. Sevar hadn’t even spared her a look before falling asleep. The clothing had been a pathetic attempt to close the chasm that had opened between them since his failure to bring the Oracle. Katherine knew him well and understood that his massive ego was likely still bleeding from the lost battle against the manticore. When Sevar was hurt, he distanced himself from everyone.
Kathrine disposed of the lingerie, thinking about the night she’d left her mother’s home for good. It had been the night of her eighth birthday. That same night, she’d encountered the Queen’s carriage. The Queen had taken her off the streets, giving her an education and status. But most importantly, she’d provided the maternal protection her own mother had never cared to give.
The Queen’s methods were often harsh, but how else could a single being bring an entire species to its knees and set out to conquer other worlds?
While she was getting changed into a shirt and pants, shifting sounds came from the bed.
“We have a task.”
Kathrine turned around, facing her fiancé, who was already sitting in bed. She straightened up, a wave of relief surging through her. If the Queen had given them –her –a task, it meant she didn’t know about the betrayal, and everything was back to normal.
Sevar raked a hand through his dark hair, stretching his long legs. “We’re to be witnesses to the butcher’s daughter’s wedding in three months.”
“Sorry?”
He bared his teeth. “For some reason, the butcher’s brat and heridiot of a lover are receiving special treatment.”
Kathrine mirrored his grimace. The butcher was a respected citizen of Antambazi, a guest at every special event in the royal palace. Still, two Chosen as witnesses for his daughter’s wedding was an exorbitant honour. Especially since the girl was marrying Branko – a man of little education, built like a granite boulder, and far too vulgar in his speech. Kathrine still couldn’t fathom why years ago the Queen had made him one of her Chosen.
She held her fiancé’s gaze, an unspoken agreement passing between them. They were soldiers, trained for fight and danger. This last errand from the Queen’s equalled degradation.
