Part 24

Zara felt more like cattle than human, Ardon behind her and prodding her in the right direction. They didn't stay inside the house, instead walking back through the arched front door and out into the cool, clear night. Just outside the door, next to the manor, was a small clearing that once might have been a grazing pasture for livestock. A small, contained fire flickered in the center of the clearing, surrounded by a number of bottled liquids, vials of colored powder, and several, earthy wooden bowls.

Ardon gave Wren a rough push and sent her stumbling into the clearing. She managed to catch herself before falling, whirling around to glare at him. Zara could see the witch's fingers twitching at her sides, as if she was just barely containing the urge to curse him right then and there. It was a testament to Ardon's influence that she did nothing of the sort.

"Begin," he instructed her in a curt voice.

Wren only hesitated a moment before spitting out a few curse words under her breath. She kneeled next to the fire, picking up a bowl in her hands. Ardon's fingers curled around Zara's shoulder, forcing her to the ground. She grunted in pain, though she was silently thankful she no longer had to continue to stand on her broken ankle. The beat of her heart kicked up a notch, a shaky breath escaping her as she watched Wren's nimble fingers begin mixing and stirring powders and liquids together. Zara knew she would be the final ingredient. She struggled to keep her expression impassive, choosing bravery instead of fear. For as long as she could at least.

"Don't fret. It'll all be over soon." Ardon murmured, his presence looming over her. She didn't spare him a single glance, keeping her eyes on the dancing flames of the fire. The wolf king let out a low whistle. Silence hung over the clearing for a long moment before yellow eyes begin appearing from the tree line. Slowly, at least a dozen or so wolves began padding their way into the clearing, each gracefully transforming back into their human bodies before kneeling respectively before their leader.

Zara wrinkled her nose in distaste, their loyalty more than a little appalling to her. How anyone could so blindly follow such a horrible creature, she didn't know.

"It's now time for the night we've been dreaming about for decades. A night our ancestors were never given...this is the night we become an unstoppable force. When we take back what's ours...," he announced to the pack before turning slowly to face Zara. "All thanks to you, of course, and your generosity."

He was mocking her. Making a deliberate display of her impending end. She held his gaze unflinchingly, fingers digging into the dirt with suppressed rage.

Wren appeared at his side, stoically offering him one of the wooden bowls. "It's time. First, you must drink from this. This is what will forge the initial connection between you and your pack. Once I have her blood, I will perform the rest of the spell and you will get your power, your immortality." The witch paused for a moment, turning her eyes on Zara. "It must be every last drop. Or the spell won't take."

Ardon nodded his head once, gingerly taking the bowl into his hands. "Of course. What is a blood sacrifice without the sacrificial lamb?" He asked, lips twitching before a smirk tugged at one corner of his mouth. He raised the bowl in both hands, saluting his pack, before placing it to his lips and taking a sip. Zara watched as he swallowed, his eyes closing. A part of her had been hoping the witch would feed him poison, but when he was still alive and standing a moment later, she knew her hopes had been too high. Ardon passed the bowl along to the members of his pack.

Wren then presented him with a silver knife, the ivory colored handle glinting in the firelight. "Now, the blood. Would you care to do the honors...master?" The last word was clearly a sarcastic jab but either Ardon hadn't noticed or he was in too good of a mood to care.

As Zara had expected, he gently picked up the knife by the handle. "I'm her family. It's more poetic if her life is taken by me."

He needed all her blood. Every bit of it. How did that work? Was he just going to make one big cut, perhaps slice her throat open and let her suffocate on the forest floor? Or was it going to be slow, crawling toward death at a snail's pace?

Her eyes clung to the knife in his hand, a small shiver running down her spine. Mostly, though, she was thinking about finding a way to get it away from him. Even if it was just for a moment, just long enough to cause him some sort of pain and show him she wasn't as weak as he seemed to believe.

He came toward her with long, purposeful strides before crouching on the ground in front of her. His smile taunted her, eyes glinting as if he'd already won. In a way...he had. He had exactly what he wanted, and there was little she could do about it. "This won't be painless. I expect it will be a long night for you." He said in a pleasant voice, as if they were merely discussing the weather or sharing recipes. "Hand." He ordered.

She didn't answer and instead tried not to feel fear as she played along, holding her left arm out to him.

"Good girl." He murmured, although she could see a hint of suspicion on his face, surprised she was being obedient. He flipped her hand over, so her palm was facing the sky. His touch was gentle, yet sent unpleasant chills racing through her. She sucked in a deep breath through her nose and gritted her teeth as he traced the blade along her wrist and up her forearm. There was a sharp pain just below her bicep. Her entire body stiffened as the pain radiated up and down her arm. Her eyes flickered toward Ardon, who was intently focused on the task at hand.

If she could grab the knife right then and there, while both of them least expected it, there was a chance she'd be able to get at least one slash in before she was stopped. She glanced around the clearing and tried to count the wolves, but there were too many. Not to mention Wren, who was watching the two of them with cold eyes. Still, she slowly began to curl the fingers of her right hand into a fist. Even one good hit was better than none. He would drop the knife, she would take it and, and....

Zara felt her body began to grow limp, as if a puppet who's strings had been cut. Her hand fell lifeless at her side as she desperately tried to summon back her strength. All she managed was a weak wiggle of her fingers. Using more effort than what should've been needed, she turned her head to look at Ardon only to find him watching her with a sadistic gleam in his eyes. Her lips moved wordlessly, like a fish who had suddenly found itself on land. Suddenly, she felt herself tilting, unable to even hold herself up. Ardon caught her smoothly in his arms. The only thing she could feel was the throbbing pain in her arm.

She remembered Wren's unwavering stare and her gaze flickered in the direction of the witch. Her expression confirmed everything. With little effort, she had somehow managed to put some type of paralysis spell on Zara. Leaving her utterly helpless.

Ardon noticed the realization dawning on her face. "How foolish do you think I am?" He asked quietly, looking down at her wide, panicked eyes. "You gave me no choice. This is the only way to guarantee you remain...compliant You understand." His fingers brushed against her forehead, pushing aside a few strands of hair that had fallen over her eyes.

All Zara could do was blink at him, her heart battering against her ribcage as if it were desperate to escape. She tried to wiggle her toes, bend her fingers, do anything...her brain was screaming orders, but her body refused to listen. Icy panic shot through her. Useless, helpless, unable to do anything to save herself. It was like she had been imprisoned in her own mind, a glass cage where she could see and feel everything that was happening to her but do nothing about it.

Ardon gathered her in his arms, her head rolling against his chest and arms dangling uselessly, as he carried her to the base of a tree near the fire and propped her up against it. She had a perfect view of his pack through the hazy height of the flames, of the dark, shadowy forest beyond. Ardon once again lifted her arm and she felt the tip of the knife once again being dug painfully into her skin. She couldn't have screamed if she wanted to. Wren offered him a bowl and her stomach lurched as she realized why: to collect the blood that he was stealing from her.

As the minutes ticked by, it felt like a fog was beginning to blanket her mind, her thoughts coming slow and sluggish. Her pulse continued to pound in her ears as her breath became more shallow and the corners of her vision began fading in and out. She was slowly spiraling toward unconsciousness but willed herself to stay awake. On her left side, Ardon was speaking but she blocked him out, his voice nothing more than background noise. This was it then. There would be no fight, no battle for her life. He would just take it, as easily as the breaths of oxygen her lungs stole from the air.

She tried to think instead of Ronan and Annika, hoping they were somewhere far, far away. Perhaps they had made it to a Red Capes outpost and were being cared for and protected. They could lead the forest guard here, to Ardon's hideout, and wipe them out one by one. Of course she wouldn't be around to witness it.

Her eyelids grew heavier and heavier, feeling like lead. Soon keeping them open would be impossible. Just beyond the tree line, behind the pack, she swore she saw movement. Figures creeping through the trees and flashes of color. Yet when she blinked and opened her eyes again, they were gone. Now her mind was playing tricks on her, blurring the line between fiction and reality. Ardon's pack still sat, waiting calmly and patiently for the spell to be completed. Some of their eyes lingered on her, watching her with hungry expressions. They were so stoic, like statues. Obedient to him as if they were his children. Her eyes lingered on one in particular. The young, brunette wolf that had given her and Ronan the canteen. It was only perhaps two or three days earlier, but it felt like a lifetime. While the others around him were still, she couldn't help but notice his eyes. Wide and frantic. His entire body seemed to have grown pale, and he raised his hands, only to realize his limbs were shaking. He shook his head, fingers digging into his hair. When he lifted his face again, his eyes had narrowed into two, dangerous slits. A gravely, inhuman growl tore from his lips.

Was she imagining this too? She must've been. Because what happened next made no sense, not in the real world. She could only watch as the young werewolf turned to the person closest to him, eyeing him in a predatory manner.

Then, he was attacking.