The Militet Line
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His voice filled the room in impossible fashion. Baron Eaves walked in from the same arch through which the other men had fled. There was blood spattered on his face. It stained his white, ruffled shirt in a chaotic pattern. It dripped from his hands.
"I'll need to hunt down the rest of those wastes once I'm finished here," Eaves muttered to himself. He did not look the same as the ice-cold interrogator I had spoken with last night. He was...antagonized. Angry. His eyes were narrowed, and his breathing could be heard even where we stood, fifty feet away.
"Master Eaves, I—"
The captain's words were choked off by the Baron's hand in his throat. Yes, in. The Baron dug his fingers into the flesh of the man's neck in a lightning-quick jab, not even looking over at him. He curled his hand into the meat of the captain's throat and ripped it free. Blood splashed on to the ground. The captain followed, not able to utter so much as a gurgle.
"Failure," Baron Eaves spat. "Cowardice. Incompetence. Never has my castle stunk so powerfully of weakness. Never!"
His rage was almost tangible, like a living thing that could burst out of him and engulf us at any moment. His hands were covered in the blood of his own men.
"The only coward I smell is you," I hissed. The boiling focus inside me was jumping, hissing, straining against my muscles. The prey! The prey was in front of me! I held back the urge to take him right there. "Too scared to face us alone."
"My only fear," Eaves said, "is that I'll be forced to kill you myself. I knew that my men couldn't kill you, and I counted on that. I need you captured. I need you to talk. And the chance of you dying is much higher if I am forced to handle you."
"Big words," Lero said, his voice soaked in hatred. "Sure you want those to be your last?"
"Oh, you're here to kill me?" Eaves quipped. "You, of the ragged Tessan line? One of the mutts of Dorria? Against me?"
Lero's lip curled on his muzzle. "What would you know about my ancestry?"
The Baron then set his cold eyes on me, looking me up and down as though he were seeing me for the first time. And when he spoke, he sounded surprised; curious. "So the thief is one, too? And a grayfur..." Baron Eaves let out a laugh, rich with contemptuous victory. "It's perfect. Perfect! The fates are on my side, after all."
"Enough!" I couldn't hold it back any longer. It was like there were a thousand hounds inside of me, straining at their leashes. I sprung forward, bringing my right arm back for a killing blow. I would kill him. I would cut his smug head right from his body! I whipped my claws at his exposed throat, already tasting the satisfaction of ripping him apart.
Eaves thrust his blood-covered hand forward, palm open, into my chest. It was like hitting a brick wall—or having a brick wall hit me. The strike drove me backward, flinging me through the air, and I landed in a heap on the carpet behind Lero, pain burning in my ribs. Lero whirled, stepping back and kneeling by my side.
"Myra—"
"I'm fine," I managed, talking through the pain. "Don't take your eyes off him."
Lero turned his head back towards Baron Eaves, keeping a paw on me. "What are you?"
"What am I?" Eaves clenched his hand into a fist. His cool delight had shifted immediately into a simmering disgust, and it was alarming to see how his emotional sturdiness was shattered once his plans had started going awry. Whether he would dare to admit it or not, we were under his skin.
But would that be good or bad for us?
"You filthy, foul mutt!" Baron Eaves roared. "You come into my castle, desecrate my sanctuary, leave the stink of your hide in my walls, and you ask me questions?" Spit flew from his lips. "I am your superior! I am of the Militet breed! One of the ancients! Don't you dare presume your position with me!"
"Unbelievable," Lero whispered. "But...but of course..."
"What is he saying?"
"He's..." Lero looked like he was choking on the words. "He's like us. He's a werewolf. The Militet are...they're one of the oldest breeds. They died out because they never chose to mate with any of the other lines. Purity. I had thought they were all dead, but...I guess that exceptions were made to that rule of theirs."
"Why should we believe him?" I questioned, eyeing the Baron, who looked at me as though I was a dirty spot on a nice shirt.
"It explains everything," Lero said quietly. "Why he attacked my village. Why he wants us dead—he's trying to eliminate all other kin. And...his strength. It's a Militet trait; they almost never transform. Their power is in their human forms. They have no control over the beast inside, so they found a way to use its strength without unleashing it."
Baron Eaves laughed. "Don't waste your energy coming to the wrong conclusions about me, Dorrin. Idiot! I didn't want you dead. I was going to use you to find whatever holes your kin are hiding in, kill the useless ones, and find a mate...someone as far removed as possible from your tree. I knew you were a wolf from the moment I smelled you, fool! But I needed to know more, and if you knew what I was, it would never happen. I was so, so close to breaking you....using you...
"But now I don't need you! This girl...she will be my mate." Baron Eaves straightened. His eyes glittered. "I am the last Militet. I will continue our line. A grayfur! It's more perfect than I dared to imagine. The Militet line will reign again, as it was meant to be. As pure as it can be."
I stood up now. It had started to hurt less to breathe. "Suddenly it's okay to...to taint your lineage with someone like me?"
"Grayfurs," Lero murmured, "have no lineage. They're an anomaly with no traceable ancestry. They just...happen. This crazed old monster must be justifying this with that." Lero shook his head. "None of your plans matter now, Eaves. You're a murderer and a relic. You're dying here."
"I can kill you now," Eaves said to Lero. "I almost want to thank you for making this so simple for me."
Eaves ran, and he was like an arrow launched from a bowstring. He zipped across the rug to get at Lero, but he was ready, and so was I. We split off, leaping to the side, bounding off of the walls to land and turn back to him.
"I'll take care of him," Lero said to me.
"Don't be ridiculous," I snapped. I had shaken off the Baron's blow, and I was still hungry for his blood—in more ways than one, I realized. "I'm the one he can't afford to kill. And even if that wasn't the case, we're in this together. He's my prey, too."
Something in Lero's eyes told me that he liked hearing me say that.
Lero ran at the Baron, his clawed feet tearing gouges in the carpet. I ran in his wake, matching his snarls and panting breath, and when the Baron shifted to the side to avoid Lero's blow I hit the bastard headlong with my shoulder, knocking him straight back into the wall at the opposite end of the room. It was a vicious blow. Eaves dropped to the ground along with several stones that fell from the wall with him.
He landed heavy, but on his feet, and when he looked up at us there was blood running down his face and through his short black hair. His features were twisted into a snarl. I barked out a laugh. It felt good to see him angry and shaken.
"You'll regret that," Eaves spat.
I taunted, "So far, I'm really enjoying it."
The Baron snatched up a piece of the broken wall and stood with it. Quick as a whip, he launched it, and I expected it to come at me and Lero must have thought the same. Lero was taken by surprise when it broke across his muzzle.
He stumbled to the side, and then the Baron was on me. He had his hands buried in the fur around my neck and with no effort he picked me up and tossed me through one of the great windows to my right. I flew through the glass, shattering a window almost a story tall. The cut glass dug into me, but the thick, wolfish fur on my transformed body protected me for the most part. I hit the ground and rolled, smelling the dirt of the field and the blood leaking from where I had taken a few nicks from the window.
I shook my head, a little dazed. I heard sounds of scuffling inside the window; grunts, thuds, and the smash of some wooden thing being smashed to splinters. I leapt back in through the shattered window, avoiding the jutting shards of glass, and landed back inside. I saw Lero getting up from the broken remains of a wardrobe against the wall. The Baron had a nasty gash across his left shoulder, the shirt there torn, blood staining what remained.
He started towards Lero, who had unsure footing amid the splintered wood. I howled and hurled myself at the Baron, slamming him against the wall in what should have been a bone-breaking body slam, but he pushed off the wall and hit me across the muzzle with a fist that felt like stone. I stumbled, spots in my eyes.
Lero was on the move again now, though, and he managed to clamp his jaws down on the Baron's right shoulder and wrap his big paw around the Baron's right forearm, forcing him back against the wall again.
The Baron struggled in Lero's hold. I could see Lero's teeth sunk into his flesh, piercing into his muscles. But the Baron was forcing Lero's arm away, bending his wrist backward. He and Lero were an even match, it seemed. But Eaves was outnumbered. I darted into the struggle and put my hand up against his throat, seeing my bulky, furred digits closely for the first time since I changed. I pressed into his flesh and used my other arm to help Lero pin him back against the wall.
My jaws were free to finish him. But as I closed them around his neck, my tongue felt something strange. Not skin, not blood. Hair. Fur. And before I could clamp down, a vicious roar split through my ears, and with impossible strength, I was thrown completely free of the Baron. We both were. Mine and Lero's backs slammed into the wall between the broken window and the next one.
The Baron had transformed.