Castle Eaves
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I could hear the footsteps now. There wasn't any time to question him. If I wanted to know what was happening, I had to escape. And to do that, I had to trust Lero.
So when the guard stepped in front of our cell, I had Lero pinned to the ground with my hands wrapped around his throat.
"Hey!"
I didn't look back at the exclamation. My back was to the bars, my hair hanging around my face as I viciously choked the life out of my cellmate. Or so it appeared.
Between flashes of my bangs and the shaking of my eyelids, I saw Lero look through the gap between my arm and side. It was subtle; he barely raised his head, but he watched the guard fumble with the keys, moving in a panic. The cell door opened with a squeal of metal and another shout.
"The hell are you doing!?"
The guard took a harried step inside, and Lero was up in a flash. I tumbled to the side as he burst forward with surprising strength. There wasn't even a half-second for the guard to react. Lero was on him, then his arm was up and he shoved the guard back into the bars, right next to the open door. He slid his forearm up to the guard's throat, pressing hard. I heard the man choke under the pressure.
"Lero!" I said, still sprawled on the ground. "Don't—don't—!"
I didn't know if I really thought Lero was going to kill him, but before I could spit out the rest of my thought, the guard dropped, slumped against the bars. Unconscious. Breathing. Alive.
"Come on," Lero said to me, and his voice was throaty, almost a growl.
I pushed myself to my feet and looked at him warily. He had moved so fast, and taken care of the guard with such ease. I tried to look at his hands, but they were cast in shadow.
"Myra!" A snarl. "We move now, or we stay here forever!"
That snapped me back into focus. Lero turned, moving through the door, and I followed him.
I had no idea where to go, so all I could do was stay behind Lero. My adrenaline was running ice through my veins, but it was a feeling I was used to, so it didn't stop me from thinking. Thinking about what Lero being a werewolf really meant. After seeing him spring forward and attack that guard with no hesitation...the way his eye shined at the moment of attack, unblinking, zeroed in...
I was in step with an apex predator. Somehow seeing him change was nothing compared to witnessing him act, and hearing his voice become that growl. It was like now he was changing, but from the inside out. Was he losing control? Could he keep himself together in a situation like this, forced into change against his better judgment?
All of this whirled through my head as we raced up the spiral stairs, Lero bounding them two at a time.
When the growing light told me that we were nearing the top, I asked breathlessly, "Do you know where to go?"
Lero didn't turn, didn't slow. Just barked out, "I remember," and kept moving. "Stay close."
Once we reached the castle proper, I didn't know what kind of opposition we were going to face. It was the absolute dead of night, but the Baron was a cautious man. We wouldn't be traipsing out the front door tonight.
I should've grabbed the guard's weapon. Had he been armed? I couldn't remember. I cursed myself for letting my blip of panic at Lero's attack distract me from thinking clearly. I never would have overlooked something like that in a different situation. And there was definitely going to be a guard at the entrance to the dungeon, lying in wait for us. He'd probably already heard our steps.
The light on the walls began to flicker as we grew closer to its source, and finally the stairs evened out into a stone plane. Lero didn't hesitate for a second when a guard charged down the few feet of space between us and the doorway, brandishing a short sword. He leapt forward, moving with the speed and grace of a carnivore, slamming into the guard's chest. The man's air was forced out of him with the single blow, and Lero smashed his head into the guard's, knocking free his helm. He was out. Maybe dead.
I didn't really care about the guards anymore. It was Lero that was clawing at my mind. He turned his head to me, still crouched on the man. I noticed with tense surprise that there was fur sprouting on his face.
"Can you use a sword, Myra?" came his deeper, rougher voice. But it was still Lero. Still his face. Still his eyes.
I steeled myself. It was time to stop letting my emotions get the better of me. That could wait. Werewolf or not, Lero was all I had right now. I had to work with him. I could sort my head out later.
"Give it here," I told him, and he tossed it to me in a quick motion. I snatched the handle from the air. Two-and-a-half-foot blade. Ideal for indoor skirmish. A little heavier than I would have liked, but it was leagues better than an empty hand. I nodded. "Lead the way. Let's get the ever-blessed fuck out of here."
A wolfish grin, and he was on his feet. We darted out of the passage to the dungeon and into the open halls of the castle. I could hear commotion around us, but it was muffled; close, yet far. Somewhere in the stone, people were coming. We would face them, yes, but not this very moment, and each step we took added to our momentum.
The further we got from the dungeon, the more light there was. It wasn't ideal, but we had no choice. I watched Lero move speedily ahead, seeming to get faster each minute, until I was straining to keep up. We cleared three stone halls at their corners before I heard the unmistakable sound of a bowstring.
I tumbled. Something struck the stone inches behind me, showering sparks in a cascade. An arrow, I saw, as it dropped to the ground. From my right.
Aimed for my hips and legs—so they're not trying to kill me, not yet anyway—
Before I could get back to my feet, Lero had whipped around and bolted past me, leaving me with the gust of his wake. He dodged an arrow, literally sidestepped it, and was on top of the archer by the time it clattered into the wall. I heard a scream, cut into a gurgle, cut into nothing. Pounding footsteps forced my gaze back in front of me to see two more guards coming my way. I hefted my sword and took stance.
I didn't like to fight. It was so much easier and safer to run. But you don't go around stealing from people and expect to last very long without knowing how to tussle. How to break a collarbone or a wrist. How to kill.
I knew all of these things, and more besides. In the short seconds my foes ran at me, I knew they were mercenaries. I knew they were trained poorly, fueled by a smattering of silver and a general bloodlust. I knew which one was going to die first.