CHAPTER 7
The Enemy's Blood
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He was simple. No defensive posture in sight; he lumbered in and swung from low. I put the tip of my heavy blade through his throat, careful not to go too deep so as to lodge my sword. With some effort, I pulled it out as he collapsed, only to be met with the uncaring swing of his companion.
I stepped out of range of the hasty attack, letting him stumble over his dead friend before treating him to a deep slash across his shoulder and neck that left him spitting blood onto the floor, and that was when Lero came back to me.
He looked down at the bodies, and I saw that he was further along in his change. He had blood on what were now his claws.
"Are you hurt?" he asked me. His voice, as always. Though it was gravelly; imbued with growl.
"Not a scratch. Lead the way."
He looked as though he wanted to say something, but both of us knew that this wasn't the time. One drop of blood fell from my sword to the dirty stone, and then we were off.
"Is it much further?" I called to him. My arm was starting to burn from the weighty blade.
"No. I don't think so. Not far." Lero's harsh speech was short and clipped, punctuated by his breathing. I hoped that he was right. This man was hard to keep up with; each of his bounding strides was two of my own. Just how big was this damned castle?
I could hear voices a little clearer now. We must have been approaching the center of the castle; I imagined that he was taking us there to leave out of the front. It was the only way in—and out—I could reliably think of. There wasn't a chance that they left my rope and hook in the tower window, and we wouldn't want to go upstairs, anyway. So the great center hall must have been our goal, I surmised, and in short time, I was proven right. Lero, twenty feet ahead of me, burst through a pair of wooden doors into the expansive architecture of the castle's main hall. It was the home stretch.
Lero rounded the corner to the left, well ahead of me, and in my haste to follow him, I got careless. I didn't sweep the entryway, and I felt a hand close on my upper arm. I balked in surprise, and then a stiff fist smashed into my forearm and I dropped my mismatched guard's weapon to the ground. I turned my head to see the square-jawed visage of Lundgren.
He bathed me in his satisfied grin. "Yet again, I have you."
Two of his men stepped out from behind him, and they seized my other limbs. I squirmed, but it wasn't even worth trying.
"The rest of you, go! After the other one!" Lundgren barked out.
Lero? I tried to see the hall in front of me, that teasing fifty feet that led to freedom, but there were bodies in my way, running, chasing down the werewolf.
He left me.
Well, of course he did. You didn't go back to save someone when you were fleeing. You put your own hide at priority status. I would have done the same thing. The very same.
So why was I so surprised? Why did I strain at my captors, hoping to catch a glimpse of a man I'd met only hours before? I clutched at a tiny glimmer of hope that rapidly darkened as I heard his pursuers' footsteps fade into the distance.
"Baron Eaves really needs better men manning his cells," Lundgren muttered. I felt some witty retort bubble up in me—Aren't these your men?—but it died before it reached my lips. To my surprise, I felt the sting of tears.
"Ha! They've gotten him already!" Lundgren shifted, still holding me in a vice grip.
"I don't see him..." one of the other men muttered.
Lundgren spat, "If they're coming back here empty-handed, I'll kill them myself."
The sound of shoes slapping on stone cracked through the hall as people came back in from the outside courtyard, running.
The man holding my legs tensed. "Hey—"
"What—what is that!?"
A scream of pure panic and terror, and a thud. Somebody had just dropped to the floor. Snarls. Tearing.
"Help me!" More pounding footsteps. "Please, oh gods, it's a monster! Help me!"
Finally, the person blocking my vision jerked to the side, and I saw the horror that had befallen these men.
Lero, in all his lupine glory.
The one remaining pursuer who had been in full retreat, screaming for help, was smashed into the floor. Lero had leapt forward and folded him into the ground like a paper doll. This must have been the final stage of his change. It was like the way he had shifted in the cell, but somehow so different. The fur was totally covering him, and I saw he had a tail sprouting from his backside. His ears were bigger. His claws and muzzle were longer. And he radiated simple, undiluted danger. The sight of him drew a cold blade of fear across me, even, though it warmed when I saw the torchlight shine against his brilliant green eyes. He had come back for me.
For everyone else, though, that was no relief.
The two other men holding me let go the moment Lero brought his gaze up to them, scrambling backward. Even Lundgren's grip loosened, but reaffirmed the moment that I tried to wiggle free. I barely noticed the sound of my former captors fleeing deep into the castle.
"Lero!" I grunted, struggling against Lundgren, who had grabbed my other arm.
"You..." Lundgren whispered. "You—call it off! Call it off or I'll kill you this instant!" The arm that was holding my left hand slipped around my throat, choking me. I clawed at Lundgren's head.
Lero growled, deep and menacing, and pounced. It happened fast, very fast, but I saw it in slow detail. His clawed hand wrapped around Lundgren's forearm, yanking it away from my throat. His shoulder struck Lundgren in the jaw with enough force to peel him away from me completely, and I dropped to the ground, coughing my breath back into my lungs. I saw that my sword was still lying there, and I grabbed it.
Lundgren and Lero were on the ground. Lero was big, and mystically strong, but Lundgren was even bigger—a brick wall of a man. He struck Lero in the face with a clenched fist, giving him enough leverage to pull a knife from the scabbard at his side. Lero sunk the claws of his right hand into Lundgren's arm and bit him hard on the shoulder. Lundgren didn't even make a sound. He slashed at Lero with his knife, cutting into his upper arm, mixing blood into his fur. Lero bit down harder, and Lundgren groaned. He cut him again, and again. I saw him flip the blade in his hand so he could plunge it into Lero's side.
I didn't give Lundgren a chance to raise the knife again. I dove forward, sliding the tip of the heavy blade along the stone before swinging it up into his hand. I didn't have the strength to hold onto the sword any longer, but it did its job, cutting into Lundgren before I let it fly out of my grip.
"Thief..." Lundgren turned his head to me, reaching for me with his wounded hand.
It was the last thing he did. Lero's free hand got to his throat, and Lundgren was no more.
I stood up, panting. The two cowards might have run off, but there were more people in this castle looking for us. "Lero, we have to—"
His eyes came up to mine, bright and aware and focused, and he stood, six-and-a-half feet of brown-furred, muscled, bleeding werewolf. For that instant, I was in awe. He was absolutely majestic.
Then I was being lifted, curled into that furry chest as though I was nothing more than a child. Lero held me in his arms and then, with incredible speed, took me out of the castle.