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He wanted to stop Hess with as little damage as possible.
Of course, what he wanted and what he got was rarely the same.
With the scratch of claws on stone, Hess scrambled to turn and squatted down as he prepared to pounce. The acrid scent of burned flesh filled the air, but Salvatore only had to glance at Hess with his eyes flashing crimson and his lips curled back in a snarl to know it was going to take more than a scratch to end this battle.
He clenched his teeth and prepared for another assault. He didn’t have to wait long.
Familiar enough with his finest soldier’s tactics, Salvatore was prepared when he feinted a strike high and then darted low to attempt to circle round and hamstring him. He swiftly turned and slashed with the knife, catching Hess on the muzzle.
The cur whined as the silver bit deep into his flesh, the blood flowing, his flesh burned by the silver. Shaking his head in a pained motion, Hess appeared briefly defeated, then with a sudden leap he hit Salvatore directly in the chest, knocking him to the ground.
Salvatore managed to yank his head to the side, avoiding the snapping teeth, but it left him vulnerable and he howled in pain as Hess sank his fangs into his shoulder. The cur tore a chunk of flesh from him before Salvatore managed to get a grip on the cur’s thick coat, and with a savage thrust tossed him against the wall.
There was a nasty crunch as Hess hit his head against the unrelenting stone, falling boneless to the ground.
“Ah. What a beautiful sight,” Briggs hissed as Salvatore lay flat on his back, the wound in his shoulder deep enough to take an effort to heal. “The mighty King of Weres wallowing in the dirt. Exactly where he belongs. ”
“Screw you,” Salvatore muttered, swallowing his whimper of pain as he forced himself to his feet.
Instinctively his gaze went to the cur lying broken and bleeding on the hard stone. Hess. He lived, but he was seriously injured. Just another motivation to hunt down Briggs and make him pay for ever crawling out of his revolting grave.
Moving across the cavern, Salvatore hissed in frustration. His head ached from where it had bounced off the ground and his shoulder continued to leak blood as the flesh struggled to knit back together. The uncompleted mating bond was making it difficult to repair his injuries, but he wasn’t going to wait.
Briggs had to be close.
He couldn’t have held Hess in thrall unless he was.
Which meant that this time, he wasn’t going to escape.
Trusting his instincts, he clutched the knife tight in his hand and circled the edge of the cavern.
“There’s no one left to hide behind,” he taunted, using the increasing cold to lead him toward a connected cave.
“I don’t fear you. ”
“You always were an idiot,” Salvatore muttered, his skin prickling as a foul clamminess washed over him. God Almighty. Briggs was just…wrong. “Come out, come out, wherever you are. ” He abruptly halted, the overwhelming stench of rotting flesh breaking through the spell that had been muting it. “Bingo. ”
There was a cold rush of air and instinctively Salvatore ducked, growling as the sword whistled less than an inch above his head.
He’d been expecting magic, not mundane weapons.
And nearly got his head chopped off.
With a furious howl, Salvatore shifted.
Heat and magic poured through his body, altering and changing him from the inside out. His bones popped, his muscles thickened, and his skin shivered as his heavy pelt flowed over his body. A combination of pain and bliss exploded through him at the transformation.
It was a sensation that Weres craved like a drug.
The prickles in the air warned that Briggs was shifting as well, and Salvatore was prepared when the pureblood charged, knocking him to the ground. Turning his head, he sank his fangs into the wolf’s front leg and was rewarded by a shrill yip.
His satisfaction vanished as the Were’s blood, tainted with decay, spilled into his mouth. Dio. He tasted as bad as he smelled.
And that was saying something.
Releasing his grip, Salvatore gained his feet in time to dodge the teeth snapping at his throat. He growled, the days of frustrated fury searing through him as he coiled his muscles and attacked.
The cold that shrouded Briggs bit into Salvatore like tiny ice daggers, but he ignored the stinging pain, far more concerned with the savage swipe of the Were’s massive claws and the fangs that were desperate to rip out his throat.
He was beyond battle tactics and campaign strategies.
This was going to be raw power against whatever vile magic Briggs could conjure.
Salvatore barreled straight into his opponent, sending them both rolling over the hard ground. He accidently hit the lump already forming on the back of his skull, and stabbed a sharp rock into his hind leg as they skidded across the empty cave, but his teeth managed to slice a deep gash in Briggs’s chest before the Were blasted Salvatore with an invisible flare of magic.
Salvatore flew through the air, smacking into the wall with enough force to rattle his teeth. He was back on his feet in a heartbeat and charging across the floor of the cave without feeling his injuries. He’d waited for this moment for days.
Hell, he’d waited for years, although he hadn’t known it was Briggs he was hunting. Nothing was going to stop him now.
Briggs darted to the side, no doubt trying to summon another burst of magic, but Salvatore again slammed into his wolf form. Screw this magic shit. He rolled Briggs closer to the opening of the cave, using his heavier body to firmly trap the Were beneath him. Then, before Briggs could guess his intention, Salvatore shifted back to human form, grabbing the knife he’d dropped earlier and plunging the silver blade into Briggs’s chest.
It was a risk.
Salvatore didn’t have a clue if he could kill the already dead Were. But he intended to give it his best shot.
He twisted the knife deeper, searching for a heart and listening with grim pleasure as Briggs’s breath became a rattle. The pureblood’s lips pulled back in a snarl, clearly in pain, if not actually dying.
The silver burned through Briggs’s flesh, at last forcing him to shift back to his gaunt, fragile human body.
“No. ” The crimson gaze shifted over Salvatore’s shoulder, as if searching for someone. “Master. ”
“Do you want me to wait so your big bad master can come save you?” Salvatore sneered. “Or do you prefer the whole resurrection process?”
“He’ll never allow you to harm me. ”
“I’m willing to test that theory. ”
Yanking out the dagger, Salvatore was on the point of driving it back into the narrow chest that was already bleeding in a strange, sluggish way when there was the sound of a low hiss from behind him.
Salvatore jerked around, prepared for whatever was coming.
Except…nothing was coming.
At least nothing he could see or touch.
Was he jumping at shadows?
The thought had barely passed through his mind when a strange mist swirled around his head, and the sound of a bell echoed through his brain.
That was the last thing he remembered.
Salvatore discovered coming back to his senses was a slow, unpleasant process.
His head was groggy, his mouth as dry as the Sahara, and his entire body blazed with an agony that was explained once he opened his eyes to find he was currently stretched out on the stone altar, and held in place with a thick silver chain that wrapped around his body from his neck to his ankles.
Lifting his aching head a few inches off the hard stone, he took inventory of his situation, his breath hissing through his teeth as he noticed his own silver dagger stuck into his upper thigh. WTF? The chain was frying his skin with such intensity he hadn’t even noticed the damned dagger in his leg.
His brows snapped together as he watched the st
eady trickle of his blood flow into a tiny trough that had been carved along the edge of the altar. Pooling at the bottom of the table, the blood slowly dribbled into the brazier below his feet, the blazing fire hissing with each drip.
“What the hell?” he muttered, his gaze searching the seemingly empty cavern.
He didn’t know how long he’d been out, or where Briggs had disappeared to, or how he’d been carted back to this cave and trussed up like a sacrificial lamb.
All he knew was that he was in a boatload of trouble.
“Unfortunately, my servant is correct,” an unfamiliar voice filled the cavern, powerful and yet oddly muffled, as if it were speaking through water. “As much as I have enjoyed watching you teach Briggs a lesson in humility, I still have need of him. ”
Genuine, undiluted alarm clenched Salvatore’s stomach.
Whoever had hog-tied him wasn’t any normal demon. The magic that hummed in the air was enough to make his hair stand on end.
“And you are?” he gritted, refusing to give into the urge to panic.
“Nilapalsara. ”
“Sorry. Doesn’t ring a bell. ”
“It’s an ancient and revered name, although in this world I was worshipped as Balam,” the stranger smoothly answered, indifferent to Salvatore’s taunting.
His heart slammed against his aching ribs, his hands clenching at his sides.
“Demon lord. ”