Scorched Shadows (The Hellequin Chronicles Book 7)

  “You weren’t so smart for keeping them alive. Gareth, the one you killed earlier, had a tracker on him. You unknowingly set yourselves up for me to find. And now you’re going to tell me exactly where Elaine is, and then you’re going to die.”

  “So, what’s my incentive to tell you anything?”

  “If you tell me what I want to know, you won’t die screaming.”

  Daria’s expression darkened. She tapped the daggers again and charged Mordred, who threw a gale of wind at her, trying to knock her back. The magic had no effect, and Daria slashed at Mordred, who was forced to dart back away from the blades.

  “Rune-scribed armor. Your magic has no effect on me,” Daria said, sounding as smug as possible.

  “But you can’t transform, either, so I guess we’re both at a disadvantage.”

  Daria grinned and raised her hand, showing it turning into a werewolf hand with elongated fingers and bladelike nails.

  Mordred winked.

  Daria moved to dart forward, but Mordred stepped toward her, which, judging from the expression of shock on her face, wasn’t what she’d expected. Mordred smashed his forearm into her nose, breaking the bone and causing blood to pour from the wound. She tried to catch Mordred with one of her blades, but Mordred grabbed her wrist, ducked under her arm, and shoved her away when he came up behind her.

  Daria touched her nose and lunged at him again, the blade in her still-human hand moving with incredible speed, causing Mordred to try and track them both. She got close to him on more than one occasion, cutting his forearms and chest, drawing blood and pain, but nothing that would be considered lethal.

  After a few seconds of this, Mordred left himself open to attack and grabbed Daria’s arm as she swiped at him. He pushed her arm down, stepped toward her, and head-butted her as hard as he could. She blinked, and before she could recover, Mordred threw her over his shoulder onto the ground, keeping hold of her arm and locking it at the elbow.

  Mordred knew that in a test of strength he had no chance against the vastly stronger werewolf, but he had speed on his side and used that to his advantage as he broke Daria’s arm and stomped her head into the floor before darting back. He wasn’t trying to beat her up; there was little point in it. He was, however, trying to make her really angry. Something Mordred considered himself a bit of a specialist at doing.

  Daria growled and rolled to her feet, her arm healing itself with a sickening crunch, causing her to wince. “That wasn’t very nice,” she said.

  Mordred shrugged and threw a bottle at her, causing it to smash against her raised arm. He picked up a second bottle and threw it, but Daria dodged aside, and the bottle harmlessly broke apart after hitting the wall behind her.

  “Are you quite done?” she asked.

  “I’m just wondering why you’re not the public face of this werewolf pack. Why does that idiot upstairs have to be it? Because he’s a bit shit, if I’m honest.”

  “He’s better with people,” Daria said. “And I like to leave people guessing.”

  Mordred threw another bottle, this one partially full, and Daria caught it. “You’re just making it worse for yourself,” she said, tossing the bottle aside.

  Mordred shrugged, slowly moving around the room, throwing whichever bottles he could find, making Daria dodge on more than one occasion.

  “I’ve had enough of this!” Daria shouted.

  “I kind of expected you to be better at this,” Mordred said. “You’re just standing there doing nothing of any particular consequence. It’s less frightening and more slightly boring.”

  She sprinted toward Mordred, swinging the daggers at him, but he was already moving aside, around her. He smacked her around the back of the head with the palm of his hand and jogged over to the opposite wall. Daria charged again, and Mordred was unable to dodge as she put herself in his way, so he stepped into the path of the blade, using his hand to push the top of it down, slicing through his palm as it moved.

  The shock on Daria’s face was as evident as the pain on Mordred’s. He grabbed hold of Daria’s wrist and twisted it as he moved around her, forcing her off her feet and headfirst into the wall. She released her grip on the blade, and Mordred caught it, using it to cut across the back of her armor before moving away as she spun around.

  Mordred created a ball of air in his hand, pouring more and more magic into it as Daria turned to face him, blood trickling down a nasty cut on her forehead.

  “That’s not going to work,” Daria said.

  “Let’s see,” Mordred replied, and threw the ball of air at Daria, who arrogantly stood her ground until she was blasted back through the wall behind her.

  “I think it worked,” Mordred called after her as pieces of plaster and brick crumbled to the ground. He tested the cut on his hand and found that it was still bleeding, and sore. The silver in the dagger would make it more difficult for his magic to heal it, but he was in no danger of dying from it. He grabbed a discarded T-shirt from the floor and tore one of the arms off, wrapping the fabric around his hand and making a fist to keep pressure on the cut.

  A low, rumbling growl emanated from the hole in the wall, followed by a werewolf’s hand, claws raking along the undamaged part of the wall, tearing part of it away with ease. Daria stepped through the hole a moment later, nearly six and a half feet of black-haired werewolf towering over Mordred.

  “You took your armor off,” Mordred said. “Shame, I guess we get to do this again.”

  Mordred blasted a torrent of air at Daria, who sprinted through it as if he had only wafted a piece of paper in her direction. She grabbed his knife arm with one massive hand and squeezed until Mordred released the dagger. He created a blade of ice to swing at Daria, but she threw him across the room, and he landed on the unforgiving wooden floor with a splintering crash.

  She was on Mordred in an instant, picking him off the floor and smashing him into the nearest wall.

  Pain wracked Mordred’s body, and for a second he thought about just killing her. It would be easier to fight Daria without having to take her alive. It would still be a difficult fight, but he wouldn’t have to worry about having his arms torn off while he tried to subdue her.

  Mordred pushed the thought aside and poured a torrent of water into Daria’s face, freezing it solid. She dropped him to the ground, and he rolled away, using the frame of the kitchen door to pull himself back to his feet. Daria smashed her massive fists against the ice, using her claws to tear it apart in seconds.

  She turned back to Mordred and took a step forward as Mordred pushed himself away from the door and rolled his shoulders. “I was being nice,” he said. “Let’s try something else.” He threw a ball of magical light toward Daria, who turned aside in time to stop the explosion from blinding her, but that gave Mordred time to hit her with another blast of air.

  She spun away, colliding with a nearby couch and spiraling over it, breathing heavily as she got back to her feet before she flung the couch at Mordred with ease.

  Mordred used his air magic to knock the couch aside, sending it into a nearby wall with a loud crash as a second quickly followed. He followed the same defensive strategy with the second couch but couldn’t create enough power to stop Daria from charging into him, picking him off the floor, and driving him back through the open door into the kitchen.

  Mordred reached out and grabbed the potato peeler as they barreled past, stabbing it into Daria’s ear. She released Mordred and screamed in pain as he surrounded his hands with air magic and clapped them across each ear, driving the potato peeler further into Daria’s skull. It wasn’t silver, so wouldn’t kill her, but Mordred knew it would hurt like hell. Blood flowed freely across the peeler, causing it to quickly become slick, with the unpleasant side effect of it being too slippery for Daria’s massive hands to take hold of and pull free.

  “I asked nicely,” Mordred said. “Now this is me being less nice.” He wrapped air around the potato peeler and, twisting it slightly, caused Daria
to scream and drop to her knees.

  She immediately exploded up from her kneeling position, clawing across Mordred’s chest just as he raised a shield of magical air to protect him. She punched through the shield as if it were nothing, grabbed him by the throat, and smashed his head into the ceiling above before throwing him back through the door behind her.

  Mordred used his air magic to land softly but couldn’t avoid Daria, who collided with him, raining down blows as he was forced to constantly restrengthen his air shield as she tested the limits of its ability to protect him.

  She punched through the shield, grabbed hold of his wrist, and tore free the makeshift bandage he’d applied. She brought her other hand down onto Mordred’s chest, knocking the wind out of him. Daria took a long sniff of the blood that trickled down the still-open cut on his palm.

  “You smell like food,” she said.

  “Last chance to surrender,” Mordred said.

  Daria laughed. “I thought we were already at being not very nice. I’m beginning to wonder why people were ever scared of you.”

  Mordred placed a hand on top of hers, as if trying to pry her fingers from his wrist. She laughed until he clamped his bleeding hand on her wrist and activated his blood magic.

  The screams that left Daria’s throat were deafening as tendrils of blood magic wrapped around her arm. They snaked up to her neck and around her throat, tightening and silencing her. Helpless, she clawed at the agony-causing magic with her free hand.

  “I don’t use my blood magic very much,” Mordred said. He got back to his feet and brushed himself off. “It’s far too addictive, for one. But I did offer nicely, and it turns out you’re strong enough to ignore my magic. If I started throwing really powerful elemental magic around, I’d probably bring this whole building down on us, so I’d rather not do that.”

  Daria thrashed on the ground, clawing the wooden floor to pieces around her.

  “I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to be the person who causes agony. And I don’t want you to think that I’m taking any enjoyment out of it. Because this is simply a necessity. It has nothing to do with your species, or sex, or anything else about you. But you’re not going to come quietly, so I’m going to have to make you.”

  Mordred loosed the noose around her throat, and Daria screamed something incomprehensible.

  Mordred removed the blood magic, and Daria began to pant from relief.

  “I’d rather not do that too much,” Mordred said.

  “Fuck you,” Daria said. “Fuck you, your friends, your family, and everyone you ever cared about. When you’re dead, I’m going to find everyone you love, and I’m going to tear their faces off. I’m going to feast on their soft meat.”

  Mordred sighed. “That the best you’ve got?”

  “Use your blood magic again. Let yourself go.”

  “I’m not going to do that. But I don’t need to use my blood magic to get you to talk. I just have to give you to her.” He pointed at Morgan, who stood in the doorway. “You took your time.”

  “Werewolves take a lot to kill,” she said. “I assume this one doesn’t want to talk.”

  “I’ve tried very hard not to kill her. I’ve tried very hard to be the better man, but I’m exceptionally close to doing very horrible things to gain the information we need.”

  “Things you’d prefer I did?”

  Mordred shook his head. “We’re meant to be better than torture. We’re meant to be above it. It doesn’t work to get information. Never has.”

  “So, what is she going to do?” Daria asked.

  Morgan threw a sorcerer’s band to Mordred, and he clamped it around Daria’s wrist before she could stop him. Daria instantly changed back into human, cursing with every second.

  “She’s going to do whatever she needs to do. She’s going to kill you, Daria. She’s going to take her time doing it, and she’s going to enjoy it. Morgan was never someone who helped me kill, but she’s become quite adept over the years in keeping people alive as a punishment for their actions. You’re going to scream a lot in the coming hours.” Mordred picked up a silver blade and passed it to Morgan. “I’ll see you upstairs.”

  Morgan smiled and shrugged off her jacket, placing it on the chair beside her. “Take your time. I know I will.”

  Mordred left the room and sat in the hallway. He removed his mobile phone from his pocket and set the timer for five minutes. After three and a half, Morgan left the room, and behind her Daria lay on the floor, abject fear etched on her face. Mordred had heard no screams, had heard no sounds of violence.

  “You okay?” he asked Morgan.

  “No,” she said. “I do not appreciate being the one to do that. I am not someone who enjoys tearing someone’s mind apart. Polina gave me the sorcerer’s band because she figured that Daria might talk if she could no longer use her werewolf abilities. She was only partially correct.”

  “How broken is her mind?”

  “It’s not. She was physically strong, but making her compliant was easier than many I’ve had to break in the past.”

  Mordred nodded. He knew that Morgan hated delving into the minds of others to force them to cooperate. It was something that could only be done on someone who had no abilities to wield, and she couldn’t drag the information from them. Instead, Morgan could twist enough parts of a person’s mind to make them compliant.

  Mordred stood and placed a hand on Morgan’s shoulder, squeezing slightly. “Thank you for this.”

  “For Elaine, right?” Morgan looked away. “I’m going to go drink something strong. I’ll tell the others where you are.”

  Mordred entered the room and picked up a chair and blanket, tossing the latter to a naked Daria and placing the chair close to her.

  “I’m sorry,” Mordred said. “I know how it feels to have your mind torn apart. I wanted this to be done differently.”

  “She made me see things,” Daria said, her voice shaky and full of fear.

  Mordred nodded. “It’s part of her magic. She can make people compliant, but only through either breaking them by showing their worst memories or fears or by removing something that made them want to fight. The stronger the mind, the more she has to delve into, and the shorter the period of helpfulness after. It’s not a nice power to have. She doesn’t like using it. You are a cruel and vicious person, but doing this to someone makes her feel guilty. She was never cut out to be like I used to be.”

  “Elaine is in Siberia,” Daria said.

  “I’m going to need a lot more than that,” Mordred said.

  “About fifty miles southeast of Tiksi, there’s a small village. It’s long since been abandoned. She’s there.”

  “What’s the village called?”

  “It doesn’t have a name. It used to be called Work Camp Forty-Two.”

  “It was a gulag?”

  She nodded. “A long time ago prisoners were sent there, yes. Long before Stalin. It’s an Avalon work camp, not a human one.”

  “Why did they send her there?”

  “Those we work for knew she was investigating them. She started to look into the pack, hoping to use our connection as a way to find out who our allies are. She just overstepped her ability to remain in the shadows.”

  “I’m going to find her, and if she’s hurt in any way, I’m going to put aside my newly found moral compass, come back here, and use your knives to make myself a werewolf coat.”

  There was a knock on the door, and Polina walked in with two of her agents. “We’re here to take Daria into custody.”

  “If you have questions, ask now. She’s in a talkative mood.”

  Mordred stood.

  “Viktor escaped,” Polina said.

  “That’s okay. I know where he’ll run off to.”

  “We did a good thing here today.”

  “Maybe,” Mordred said. “Lots of people died here. These werewolves, and Daria in particular, have done their bit to spread terror and fear through this city.”


  “They won’t be able to do that again.”

  “Whatever you do with them, keep it secret from your bosses until this whole thing blows over. One way or another, you’ll be putting sights on your back if you announce you’ve taken them.”

  Polina nodded. “You should know there have been more attacks around the world. Something big happened in America, and several other cities have declared martial law. I’m not sure how much help we’ll be to you from here on in.”

  “I knew it would only get worse,” Mordred said, saddened at what he was sure meant the deaths of so many innocent people. “They’re not done yet. Be careful.”

  “Take care, Mordred.”

  Mordred left the room, and the club soon after, telling Fiona and Diana to meet him at Viktor’s house, as he needed time to himself, which was partially true. He’d been close to losing his temper with Daria. It had taken a lot for him to stay calm enough not to kill her or continue to use his blood magic. The use of it felt sweet inside of him; it had almost sung to him, wanting him to give himself to it. A blood leech was a sorcerer who relied on blood magic to the exclusion of all other magic, and for a long time Mordred had been among their number. It had taken his death to stop his need to use blood magic, but its aftereffects lingered in his memory even after all this time.

  It wasn’t long before he found a cab and took it back to Viktor’s house. He let himself in, prepared what he needed, sat on the comfortable couch, and waited. It thankfully didn’t take long for Viktor to come home, slinking through the front door as if he were burgling his own home.

  “Hi, Viktor,” Mordred said, causing the traitorous man to gasp in surprise.

  “Mordred,” Viktor said, switching on the lights of the front room. “I didn’t expect—”

  “Yes, I know. You didn’t expect to see me here. You betrayed us to the werewolves.”

  “No, I never.”

  “Don’t lie to me, Viktor. You didn’t betray Elaine—that’s the only thing keeping you living right now. But you did betray the people who came for her. Alan, Mac, and the others. You gave them up to the werewolves.”