Queen of Myth and Monsters (Adrian X Isolde, #2)(12)

“As you command, my king,” Dracul said, and in a blur of black wings, he was gone. A few others from our company followed, transforming into similar animals—bats, crows, even owls, whose presence had taken on a different meaning since Isolde’s attack in the woods during the Great Hunt.

Owls are an omen of death, she’d said, and death had followed those words.

Still, I let them go despite the dread.

I turned my attention to Sorin. “You saw no trace of Gesalac?”

“None, my king,” he replied.

“Then we will search the whole of Revekka until he is found,” I said and paused, gaze sliding over each expressionless face of my remaining noblesse. “And when we find him, none who have harbored him will be spared.”

My noblesse dispersed to call their men to arms and search their respective territories. Razan and Iosif went north, Vlad and Iker to the west, Sorin and Daroc to the south, and I would take the east. Mostly forest and mountains, there were few villages, and those who inhabited the eastern cradle were hardened. It was a haunted land, born from the blood and turmoil of its ancestors.

I knew this because I was one of them.

Now alone, I closed my eyes and focused on the way the earth moved and breathed.

If you are quiet, she will speak, Yesenia had said.

The earth had a heartbeat, a steady thrum, disturbed only by the thundering of hooves, the burning of fires, and…the screams of a dying woman.

Strange, I thought. Monsters did not usually attack in the daylight, even beneath the red sky.

I opened my eyes.

“Shadow,” I commanded, spurring him on toward the violent attack. By the time I arrived, the woman would likely be dead, but it was better to lose one mortal than a village.

Shadow’s feet hit the earth hard, jarring my body as I sat forward in my seat, the fingers of my left hand tangled in his mane. The wind was deafening as he raced around trees, heedless as lower branches whipped my face, stinging like small blades. The cuts healed quickly, even before the blood could dry on my face, but I did not ease our pace until we were within view of the monster and its victim.

Through a line of naked trees, I could see the creature—large, black, with fur standing on end down its back. It growled as it looked up from its prey, a woman with a swath of dark hair spread out over the leafy ground and skin so pale, the blood that stained it shone like the sun behind the red sky.

The creature was an aufhocker. Once a dog, it had likely been bitten or killed by another of its kind. Normally, they hunted at night, but this one bared bloody, razor teeth, its eyes aglow as it watched me approach.

Shadow snorted, shifting on his feet. He was not fond of dogs, least of all ones willing to rip out his throat.

“It’s all right,” I said, smoothing a hand over his mane before dismounting. As my feet thudded against the ground, the aufhocker growled and crouched, prepared for attack.

It knew, despite presenting as mortal, I was no such thing. In the aftermath of my creation, the goddess Asha sought to make something as powerful. The results were monsters with a thirst for blood that, while never obtaining my strength, were still deadly to humans.

I drew my blade.

The aufhocker’s growl deepened, and it launched itself at me with two powerful leaps that dug fissures into the ground. It came at me with its mouth open, and I lifted my sword, hilt poised in my hand like a spear, before hurling it at the monster, which roared as the blade lodged in the back of its throat. As it landed, it shook its head in an attempt to dislodge the weapon, slinging blood and drool.

I watched for a moment before approaching as it pawed at the hilt. The creature growled, though it was more of a gurgle. I gripped the slick blade and pulled it free, only to jam it farther into its throat before taking hold of its snout and snapping its jaw. The creature gave a final, mournful moan before going limp at my feet.

Its blood pooled on the ground, dark and glossy. I had done this so often, I felt nothing—no remorse, no thrill. This was the way of the world, and I had been the catalyst.

My only concern was that the creature had gone against its nature and roamed in the daylight. Was this the disturbance that had the witches wailing?

In the silence that followed, my gaze shifted to the woman who still lay motionless except for the hurried rise and fall of her rattling chest. I bent and took up my sword once more, blade dripping with crimson.

As I came toward the woman, I saw her eyes were open and her throat shredded. During the attack, she had fallen on her cloak and was framed in a sea of royal blue. It made her look even paler, her blood an angry contrast.

She was far younger than I expected, and I wondered what had brought her to the woods until my eyes fell on an overturned basket some distance away, a handful of mushrooms and herbs scattered on the ground. I recalled how Yesenia would wander the grounds outside the Red Palace two hundred years ago for the very same supplies.

A sudden wave of unease straightened my spine, and my wish to return to Isolde renewed.

I knelt and the girl met my gaze. She seemed to breathe harder as I hovered, and whether out of fear or her approaching death, I did not know.

“This is a mercy,” I said and leaned nearer as I whispered, “Close your eyes.”

It took her a moment, but she obeyed, and I rose, lifting my blade overhead, only to bring it down on her ruined neck. The head separated from the body cleanly, and despite the decapitation, I knew it was not enough to keep resurrection at bay after an aufhocker bite.