The Half Blood Book 4

Book Four: Throne of Blood and Fear

The she-wolf was running, her breath coming out in ragged pants. Fear was a vice around her heart, squeezing tighter with every step. They’d found her. Those bastards had spotted her.

The towering trees made the night a treacherous maze. But she was built for this. Her eyes adjusted to the darkness, helping her avoid the obstacles in her path.

Her paws pounded the ground, desperate to outrun the hunters. Or rather, the assassins. The rumors were true. These weren’t ordinary hunters.

Ordinary humans didn’t have this kind of power.

A cry tore from her throat as she tripped. Something had ensnared her ankle, pinning her to the earth. She looked down.

Roots, like gnarled fingers, had wrapped around her legs. They bit into her flesh with every twitch.

Tears of frustration welled in her eyes as she tried to free herself. Her nails morphed into claws.

With a swift swipe, she severed the roots. She didn’t waste a second, scrambling to her feet and continuing her desperate run. Her territory was close.

She sniffed the air, hoping to catch their scent. But they left no trace. Their names were unknown.

But one thing was certain: no one survived an encounter with them.

With every labored breath, she regretted her decision to stay at The Fox and Boar.

The tavern was a popular spot for the creatures of the Seven Realms. A safe haven in human lands, a neutral zone. It was a place for fun, not fear.

The tavern was a sanctuary for the more tolerant beings. Its owner, a warlock, had established it a century ago.

She, like many others, frequented it for the camaraderie and the drinks. Tonight had started like any other.

The tavern was filled with laughter, shouts, songs, and dances. No one noticed when they walked in. The two women and the man.

She hadn’t noticed either.

All it took was a smile, a kiss, and a few more drinks for her to leave with one of the women. Her lips were sweet, her eyes as dark as coffee.

In the shadowy alleyway between two buildings, the woman betrayed her with a silver dagger.

She didn’t have time to shift into her wolf form. She fought back, leaving the traitor dazed, and fled.

Now she was the hunted, running, bleeding, growing weaker with every step. Unable to shift. Vulnerable.

She was close to her pack. Just a little further. The silver had blocked her mental link with her pack. She was alone, at their mercy.

Their laughter echoed ominously in the night. Tears streamed down her face. They were closer than she’d thought. Fear was a cold shiver down her spine.

Suddenly, branches coiled around her throat, halting her escape. She fell hard, her hands clawing at the branches. Her claws emerged once more.

Roots burst from the ground, trapping her hands and feet.

“Please,” she begged, tears streaming down her face. “Please don’t!”

A pair of polished black boots stopped in front of her. “Shhhh,” the man said. His eyes were otherworldly. She’d never seen anything like them.

They were warm, inviting. He was beautiful. Too beautiful. She realized then that he used his beauty as a lure, just as they had lured her.

“End it now,” the woman who had kissed her, then stabbed her, commanded.

The man raised his hand, making a subtle twisting motion. A root rose from the grass.

Her eyes widened in horror as the root split into pieces, forming the claws of a wolf. She didn’t have time to scream as her heart was ripped from her chest.

Her eyes glazed over.

Dead.

“We should go. We’re close to her pack,” the traitor said.

“Do you have the blood?” the man asked, causing the roots to retreat back into the ground.

The other woman, who had been watching from a distance, handed him a vial.

He smeared the demon blood near the lifeless she-wolf, her eyes still open.

“Those fucking idiots will think it was a demon,” the man said.

“We need to start tracking the vampires. King Maxius isn’t the brightest. It’ll be easy to manipulate them,” the woman with the vial said.

The man nodded, standing up. “Let’s go. The others are waiting.”

Suddenly, they all turned towards the forest as the howls of werewolves echoed through the trees.

They vanished without a second thought, leaving behind the lifeless body of an innocent she-wolf to the mercy of the night. The evidence they left behind was a ticking time bomb, a potential catalyst for war.

***

In a different realm, the imposing stone wall that protected the demonic citadel seemed to breathe a sigh of relief as it looked down on Tara. The perpetually gray sky above echoed with the sound of thunder.

Hidden within the clouds, black lightning signaled the arrival of a high-ranking demoness.

“Are you sure you’ll be okay?” Tara asked Sorana.

Sorana cast a lazy glance at the towering wall. “I hope so. My brother is probably itching to punish me for all the wrongs I’ve done to him.”

“Let’s go,” Tara urged.

As they walked, demons and demonesses paused to watch them, their gazes fixed on Sorana. The demoness who had betrayed her King and brother for love.

Resentment began to bubble up in many, and hatred too. Sorana had never been well-liked in her own kingdom.

She was seen as selfish, untrustworthy, and overly beautiful.

Sorana was known for her striking beauty, with her black hair, gray eyes, and perfectly arched, full black eyebrows.

But now, that untrustworthy, unreliable, egotistical beauty seemed to be missing something. As she passed, many began to sense it.

Malicious smiles were exchanged as they noticed that Sorana no longer held the power that once set her apart.

Would she still be immortal? That was the question on everyone’s mind.

The grand palace of the Demon King towered over the entire realm. Its doors swung open, allowing them entry and enveloping them in the mists of the Abyss—blinding them to their surroundings.

Fear crept into Tara—a fear of punishment, of reproach, of facing the King. Her eyes fell on Sorana’s face as they were led through the mists.

“You’re scared,” she stated.

Sorana sighed. “Only a fool wouldn’t be afraid of Lorcan.”

The fear Tara felt was for her friend. It was a pressing fear, the kind that came with a racing heartbeat.

The mists of the Abyss cleared, revealing the throne before them.

The Five Lords watched from a safe distance, their faces devoid of emotion.

They stood tall, their bodies tense, muscles defined, swords in hand, radiating strength.

Tara found it somewhat absurd to think that two women could stand against them, especially Sorana.

Suddenly, Tara’s chest tightened as a surge of power pierced her. Like a magical force, her eyes were drawn to a figure she had never seen before.

A man she had never met, yet she felt a strange connection to him.

Even from his profile, she could tell his face was strikingly handsome.

Power radiated from him. His broad shoulders were covered by a shield made of cold iron, shaped like sharp feathers that extended almost to his wrists.

His dark, almost black hair fell freely over his shoulders. The connection was there, a delicate, invisible, shimmering green thread that linked him to her.

Tara quickly averted her gaze, turning back to the Demon Lords. Their defensive stances made sense now.

Not because of her and Sorana, but because of the mysterious man who had yet to turn around.

King Lorcan looked at Sorana with a cold, emotionless stare. The Queen, at his side, wore a muted expression. “Well done, Tara,” she said.

“Brother,” Sorana spoke, her fear subsiding.

King Lorcan didn’t respond to her; instead, his attention shifted to Tara. “A deal is a deal, fae.” His voice was as icy and hostile as ever.

Tara couldn’t imagine him ever being relaxed or smiling. His face seemed to be permanently etched with a grim and dark expression. Despite this, she maintained a firm posture and a calm expression.

“Name your reward,” he commanded.