The Kingdom of Thorns was not a place recorded on any modern map. It was a relic of the old world, a sprawling estate of crumbling stone walls and overgrown gardens that sat on the edge of the Forbidden Zone.
Legend said it was where the first rift opened.
Elara didn't care about legends. She cared that her intel said Valerius came here to brood.
She moved through the dense treeline, her boots sinking into the moss. It was pitch black. The canopy of ancient oaks was so thick it strangled the moonlight, allowing only thin, jagged slivers of silver to pierce the gloom.
She reached up to adjust her night-vision goggles, her fingers brushing empty air.
"Dammit," she hissed, the curse barely a breath.
She had left them on the workbench. After the acid incident, she had been so manic, so focused on recalibrating her weapons and synthesizing new poisons, that she had made a rookie mistake. A fatal mistake.
She was blind.
She relied on her other senses. The smell of damp earth. The sound of wind rattling the dry leaves. The distant hoot of a mutated owl.
Swish.
Something brushed against the back of her neck. It felt like cold, wet fingers.
Elara spun around, her pistol raised in a heartbeat.
"Show yourself," she commanded.
Nothing but silence and the looming shapes of the trees.
"Valerius," she called out, her voice steady despite the spike in her heart rate. "If this is your idea of foreplay, I'm going to shoot your kneecaps off."
No answer. Just the wind.
She narrowed her eyes, turning back to the path. Paranoia pricked at her skin. She took a step forward.
Snap.
A twig broke. Not under her boot. behind her.
She whirled again, firing a warning shot into the darkness. The muzzle flash illuminated the forest for a fraction of a second—a strobe light of terror.
In that flash, she saw them.
Not Valerius.
They were Ghouls. Low-level monsters, but dangerous in packs. Pale, hairless, with limbs that were too long and mouths filled with needle-teeth. There were four of them, crouching on the branches like gargoyles.
"Wrong party," Elara muttered.
She didn't wait. She opened fire.
Bang. Bang.
One Ghoul shrieked as a bullet tore through its shoulder, knocking it from the tree. But the muzzle flash ruined her natural night vision, plunging her into deeper darkness the moment the firing stopped.
They descended.
Elara moved on instinct. She felt the displacement of air as a claw swung for her head. She ducked, slashing upward with her combat knife. The blade connected with wet flesh, and hot blood sprayed across her face.
"Get back!" she snarled, kicking the wounded creature away.
But she was fighting shadows. She couldn't see their attacks until they were inches away.
A heavy weight slammed into her back, driving the air from her lungs. She hit the ground hard, tasting dirt and iron.
She rolled, trying to bring her gun up, but a hand—cold, strong, and covered in slime—clamped around her wrist and slammed it against a rock. Her pistol skittered away into the darkness.
Elara kicked out, her boot connecting with a ribcage. The Ghoul grunted but didn't let go.
Another one landed on her legs, pinning her.
She was trapped.
The leader of the pack, a massive creature with a jaw that unhinged like a snake, crawled on top of her. Its drool dripped onto her cheek. It smelled of rot and old graves.
Elara reached for her hidden boot knife, but the monster grabbed her throat.
The grip was like a vice. Her windpipe compressed. Black spots danced in her vision, darker than the forest.
I'm going to die, she thought, the realization cold and sharp. Not by the target. But by trash.
The Ghoul raised a claw, ready to tear her throat out. Elara clawed at its wrist, her nails digging in, but her strength was fading. The lack of oxygen burned in her chest.
She squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for the rip.
It never came.
The forest temperature dropped. Instantly. It wasn't the chill of the wind; it was the chill of the grave. A heaviness settled over the clearing, a suffocating pressure that made the Ghouls freeze.
Territorial fear.
In the deepest shadows of the treeline, two crimson lights ignited.
They weren't flashlights. They were eyes. Burning, hateful, ancient red eyes.
The Ghoul on top of Elara hissed, turning its head.
A hand reached out of the darkness. It was pale, elegant, and manicured. It grabbed the Ghoul by the back of its neck.
"You are touching," a voice whispered, smooth as silk and cold as ice, "my property."
CRACK.
Valerius didn't pull the Ghoul off. He squeezed.
The sound of the monster's spine shattering was like a gunshot. The creature went limp instantly, dead before it hit the ground. Valerius tossed the corpse aside like a ragdoll.
The other Ghouls screeched, sensing the Apex Predator. They scrambled off Elara, trying to flee.
"Oh, no," Valerius said, stepping fully into the moonlight.
He wasn't smiling. He wasn't the playful, flirtatious aristocrat Elara knew.
He was a nightmare.
His aura rolled off him in waves of black smoke. His fangs were fully extended, glistening in the pale light. His eyes were no longer just red; they were glowing with a violent, hungry luminosity.
He moved faster than Elara could track.
He appeared in front of the second Ghoul. He didn't use a weapon. He drove his open hand straight into the monster's chest, punching through the ribcage and out the back. He ripped his hand back, holding the creature's still-beating heart. He crushed it in his fist, blood raining down his arm.
The third Ghoul lunged at him. Valerius caught it by the jaw. With a bored, almost annoyed expression, he pulled.
Riiiiiip.
He tore the monster's lower jaw clean off its face. Then he grabbed its head and twisted it 180 degrees.
The fourth Ghoul, the one Elara had shot earlier, tried to limp away.
Valerius was on it in a blink. He grabbed it by the leg and slammed it against an oak tree. Thud. He slammed it again. Thud. And again. Thud.
He didn't stop until the creature was nothing but a wet paste of bone and fur on the bark.
Silence returned to the forest.
Elara lay on the ground, gasping for air, clutching her bruised throat. She watched him. She had killed hundreds of monsters, but she had never seen violence like this. It wasn't combat. It was an execution.
Valerius stood amidst the carnage, his pristine suit soaked in black monster blood. He took a handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his hands, the terrifying red glow in his eyes slowly fading back to a dull crimson.
He turned to her.
Elara flinched. For the first time, she was genuinely afraid of him.
He walked over to her, his movements fluid and predatory. He knelt beside her, ignoring the gore on the ground.
"Elara," he said softly.
He reached out. Elara tried to scurry back, but she was too weak. His hand cupped her cheek. His thumb brushed over the bruise forming on her neck where the Ghoul had choked her.
His eyes narrowed, a flash of that terrifying rage returning for a second.
"They bruised you," he whispered. The sound was low, a growl vibrating in his chest.
"I... I had it handled," Elara rasped, her voice wrecked.
"You were dying," Valerius corrected her. "You forgot your eyes. You were stumbling in the dark like a child."
He leaned in close, his forehead resting against hers. He smelled of blood and expensive cologne.
"Listen to me," he commanded, his voice intense, devoid of any humor. "You are not allowed to die. Do you understand?"
"Because... because you want me to kill you?" Elara asked, coughing.
Valerius pulled back slightly, looking deep into her eyes.
"Because I cannot die if the executioner is dead," he said. "You are the only thing in eight centuries that has made me feel anything. If you die here, in the mud, killed by these... pests... I will be truly alone again. And I will not permit that."
He stood up and offered her his hand.
"You belong to me, Elara," he said, his voice echoing with the authority of a King. "Until the moment you plunge a stake through my heart, your life is mine to protect. No one touches you. No one hunts you. Except me."
Elara looked at his hand. It was stained with black blood, but the palm was open.
She hesitated. Then, she took it.
He pulled her up effortlessly, steadying her when she stumbled.
"Now," Valerius said, his tone shifting back to a lighter, albeit strained, casualness. "Let's get you home. You look terrible, darling. And you smell like Ghoul spit."
He put an arm around her waist to support her. Elara was too tired to push him away. As they walked out of the dark forest, stepping over the mangled corpses of the monsters, Elara realized something terrifying.
The monsters in the woods were scary.
But the monster holding her was worse.