THE SCENT OF TREASON

SILVER AND SCAR

The heavy oak splintered with a deafening c***k, the frame giving way under the sheer force of the entry of Silas.

I did not think. I scrambled backward into the narrow gap between the massive wardrobe and the stone wall, my heart hammering a frantic, erratic rhythm against my ribs.

Look at you, Silas sneered, his gaze sweeping the empty space before locking onto my hiding spot. Cowering like the prey you are. The great Kaelen, reduced to a fool by a girl who sweeps his floors.

He lunged.

I dove to the side, my bare feet slipping on the slick hardwood beyond the carpet. His claws tore through the heavy wood of the wardrobe where my head had been a second ago, showering the air with splinters.

Get out, I screamed, grabbing a heavy brass candlestick from the bedside table and hurling it at him.

It struck his shoulder and bounced off uselessly. Silas did not even flinch. He slowly turned his head, a sickening, feral grin stretching across his scarred face. Is that all you have, human?

He closed the distance in a fraction of a second. Before I could scream again, his hand wrapped around my throat. He lifted me off my feet, slamming me hard against the stone wall. The impact knocked the wind out of my lungs, and my hands instinctively flew to his wrist, clawing uselessly at his iron grip.

You brought ruin to this house, Silas growled, his face inches from mine. The heat of his breath smelled of blood. You made him weak. But I will fix it. I will show the pack that we do not bow to human blood.

My vision began to blur at the edges, dark spots dancing across my eyes as oxygen cut off. My fingers searched the top of the wardrobe next to me, brushing against a heavy, cold object, a decorative silver dagger Kaelen kept on display.

With the last of my fading strength, my fingers gripped the hilt.

I drove the blade downward, aiming for the gap between the neck and shoulder of Silas.

The silver sank deep.

Silas let out a guttural, agonizing roar as the silver burned through his flesh. He dropped me, stumbling backward, his hands flying to the wound as black veins began to spiderweb out from the blade.

I collapsed to the floor, gasping for air, my throat burning. I did not wait for him to recover. I scrambled to my feet, kicked my bedroom door open, and ran headlong into the dark, silent corridors of the estate.

The hallway was a labyrinth of cold stone and flickering sconces. Behind me, the roar of pain of Silas rapidly morphed into a terrifying, guttural howl of pure rage. The sound of heavy, uneven footsteps followed, the dragging of a foot indicating the silver was slowing him down, but not nearly enough.

I turned a sharp corner, my bare feet nearly losing traction on the polished marble. I had no idea where I was going. Up ahead, a spiral staircase descended. I threw myself down the steps, taking them two at a time, clutching the cold iron banister. My lungs screamed for air.

The sound of shattering glass echoed from the level above. Silas had jumped from the balcony, bypassing the stairs entirely to cut me off.

I turned back and bolted toward the service elevator at the far end of the wing, a small, manual iron cage. I reached the gate, frantically pulling the heavy iron mesh open. Just as I stepped inside the metal cage, Silas rounded the corner.

Our eyes met. No, I whispered, slamming my palm against the lever.

The gears groaned, and the elevator finally jolted, beginning its slow descent just as Silas lunged. He hit the heavy iron mesh gate with the force of a battering ram. His clawed hands reached through the gaps, missing my face by mere inches.

The cage clanked to a halt in the basement kitchen. I pushed the gate open and ran through the industrial area. I grabbed a small paring knife from the counter, tucking it into the waistband of my oversized shirt.

At the back of the kitchen was a low wooden door leading to the delivery tunnels. I slipped through, running into the dark night. The dense pine forest of the Northern Syndicate territory loomed directly ahead.

Behind me, an enraged roar echoed. Silas had tracked my scent.

I ran into the tree line, the shadows of the towering pines swallowing me. I tripped over a thick root, tumbling forward onto the damp earth. I forced myself up, ignoring the sharp pain in my ankle, and kept running.

As I pushed through a thick patch of briars, the ground suddenly vanished. I tumbled down a steep, rocky ravine, crashing into a shallow, freezing stream at the bottom.

From the top of the ravine, a massive, dark silhouette emerged. Silas had fully shifted into a giant, silver gray wolf with crimson eyes. He let out a low, victorious growl, preparing to leap down.

I reached into my waistband, my freezing fingers wrapping around the hilt of the small paring knife.

Silas crouched, tensing for the jump.

Suddenly, a deafening, monstrous roar shook the entire forest. From the shadows, a second wolf emerged. It was colossal, its fur as black as obsidian, and its eyes burning with a terrifying, golden fire.

Kaelen.

Before Silas could even react, the black wolf launched himself across the ravine, tackling Silas in midair with a savage, bone crushing force.