My Mate, My Executioner

8. The second Executioner

[The Ouroboros Temple]

Shamaness Morana stood in the center of the dark field. Behind her, loyal,

white-robed girls searched the grass. The blood of the guard, Caspian, still

stained the ground, but his body had already been taken away. They were looking for any trace of the shadow executioner who had breached their defenses.

"Mistress," one of the girls whispered, dropping to her knees. "We found

something."

Morana stepped forward. Resting in the dirt was a patch of crystallized fang. It

was the remains of Draven’s shattered teeth, a clear sign of a violent magical

reaction.

She pulled a small silver bowl from her bag and scraped the crystallized dirt

into it. Her eyes narrowed behind her golden mask.

"Bring the brazier," she commanded.

Two handmaidens quickly brought forward a small iron stand holding burning hot coals. Morana poured the dirt directly into the fire and chanted in a low,

ancient tongue.

The fire flared. A blinding white light erupted from the brazier, shooting

straight up into the night sky. The flare flew toward the high temple, entering

the soul well where High Shaman Morvath and the Cult Elders waited.

Inside the soul well, the water glowed and replayed the ambush. The Elders

watched the illusion play out. They saw Draven lunge at Arya, his jaw opening to

tear her throat out. They saw the exact moment his fangs hit her neck and

shattered into pieces.

"Her skin shattered an Alpha fang," one of the Elders said, his voice shaking.

"Does that mean her cosmic power has awakened?"

"I don't think so," Morvath replied coldly. "The prophecy was clear. Her power

will only fully wake when she turns twenty-four. Besides, she is still weak from the suppressants we fed her for years."

"I have heard stories of people's souls getting trapped by the Goddess when she

walked the earth," Elder Lucas spoke up.

"The soul anchor? That is just an old myth."

"Then how do you explain what we just saw?" Lucas challenged. "Centuries ago,

our fathers thought becoming gods was a myth too. Does this change our plan,

High Shaman?"

"It changes nothing!" Morvath roared. "Centuries ago, our ancestors fought the

Goddess when she was at full strength, and she was still cut down. A weak,

modern reincarnation will not stop us. If the shadow wolf stands in the way, let

the Carnifex chop off his head. But the girl must be brought back here before

the sun hits the Cradle in thirteen days."

[The Gloom Pack Sanctuary]

The Gloom Pack Elders sat in a tight circle deep inside their mountain temple.

In the center of the room sat a large bowl holding a bright blue fire.

This was the eternal flame, drawing its magic directly from the Soul of the

Universe. It was the source of their shadow power. As long as the sun and moon existed, it would burn.

Right now, the blue flame acted as a mirror. It showed Draven running through a dark tunnel, carrying Arya over his massive shoulder. She was still breathing.

"I believe you owe us an explanation, Lord Kaelen," one of the Elders snarled.

"Twenty-three years ago, we wanted Vane to take this mission," another Elder

shouted. "But you insisted Draven was the best killer for the job. He was

supposed to execute her. Why is she still alive?"

"He has betrayed us again," a third Elder hissed, staring into the fire. "It is

the curse of his soul. He is acting out the exact same treason that got him

killed in his past life."

"He has no memory of the past," Lord Kaelen said firmly, silencing the room. "I

chose him because I did not want to make the same mistakes our fathers did. But

I did not know the Cult could hide her for this long."

"We cannot risk the prophecy coming true," the Head Elder declared. He slammed his wooden staff against the floor. "Lord Kaelen, it is time to Summon Vane."

Lord Kaelen signaled a guard, who quickly left the room.

A few minutes later, the shadows at the back of the cavern moved. Three figures

stepped into the pale light.

Vane stepped forward, his lip curling into a cold, dangerous sneer. He had

waited twenty-three years for the Elders to realize Draven was a failure.

Flanking him were his two personal hounds. On his left was Garrick, a skinny

tracker whose fingers constantly twitched, his pale skin covered in dark tattoos that pulsed when he smelled blood. On his right stood Torin, a giant brute with thick scars on his arms and a massive iron meat cleaver strapped to his back.

"So," Vane drawled, staring dead at Lord Kaelen. "The golden boy finally

failed."

"Draven has abandoned the mission," Lord Kaelen said. "He is taking the girl

toward the human borders."

Vane’s eyes flashed with dark spite. "I begged you to send me twenty-three years ago. I told you he was weak. Now you want me to clean up his mess?"

"Will you do it or not?". An elder snapped irritated by the continuous back and forth.

"Who am I not to serve my lords?. But, if the stray dog try to stop me do I have the permission to end him? ".

"Your orders are absolute," Lord Kaelen commanded. "Take your minions into the tunnels. Locate Draven. Execute him for his treason, and tear out the girl's

heart. The eternal flame must not go out."

Vane smiled. It was a wicked, bloodthirsty grin.

"With pleasure."

[The Seam - Underground Tunnels]

The air inside the narrow, underground tunnels was thick and hard to breathe.

Black, oily water dripped from the walls.

Draven moved fast and silent. His heavy boots echoed lightly with every step.

Arya was dead weight on his shoulder. Ever since Orin had forced the purge down her throat, her body had turned into a furnace. Her skin radiated a terrifying

heat that burned through Draven’s shirt, searing his neck and chest. He hated

it. He was a creature of the shadows, an elite killer, and now he was playing

nurse to the girl he was sent to murder.

"Ugh..."

A soft, weak groan escaped Arya’s lips. Her eyelids fluttered open. Her head

felt like it was filled with heavy lead. As her senses slowly came back, she

realized she was bouncing against a broad, muscular back.

The memory hit her like a punch. The small cabin. The blood. The old man.

"The old man..." her voice came out as a dry whisper.

"Dead," Draven said flatly.

Arya gasped. "What?. You killed him too, just like you killed Caspian?"

"If you do not shut your mouth, we will be joining him shortly."

Arya’s entire body stiffened. The horrifying reality flooded back into her

brain. She wasn't safe in her quiet room anymore. She was trapped with a

monster.

"Put me down!" she yelled, her voice shaking with sudden anger. "I want to go

back home!"

She began to struggle violently, her weak fists hitting uselessly against his

broad back. Draven kept walking, completely ignoring her weak punches.

Without warning, he clamped his massive arm around her legs, squeezing them

tight against his chest until her bones creaked. She let out a sharp cry of

pain.

"Be silent, vessel," Draven warned, his voice low and deadly. "I do not care who

you think you are, and I care even less about your tears. Right now, your

awakening power is a glowing beacon. If I put you down, the Carnifex will drag

you back to their altar and butcher you."

He stopped walking for a single second and shifted his wrist so she could see

it.

"Look at my wrist, and look at yours. We are not friends. We are just two ends

of the same leash. If your heart stops beating, I die too. Right now, I am the

only person in the world who wants you alive. So be still."

Arya stared down. In the dim light, she saw the geometric links of the glowing

chain connecting them. It matched the faint silver light glowing in her own

chest.

She stopped fighting. She looked back into the dark tunnel behind them. She

hated his cold, empty voice. But mostly, she hated that she had to rely on the

beast she feared the most to stay alive.

Clink. Clink.

The sound echoed distantly from the dark walls behind them. The heavy thud of

boots. The rattle of spiked chains dragging against stone.

The Carnifex. They had destroyed Orin's cabin and followed them into the Seam.

Draven froze. His wolf ears pinned back. He reached deep inside, trying to force

his body to shift into a shadow wolf so he could fight them. But his inner wolf,

still punished by the chain, refused to move. He was trapped in his mortal human

flesh.

"Damn it," Draven hissed. He drew his steel knife with his free hand.

Suddenly, a violent c***k exploded through the tunnel.

A heavy, spiked iron chain whipped out of the darkness and smashed into the

wall. Rock shards exploded everywhere hitting his feet.

The Carnifex were already here.

Adjusting Arya’s weight on his shoulder, Draven didn't look back. He launched

into a desperate sprint, his boots pounding against the wet floor as he ran for their lives with the target on his shoulder.