Fangs & Fates

LYCANIA

The eastern flank was collapsing.

For several long moments, it seemed as though the vampire army had finally found the weakness it needed.

Black armored soldiers poured through the broken formation, their weapons flashing beneath the afternoon sun as they pushed deeper into Lycan territory.

But the Lycans were not finished.

Not even close.

King Alaric stood at the center of the chaos, his silver armor stained with blood that was not his own. His ancient eyes swept across the battlefield, taking in every movement, every formation, every opening.

He had seen this before.

Not this exact battle.

Not these exact soldiers.

But war.

More war than any living creature in the kingdom could remember.

Valerius had lived for more than a thousand years.

He had watched generations of vampires be born, grow old, and disappear into the history of the kingdom.

An army was not defeated because it lost ground.

It was defeated when its warriors stopped believing they could take that ground back.

And the wolves still believed.

“ROYAL COMMANDERS!”

His voice thundered across the battlefield.

Nearly fifty commanders turned toward him.

“Push them back!”

A roar answered him.

Alaric raised Moonsteel above his head.

“THE EASTERN FLANK BELONGS TO US!”

The commanders charged.

Aurelia watched them surge forward, something fierce awakening inside her chest.

For the first time since the vampires had broken through the line, she saw something other than fear in the faces of her people.

Determination.

The wolves were angry.

Not reckless.

Not desperate.

Angry.

The kind of anger that came from watching their friends bleed on their own soil.

Aurelia tightened her fingers around Moonfang.

“Move!”

She kicked her horse forward.

Commander Rowan followed immediately.

Around them, dozens of Lycan warriors surged into the gap.

A vampire soldier raised his sword.

Aurelia blocked the strike and drove Moonfang into his chest.

He turned to ash.

Another attacked from her left.

She twisted in the saddle and cut across his throat.

He fell before a nearby wolf finished him with a powerful bite.

Then another vampire came.

And another.

But the wolves were no longer being pushed backward.

They were pushing forward.

A silver wolf the size of a small horse slammed into a group of vampires, sending three of them crashing into the mud.

Another wolf leaped over its fallen companion and tore into a vampire’s shoulder.

The vampire screamed, striking repeatedly with his sword until the wolf finally released him.

The wound across the wolf’s shoulder looked deep.

Far too deep.

Aurelia saw blood pouring through its silver fur.

Her heart clenched.

But then something incredible happened.

The bleeding slowed.

The torn flesh began knitting itself together.

Within moments, the wound had already started closing.

The wolf rose again.

Aurelia stared.

She had seen it countless times during training, but seeing it in the middle of war was different.

Lycan bodies were not like human bodies.

They healed.

Fast.

Cuts closed within minutes.

Broken bones could begin mending almost immediately.

Even wounds that would have killed a human warrior could sometimes be survived by a Lycan who was given enough time.

That was one of the gifts passed down through their blood.

The Moon Goddess had made them difficult to destroy.

But the vampires had come prepared.

A black blade struck the same wolf across the ribs.

The creature staggered.

This time, the wound did not close.

Blood continued spilling from between its fur.

The wolf tried to stand.

Its legs shook.

Aurelia’s eyes widened.

“Nightshade…”

Rowan’s expression hardened.

“The blade.”

The vampire who had attacked the wolf smiled.

“Your healing means nothing against our weapons.”

Aurelia’s grip tightened.

That was the true danger.

Not simply the vampires.

Not even their numbers.

Nightshade.

A Nightshade-infused weapon did more than cut.

It poisoned the very healing that made Lycans so difficult to kill.

And Nightfang was worse.

The royal weapon carried the darkest concentration of the cursed metal.

A wound from Nightfang could stop a Lycan’s healing entirely.

Aurelia remembered her father’s warning.

She had always known the vampires possessed weapons capable of weakening their people.

She had never understood how terrifying that weakness could be until now.

“Get him out of here!” she shouted.

Two warriors rushed toward the wounded wolf.

The vampire raised his sword to finish it.

Aurelia’s horse thundered forward.

She struck his blade aside.

“Not today.”

Moonfang pierced his heart.

He became ash.

Aurelia immediately turned toward the wounded wolf.

Its breathing was ragged.

But it was alive.

“Take him to the healers.”

The warriors nodded and dragged the injured wolf toward the rear.

Aurelia looked back toward the battlefield.

The sight nearly stole her breath.

The vampires had expected fear.

Instead, the Lycans were adapting.

The wolves had stopped attacking blindly.

They began working together.

Groups of three surrounded vampire soldiers, forcing them away from their formations before overwhelming them.

Human commanders targeted the vampires carrying Nightshade weapons.

Wolves attacked from the sides while swordsmen struck from behind.

The tide was turning.

Not completely.

But enough.

King Alaric noticed.

His ancient eyes narrowed.

“Again!”

The royal commanders charged.

Alaric rode directly into the vampire formation.

A vampire captain swung his Nightshade sword toward him.

Alaric blocked.

The impact sent a violent shock through his arm.

The vampire grinned.

“You should have stayed behind your walls, old wolf.”

For the first time, something cold entered Alaric’s expression.

Old.

The word carried weight.

The vampire had no idea what it meant.

Alaric had been fighting before the vampire’s bloodline had even existed.

Before many of the mountains surrounding the kingdom had received their names.

Before the current Vampire Kingdom had risen to power.

He had ruled the Lycans for centuries.

He had survived wars that had become nothing more than stories told to children.

His grip tightened around Moonsteel.

“You have mistaken age for weakness.”

He struck.

The vampire barely raised his sword before Alaric’s blade smashed through it.

The second strike pierced his heart.

Ash scattered across the grass.

Alaric turned toward the next enemy.

Another vampire charged.

Then two more.

He met them without hesitation.

His sword moved with the precision of someone who had spent centuries mastering the same weapon.

One fell.

Then another.

The third tried to attack from behind.

Alaric turned before the blade reached him.

He had heard the movement.

A tiny shift of metal.

A change in breathing.

The faint scrape of a boot against stone.

His senses had sharpened over the centuries.

He swung backward.

Moonsteel cut through the vampire’s chest.

The creature disintegrated.

Nearby, a young Lycan commander stared at him in disbelief.

The king barely seemed tired.

“How…”

The commander breathed.

Alaric looked at him.

“Experience.”

Then he charged again.

Across the battlefield, Aurelia fought beside Rowan.

Their backs were almost touching.

Three vampires approached.

“Left,” Rowan said.

Aurelia immediately turned.

Their swords collided.

Rowan blocked one attacker while Aurelia engaged another.

The third tried to circle behind them.

Aurelia heard him.

She spun.

Moonfang struck his sword away.

He snarled and lunged.

She stepped inside his reach.

Her forehead collided with his nose.

The vampire stumbled.

Aurelia drove Moonfang into his heart.

Ash.

She turned.

Rowan was struggling.

His opponent had managed to cut his arm.

Blood ran down his fingers.

Aurelia moved toward him.

“Rowan!”

“I’m fine.”

The wound was already closing.

Aurelia exhaled in relief.

Then Rowan’s expression changed.

He looked down.

A thin black mark surrounded the wound.

His healing had stopped.

Aurelia’s stomach dropped.

“Nightshade.”

Rowan nodded through clenched teeth.

“It barely touched me.”

“That’s enough.”

She grabbed his arm.

“Fall back.”

“I can fight.”

“Not like this.”

He looked ready to argue.

Then another explosion of screams erupted nearby.

Aurelia turned.

A group of vampires had surrounded a pack of wolves.

The wolves were fighting fiercely, but several had already been struck by Nightshade blades.

Their wounds refused to close.

Their strength was fading.

Aurelia’s heart twisted.

There were too many.

She couldn’t abandon Rowan.

She couldn’t abandon them either.

Then a howl erupted across the battlefield.

Deep.

Powerful.

Commanding.

Every Lycan warrior heard it.

Every wolf stopped for half a heartbeat.

King Alaric stood upon the ridge.

His sword was raised.

“WOLVES!”

The battlefield seemed to answer him.

“REMEMBER WHO YOU ARE!”

The wolves lifted their heads.

“You were born beneath the moon!”

A thunderous growl rolled through the army.

“You were raised by this kingdom!”

The growl became a roar.

“And you will not surrender your home!”

The wolves charged.

All at once.

Thousands of silver, black, white, and gray bodies surged forward.

The vampires tried to hold their formation.

But the wolves crashed into them with overwhelming force.

One vampire was knocked from his feet.

Another was dragged from his horse.

A third barely raised his sword before a wolf slammed into his chest.

The vampire army began losing formation.

Aurelia felt something rise inside her.

Hope.

Real hope.

Not the fragile kind she had carried before battle.

Something stronger.

The kind that made her believe they might actually survive.

She raised Moonfang.

“FOR LYCANIA!”

The warriors around her roared.

“FOR LYCANIA!”

The cry spread.

Across the eastern flank.

Across the valley.

Across the forest.

The vampires began to retreat.

Only a few steps at first.

Then more.

King Valerius watched from the center of his army, his expression darkening.

The battle was no longer going according to plan.

He had expected the Lycans to break.

He had expected the Nightshade weapons to cripple them.

He had expected Alaric’s age to finally catch up with him.

Instead, the old king was still standing.

And the wolves were fighting harder than ever.

Valerius’s fingers tightened around his sword.

“Where is Darius?”

A nearby commander bowed.

“The eastern flank, Your Majesty.”

Valerius looked toward the distant battlefield.

His crimson eyes narrowed.

“Tell my son to stop playing with them.”

The commander hesitated.

“And if he refuses?”

Valerius’s expression became colder.

“Remind him who gave him Nightfang.”

Far across the battlefield, Aurelia felt the hairs on her arms rise.

She heard something.

A slow set of footsteps.

Not hurried.

Not desperate.

Calm.

Measured.

Approaching through the chaos.

She turned.

Her breath caught.

The vampires were parting.

Again.

But this time, she didn’t feel the same confusion she had felt earlier.

She knew exactly who was coming.

Prince Darius stepped through the battlefield.

Nightfang hung loosely at his side.

Blood stained his black armor.

His crimson eyes found Aurelia almost immediately.

For several seconds, neither moved.

The screams of wounded warriors continued around them.

Steel continued clashing.

Wolves continued howling.

Yet Aurelia heard none of it.

Her entire world seemed to narrow until there was only him.

Darius looked at the sword in her hand.

Moonfang.

Then his gaze returned to her face.

Something unreadable flickered in his eyes.

Not hatred.

Not quite.

Curiosity.

Aurelia’s heart beat harder.

She tightened her grip.

Darius slowly raised Nightfang.

The expression on his face remained calm.

But the air between them felt different.

Like the battlefield itself had paused to watch.

For the first time, the two heirs stood directly across from one another.

Moonlight against darkness.

Wolf against vampire.

Princess against prince.

And neither of them knew that the enemy standing before them would soon become far more dangerous than the war itself.