Chapter 3 Silver and Ash - A Vow of Fang and Fury

The creature stepped into the light.

For one suspended moment, Veyra could not decide whether she was looking at a wolf or something that had been built by someone who hated wolves enough to improve upon nature.

It stood nearly as tall as a man at the shoulder, with a lean, elongated body covered in patches of dark, coarse fur. Metal plating protected its chest and spine, fitted so tightly beneath the hide that the creature seemed to have grown around the armour. Its muzzle was narrow, its jaws lined with teeth that looked too long and too white, and a thin network of blue lights glimmered beneath the skin of its neck.

Its eyes were almost colourless.

Behind it, another shape moved.

Then a third.

Veyra's fingers tightened around the steel pipe.

"Those aren't ordinary hounds," she said.

Dacien's blade remained steady in his hand. "No."

"What did they do to them?"

"Whatever they needed to do."

The first hound lowered its head. Its nostrils flared as it tasted the air, and a low vibration travelled through its chest. The sound was not quite a growl. It carried a mechanical undertone, a faint buzzing that Veyra felt in her teeth.

The creature's pale gaze settled on Dacien.

A sharp clicking sound came from its throat.

Dacien's expression hardened. "Move behind me."

Veyra turned her head slowly toward him. "Say that again."

"Veyra—"

It was the first time he had used her name without contempt or sarcasm. She noticed, and so did he. His jaw tightened as though he regretted allowing it to escape.

The hound lunged.

Veyra moved on instinct. She shoved Dacien sideways just as the creature struck, its claws tearing through the space where he had been standing. It hit the ground hard enough to crack the concrete, skidded, and spun around with startling speed.

Veyra swung the pipe.

The blow landed across the side of its head. Metal rang against bone, and the hound staggered, but the animal recovered almost immediately. It snapped its jaws at her arm. She twisted away, felt teeth scrape her sleeve, and drove her knee into its chest.

The hound barely moved.

"That was helpful," Dacien muttered.

"Try being useful yourself!"

He disappeared.

One instant, he stood beside the support columns. In the next, he was behind the second hound, his blade cutting across the exposed joint beneath its shoulder plating. The creature shrieked and whipped around, striking him with enough force to throw him against a rusted pipe.

The impact shuddered through the chamber.

Veyra's attention snapped toward him.

That was a mistake.

The first hound slammed into her legs. She fell hard, the back of her head striking the concrete. Before she could recover, its jaws closed around the edge of her cloak and began dragging her across the floor.

She shoved the pipe between its teeth.

The hound bit down.

Steel bent with a shrill metallic squeal.

Veyra's stomach dropped. The creature's strength was not natural. Neither was the speed with which it adjusted its grip, moving its jaws toward her exposed arm as though it had calculated the easiest point at which to bite.

She released the pipe, seized its upper jaw with both hands, and drove her boot against its chest.

The hound snarled.

Veyra felt the pressure of its teeth increasing against her sleeve.

"Get. Off."

Her wolf surged beneath her skin.

Pain flared through the silver wound on her shoulder, but this time Veyra forced herself past it. Her fingers tightened. Her vision sharpened, the surrounding chamber becoming unnaturally clear. With a furious twist, she wrenched the creature's head sideways and rolled free.

The hound crashed into the base of a support column.

Concrete fractured. Dust filled the air.

Veyra scrambled to her feet, breathing hard. Her left shoulder trembled from the effort, and a fresh line of blood ran beneath the torn fabric of her cloak.

Across the chamber, Dacien had regained his footing. He moved in precise, economical bursts, never allowing the second hound to strike him directly. Each time it lunged, he shifted aside and cut at the joints beneath its armour.

The third creature had disappeared behind the columns.

Veyra scanned the shadows.

"Where's the last one?"

Dacien glanced toward her. "Behind you."

She turned just as the third hound launched itself from the darkness.

Its weight struck her chest, sending her backward across the floor. Her lungs emptied in a painful rush. The animal pinned her beneath its forelegs, its pale eyes fixed on her face while its jaws opened above her throat.

Veyra jammed her forearm beneath its muzzle.

The teeth hovered inches from her skin.

The creature's breath stank of blood, chemical disinfectant, and something bitterly metallic. Blue lights pulsed beneath the skin along its neck, brightening with each heartbeat—or whatever passed for one.

It was not simply hunting her.

It was assessing her.

A blade flashed across its exposed flank.

The hound recoiled with a shriek. Dacien seized the opening and drove his weapon beneath the edge of its chest plating. The creature twisted violently, throwing him aside, but the distraction gave Veyra enough time to roll free.

She came up on one knee, snatched the bent pipe from the floor, and swung it with both hands.

The metal struck the creature's head.

Once.

Twice.

On the third blow, the hound collapsed, its legs twitching against the concrete. Blue light flickered beneath its neck before fading.

For a moment, neither Veyra nor Dacien moved.

Then the first hound rose from the broken column.

The second was already turning toward them.

"Run," Dacien said.

This time, Veyra did not argue.

They raced toward the service corridor, pursued by the scraping claws and mechanical growls of the modified hounds. Veyra led them through a narrow opening between two pipes, ducked beneath a fallen section of ceiling, and leapt over a trench filled with black water.

Dacien followed, but his stride had begun to shorten.

Veyra heard it behind her: the uneven rhythm of his footsteps, the faint hitch in his breathing.

She glanced over her shoulder.

His hand was pressed against his ribs.

"How bad?" she shouted.

"Not now."

"That's not an answer!"

"Run!"

They reached a junction where three tunnels branched away from the main passage. Veyra skidded to a halt, searching for a sign or a current of air that might indicate the route toward the surface.

The hounds were closing in.

Dacien pointed toward the right-hand tunnel.

"That way!"

"You said you didn't know where the exits were!"

"I said I hadn't been here recently!"

Veyra swore and followed him.

The passage sloped upward for several dozen yards before opening into an old maintenance corridor. Rusted electrical cabinets lined one wall, and a broken row of emergency lamps cast intermittent pools of pale light across the floor.

At the far end stood a door marked with a faded municipal seal.

Dacien reached it first.

He seized the handle and pulled.

The door did not move.

"Of course," Veyra gasped.

He struck the locking mechanism with the base of his blade. The metal groaned, but the bolt remained in place.

Behind them, the hounds entered the corridor.

Their eyes glowed through the darkness.

Veyra raised the steel pipe and forced herself between Dacien and the creatures.

"Open the door."

"I am trying."

"Try faster."

He struck the lock again.

A high-pitched whine sounded from behind them.

Veyra turned.

The second hound had stopped near the corridor entrance. A narrow device had unfolded from the armour along its spine, exposing a small blue emitter.

Dacien's expression changed.

"Down!"

He seized Veyra around the waist and threw them both behind an overturned electrical cabinet.

A bolt of ultraviolet energy tore through the corridor.

The cabinet exploded in a shower of sparks.

Veyra struck the floor shoulder-first. The air left her lungs, and pain flashed through her injured arm. She rolled onto her back, coughing as smoke filled the passage.

Dacien lay beside her, motionless.

For half a second, the world seemed to stop.

"Dacien?"

He did not answer.

She pushed herself upright and grabbed his coat.

"Vale."

His eyes opened, but his expression had gone strangely distant. He looked down at his chest.

A dark hole had appeared beneath his ribs.

Blood spread across his shirt, black in the emergency light. At the centre of the wound, a tiny metallic fragment glinted silver.

Veyra stared at it.

"No."

Dacien attempted to sit up. A strangled sound escaped him, and he collapsed against the wall.

The hounds advanced slowly along the corridor, their mechanical growls reverberating through the smoke.

Veyra seized Dacien beneath the arms and dragged him toward a recessed doorway. He was heavier than he looked, and her injured shoulder screamed with every step. She ignored it, pulling him behind the half-open door just as another burst of ultraviolet energy struck the floor.

The impact shook dust from the ceiling.

She kicked the door shut.

It had no lock, but a heavy metal cabinet stood against the interior wall. Veyra shoved it across the floor until it jammed against the door, creating a crude barricade. The machinery outside continued to whine, followed by the steady scrape of claws against the metal.

Then silence.

Veyra turned toward Dacien.

He had slid down the wall and was struggling to keep his head upright. His face had lost what little colour it possessed, leaving his features almost translucent. The dark stain beneath his ribs continued to spread.

"Let me see," she said.

His hand caught her wrist.

"No."

She stared at him. "Are you insane?"

"Probably."

"Move your hand."

"Veyra—"

"If you finish that sentence with another order, I will personally ensure the hunters never have to worry about killing you."

His fingers loosened.

She pushed his hand aside and pulled open the torn fabric of his shirt.

The injury was worse than she had hoped. The projectile had entered beneath his ribs, leaving a narrow wound surrounded by blackened tissue. A small fragment remained embedded deep in the flesh. Its edges glowed faintly beneath the skin, releasing thin threads of smoke.

Veyra had seen silver wounds before. She knew how long they took to heal in werewolves and how quickly a badly placed fragment could turn a manageable injury into a fatal one.

Vampires were different, but not so different that she failed to understand what she was seeing.

The silver was preventing his body from closing the wound. The ultraviolet charge had burned tissue around the fragment, leaving his regeneration struggling to repair damage that continued to poison it.

Without intervention, he would deteriorate.

The realization should have pleased her.

Ten minutes ago, she had wanted to kill him herself. Every instinct she possessed insisted that his death would remove a danger from her path. He was a vampire, a creature whose kind had slaughtered her parents. He had withheld information, dragged her deeper into the underground, and nearly got them both killed.

If she abandoned him, she could search for another route while the hunters dealt with their own prey.

She might even survive.

Dacien watched her through half-lowered eyelids.

"You are considering it," he murmured.

Veyra looked up sharply. "Considering what?"

"Leaving me."

"You make it sound as if that would be a difficult decision."

"It shouldn't be."

For some reason, his agreement irritated her more than an insult would have.

"Then stop talking and save your strength."

His mouth curved faintly. "An order?"

"A threat."

"Much better."

He attempted another breath and winced. The movement sent fresh blood sliding between her fingers.

Veyra pressed a folded strip of fabric against the wound.

Dacien caught his breath.

"Hold still."

"That is easier said than done."

"Would you prefer I let you bleed on the floor?"

"No."

"Then hold still."

She looked around the cramped maintenance room. The cabinet beneath the wall had been left half open, exposing a collection of rusted tools and discarded equipment. Most of it was useless, but a pair of narrow metal forceps lay beneath a cracked plastic tray. She retrieved them, wiped away the dust with her sleeve, and examined the tips.

They were intact.

A battered emergency kit hung beside the door. Inside, she found gauze, a bottle of antiseptic, and a small surgical light powered by a dying battery.

It was not much.

It would have to be enough.

Veyra set everything beside Dacien and knelt in front of him.

"We need to remove the fragment."

His gaze dropped to the forceps. Something unreadable passed across his face.

"No."

She let out a short, disbelieving laugh. "You can barely sit upright."

"I am aware."

"Then stop arguing."

"The fragment is lodged near a major vessel."

"And if it stays there, you'll die."

"I have survived worse."

"Not with that thing burning inside your chest, you haven't."

He said nothing.

Veyra leaned closer, meeting his gaze. "Listen carefully, Vale. I am not doing this because I like you. I am doing it because I refuse to die in these tunnels, and you are the only person here who knows where we are going. Once we find a way out, you can return to being the most irritating creature I've ever met."

Dacien studied her for several seconds.

"And if I become inconvenient before then?"

"I will consider my options."

A faint breath escaped him that might have been a laugh.

"Very reassuring."

"Be grateful I haven't started digging yet."

His expression sobered.

"Veyra."

This time, she did not snap at him.

"What?"

"If the silver reaches my heart, you will not be able to stop it."

The admission carried no drama. He spoke as though he were explaining the weather, but his hand had tightened around the edge of his coat.

Veyra understood then that he was frightened.

Not of the pain. Not even of dying.

He was frightened of being helpless.

She knew that feeling intimately.

For a moment, the cramped room seemed smaller. The hounds waited beyond the door, the hunters controlled the passages outside, and they had no idea how far they were from the surface. They had nothing resembling an alliance except the simple fact that neither could survive the other one's death.

Veyra looked down at the wound.

"Then don't let it reach your heart."

She opened the antiseptic bottle.

Dacien caught her wrist again, though his grip had weakened.

"You understand that if I survive this, I will still be a vampire."

She stared at him.

"What a remarkable discovery."

"And you will still hate me."

"Probably."

"Yet you intend to save me."

"I intend to get out of here alive."

For the first time, something close to genuine amusement touched his expression.

"Then we understand each other."

Veyra pulled her wrist free.

"No," she said. "We understand nothing."

She poured antiseptic across the wound.

Dacien's entire body went rigid. A low, involuntary sound escaped him, and his fingers dug into the edge of the cabinet. The fluid hissed against the blackened flesh, producing a sharp, bitter smell.

"Hold still," Veyra repeated.

"Your bedside manner is appalling."

"You are welcome to complain when you can stand."

She took the forceps and brought the surgical light closer. Beneath the thin layer of blood, she could see the fragment lodged between two ribs. Its surface was darkened, but a faint ultraviolet glow remained along one edge.

The fragment would have to come out cleanly.

A mistake could drive it deeper or tear the damaged tissue around it.

Veyra took a slow breath.

She had once helped an injured wolf remove a silver arrowhead from his leg. She had been younger then, frightened and inexperienced, but she had learned enough to understand the importance of patience. This wound was considerably more complicated, and Dacien's anatomy was not entirely familiar to her.

She would have to work carefully.

"Look at me," she said.

He opened his eyes.

"Not the wound. Me."

"Why?"

"Because if you move, I may lose my grip."

"How comforting."

"Dacien."

It was the first time she had said his name without anger.

He noticed. She could see it in the brief stillness of his face.

Then he focused on her.

Veyra positioned the forceps and eased the tips into the wound.

Dacien inhaled sharply.

"Don't move."

"I am beginning to think you enjoy saying that."

"Only because you seem incapable of listening."

She adjusted her angle and felt the forceps touch metal. The fragment shifted slightly, sending a spasm through Dacien's body.

His eyes closed.

Veyra tightened her grip on the forceps.

"Stay with me."

"I am here."

"Then prove it."

She worked the fragment free by millimetres, easing it away from the surrounding tissue. The metal resisted, catching on something beneath the rib. Dacien's breathing became uneven, and his hand closed around her forearm hard enough to bruise.

She ignored the pain and changed the angle.

"Almost."

The fragment moved.

Veyra drew it out slowly.

When it finally came free, it fell into the metal tray with a small, unmistakable click.

For several seconds, neither of them moved.

The fragment was no larger than a fingernail. Its surface was scorched black, but a silver edge still caught the light. A faint thread of smoke rose from it before dissipating.

Veyra stared at the object.

Such a small piece of metal.

Something so insignificant in her palm had nearly killed a creature who had survived centuries of war.

Dacien's body shuddered.

She dropped the fragment into an empty glass vial and immediately pressed clean gauze against the wound.

"Stay awake."

His eyes fluttered open.

"Must you keep repeating yourself?"

"Must you keep trying to die?"

"Apparently."

She held the gauze in place until the bleeding slowed. The blackened edges of the wound remained angry and raw, but the faint glow beneath his skin had disappeared. His body had finally begun to respond, the damaged tissue slowly drawing together around the opening.

It would take time.

More time than they could afford.

Veyra secured the dressing and sat back on her heels, feeling the full weight of her exhaustion settle across her shoulders.

Her hands were covered in vampire blood.

She wiped them against a rag with more force than necessary.

Dacien watched her.

"You could have left me," he said.

She did not look at him.

"I considered it."

"I know."

"Then don't mistake this for gratitude, compassion, or some sudden change of heart."

"I wouldn't dream of it."

She finally met his eyes.

"If you betray me, I will kill you."

His expression became almost solemn.

"I would expect nothing less."

A low impact sounded somewhere beyond the barricaded door.

They both went still.

Another impact followed, harder this time. The cabinet shuddered against the floor.

Veyra rose and retrieved the steel pipe. Dacien attempted to stand, but his knees buckled. He caught himself against the wall, breathing through clenched teeth.

She looked at him.

"You aren't going anywhere."

"I had gathered that."

"Can you fight?"

"Not well."

It was the first entirely honest answer he had given her all night.

Veyra glanced toward the door. The cabinet shifted again, scraping several inches across the floor.

The hunters had found them.

She looked down at the little vial containing the silver fragment. The discarded ammunition lay beside her tools, its surface marked with the same broken-circle symbol she had seen on the metal token Dacien carried.

She had been too busy keeping him alive to notice it before.

Now she saw the tiny inscription stamped along its casing.

VALE—RECOVERY PRIORITY.

Her stomach tightened.

Slowly, she turned toward him.

"Dacien."

He followed her gaze to the ammunition.

His expression changed so abruptly that she no longer needed to ask whether he understood what she had found.

"You knew," she whispered.

He did not answer.

The cabinet struck the floor again.

A metallic groan filled the room as the pressure against the door increased. Beyond it, a hunter's voice rang through the maintenance corridor.

"Confirm the vampire is alive. Command wants him recovered intact."

Veyra stared at Dacien.

The command was for him.

Not merely to kill him. Not even to capture him as another supernatural criminal.

They wanted him alive.

The question was why.

Dacien slowly pushed himself upright, one hand pressed against his bandaged ribs. His face remained pale, but his eyes had regained some of their cold clarity.

"Whatever happens," he said, "do not let them take that token."

Veyra's fingers tightened around the pipe.

"What is it?"

The barricade shuddered once more.

Dacien looked at her, and for the first time since their encounter, she saw something in his expression that resembled genuine fear.

"It is the reason they will never stop hunting me."

The cabinet began to slide.

Veyra positioned herself between Dacien and the door, her injured shoulder burning, her body exhausted, and her hatred of the vampire now tangled with a question she could not afford to ignore.

What had Dacien Vale done to become more valuable alive than dead?

And why were the hunters willing to bury an entire subway network to recover him?

The door buckled inward.

Veyra raised the pipe.

Beside her, the vampire drew his blade with trembling fingers.

For the second time that night, they prepared to fight side by side.

Neither of them trusted the other.

But when the door began to break, Veyra stood her ground.

She had not dragged Dacien out of the ravine to abandon him now.

Not while the hunters were still breathing.

Not while she still had a weapon in her hands.

And not while the answer to his secrets lay somewhere beyond that door.