The Wolf Esprit: Lykanos Chronicles 3

I watched Duccio fall apart when he went silent, lost in thoughts of all that happened afterward, memories washed with pain and self-loathing, and he struggled to keep them from overtaking him.

“You let my father go?” I asked.

Duccio didn’t answer with words but with the memory of waking up from the blast and seeing Maximillian escape his captors in their confusion.

Not even that bit of kindness, I mused bitterly.

There was not a single act for which he should be forgiven. Duccio had betrayed all of them—his siblings, household employees, master, and himself—in the most selfish and unforgivable manner possible. He left his father’s house with none of the mindless vindications he’d arrived with, and the truth of his actions still absorbed him half a century later. It was right that he suffered. Watching him weep inconsolably seemed too small a punishment for his crimes, but it was something.

I considered what he’d done for me—rescuing me from Chastain’s dungeon, bringing me to this place, loving me as he did—but it all seemed pointless compared to the slaughter of his family, a meaningless gesture. Then I considered how I would never have met Maximillian or Gabrielle had they not been in France.

My lycan faculties would’ve come of age in Dijon upon the troop’s next stop to perform, not in Saulieu. I would know so little of the world, my education coming from the darkness of their violent and cruel religion instead of Gabrielle, whose instruction came from the greatest minds of lycan and human history. Was it selfish to be glad that one outcome happened and not the other? Even despite all the suffering necessary to make my reality so?

In time, I took Duccio in my arms and hugged him, running my hand through his heavy dark hair to comfort him.

“I forgive you,” I whispered.

What else was there to do but forgive him? What penance could ever settle such a debt? And who else was left to forgive him? They were all gone now, his father and siblings—all but Pompeia, who couldn’t forgive him for something she’d had a hand in. But I didn’t want to think of her now.

Instead, I thought of the love Maximillian and Gabrielle had shown me. They’d devoted themselves to my raising from the moment I met them. They’d chosen to become my parents. Yes, I’d come to realize Gabrielle was my mother, and in these last months, it had devastated me how I’d never once said it to her while she was alive. The sheer childishness of failing to say the word to her would haunt me forever.

I remembered the light in their eyes whenever they spoke to me—it was pure adoration. They were not people who would allow themselves to hate this man. Even if he’d not spent our every moment together protecting and loving me, they would’ve forgiven him. It was their way, the way of their father. And knowing this, I felt indebted to model my actions as a man after theirs.

“I forgive you,” I said again, drawing Duccio’s face to dry his tears and kiss him.

“You can’t forgive me,” he responded in time. “No one can.”

“I can,” I whispered. “I speak for your siblings—my parents. They would forgive you, I’m certain of it. And if the memories you shared are true, Sempronio would’ve been the first to forgive you.”

Duccio stared at me with numb disbelief. Did he find me painfully naïve? Didn’t they all, these lycan who’d lived impossible lives I couldn’t fathom? Or had I finally said something to impress a mind like Duccio’s?

“And you can forgive yourself,” I added. “Promise us both you’ll choose to do better from this day forward. Live up to the love you failed to respect and cherish. And start by forgiving yourself.”

Duccio’s incredulous stare didn’t change, but I felt his mind relax in time. The severe tension of guilt and regret released its grip. And for the first time in days, despite his weary melancholy, I felt the old Duccio return to me.

“My lord?” Claudio interrupted us.

I withdrew from Duccio, startled to be found in such an intimate embrace.

Duccio’s majordomo was a good man we relied upon to manage the house and servants. In the six months of our Roman residency, we’d grown to rely upon him to handle almost everything for us. Living together as lovers, some manipulation was necessary with all the people under Duccio’s employ, but Claudio had required the least. He was a true professional, and more than any of the others, he understood we wanted our privacy in the evening. For him to disturb us at this hour was more than unusual.

“What is it, Claudio?” Duccio answered without turning his head to look at the man.

“My lord, there is a caller for you. He’s waiting for you in the library.”

“At this hour?” I asked with confusion, my question pressing through my embarrassment. We seldom received callers here; one or two human musicians had passed through the doors at Duccio’s invitation in the past. But it was now close to midnight.

Duccio stood up from the sofa and circled the salon to look at Claudio. He dipped into the butler’s mind, anxiously examining his memories, eager to see the caller’s face.

Prepare to leave, Duccio commanded me in silence.

The hairs on my neck rose as I sensed the unexpected alarm of his words and a flash of the waiting stranger. Claudio’s memory of his face was obscured, a blatant manipulation to hide it.

“Who is it?” Duccio asked.

“He didn’t say, my lord.”

“And you allowed him into the house?”

Claudio’s eyes tightened as if the simple question seemed strange. Through Duccio, I heard the confusion in the man’s thoughts that stifled his response. He didn’t have an answer, and then he doubted himself, unsure of why he’d welcomed a stranger into the house. The practicalities of his decision felt all at once untenable. He stammered for a moment before Duccio cut him off.

“It’s very late, Claudio. Please turn in for the night. I’ll see to our guest, and I don’t wish to be disturbed.”

The request satisfied the tension in the man’s mind and resolved the manipulation he’d no doubt received from the caller waiting in the library.

“If you’re sure, my lord. Good night.”

When Claudio retreated, I caught a flash of Duccio’s mind racing. He took note of everything, flying through a list of anxious items he wanted to be clear of. More than once, I sensed he wanted to understand how and why he’d failed to notice the lycan who’d walked into his very home. How had he even found us camouflaged amongst a sea of humans? He must be an elder wolf.

Whatever you do, stay close to me. We’re in grave danger.

I gave no other response, understanding his meaning and following as he proceeded through the main floor to the library.

Upon entering the room, Duccio remained silent, not offering the man the simplest greeting. By the hearth, empty because of the summer heat, stood a man dressed in clerics’ robes, a white-collared suit of all black that became a skirt to his shoes. Scarlet buttons were set in holes fringed with scarlet thread down the front of his rabat. He wore a wide scarlet sash that fell to the knee and a scarlet zucchetto hat crowing his head of ash brown hair. Around his neck hung a gold chain that ended with a crucifix on his abdomen. The man’s fine clothes, ornamented by the jeweled depiction of Christ’s torture, contrasted with the simple robes of Bishop Toussaint. But I knew at once their calling and purpose were the same.

Both men stared at each other for a while, examining each other in silence.

“Do I know you?” the man broke to ask Duccio.

“No,” he answered, giving the man nothing more.

“This is your home?” he asked with emotionless eyes that studied the room’s fine decor.

To this, Duccio gave no response.

“The boy is your fledgling?” The man’s eyes fell upon me, and I felt his mind push in, seeking access to my thoughts. But the connection weakened to nothing in a moment, and I sensed Duccio had somehow stopped him.

The man’s eyes returned to Duccio, though they offered no acknowledgment of what he’d done.

“Bona note, signore,” he said with a slight nod. “I am Cardinal Lambruzco. Will you not offer me your name?”

Again, Duccio said nothing.

Lambruzco gave a slight sigh, though I sensed nothing more tangible from the man’s mind that might account for the emotion behind it.

“A stranger of your abilities living in the heart of the Emperor’s domain without so much as a word of introduction, much less His leave. And to live in this obscene house,” Lambruzco said, with another look around him. He paused and released another heavy sigh. “I struggle to recall anyone so foolish. Indeed, I didn’t quite believe it when I sensed your… despair? But I see there’s no question of it now.”

Duccio took a step forward. It was perhaps not a threat, but he offered the cardinal no sign of intimidation.

“There now, my child, you’ve made a mistake,” Lambruzco continued, taking a step forward to mirror Duccio. “Why not make the repercussion easier for yourself and this boy? Come with me now, and we might still correct your misguided choices. I haven’t yet called my legion for support. You both might survive this if we walk together to Castello San Angelo and you allow me to introduce you to His Majesty. I don’t know why you’re here, but there is always room for a wolf of true substance in the Vatican. There will be a price to pay for such insolence, of course. But do not stand there now as my enemy, and you’ll both survive this night—you have my word.”

I didn’t know what was true of either man in the cloud that Duccio surrounded us with. The cardinal seemed to mean what he said, and he appeared much older than Duccio, implying a strength he couldn’t challenge. But Duccio seemed on the edge of a precipice, and I toiled to keep my focus, anticipating his response. The tingling in my limbs had already begun when we entered the library, but what had been controllable moments earlier now took hold of my frame as if my wolf would leap through my chest to confront Lambruzco.

Duccio’s wolf emerged with a concussion that drew the very air from my lungs before pushing my frame backward. When my eyes returned, he’d flown into the chest of Lambruzco’s wolf, and both bodies had merged to become a riot of violence. They ripped through the house, sending tremors through the structure as they crashed into walls and upended every bit of furniture.

Ripping my clothes to tatters, my wolf emerged to join in the struggle. But with each advance, Lambruzco sent me flying backward with an invisible blow to my chest. He would not let me reach him as they struggled, and his moves frustrated me into a rage. Still, each attempt divided his attention, giving Duccio one more chance to gain an advantage against the elder wolf.

Screams echoed from the hallway as our human servants arrived to witness three demons slash their way toward them. The chaos of our rampant destruction barreled into the central hallway and through to the north sitting room.

Faster than I could see, Lambruzco struck a blow to Duccio, sending him barreling into a corner, where he stopped as if unconscious. I raced to attend to him, and the elder wolf took advantage of the pause to place distance between us both. Lambruzco crashed through a window to get outside, falling from the main floor to the private garden below, where a tall wall separated the villeta from the Spanish steps above. He made no move to flee but howled into the night as if summoning others of his pack. He then leaped up the retaining wall from the garden onto the steps, taking the high ground before turning back in anticipation of our pursuit.

If I felt the exhaustion of my injuries, my wolf refused to be deterred by them, furious at what he’d done to Duccio and unafraid of what more he might do to me. I raced from the house after Lambruzco, opting to take the small pedestrian road of Rampa Mignanelli that met at the top of the steps in the piazza outside the church of the Santissima Trinità dei Monti.

There were few humans in the piazza or on the steps below, but the ones there screamed as I charged toward the cardinal. I cared for nothing else, focused on reaching the bastard. Again, he shot me back with his invisible fist, but I weathered the blow for only a moment before returning to my feet and charging closer.

Lambruzco lept over the small buildings surrounding the church, flying up a self-made path until he reached its roof and southern bell tower. Again, I realized he wasn’t fleeing but buying himself time until his pack wolves could converge on our position. But realizing this didn’t give me pause, overcome by a biting frenzy to get at him. I thought of nothing but my need to sink my talons into him. And when he reached the landing between the two bell towers, he turned back with a snarl of triumph that lit up his eyes.

I lept at him, desperate to make contact, but he stepped aside in time, and I went barreling into a bell tower wall. When I tried to get to my feet, he shot me down again and again, his telekinetic strength all he needed to temper my anger and humiliate me.

Know when you’re beaten, child, he said. It’s done.

I told myself it was far from over, struggling against his blows in sheer defiance. Seeming to grow tired of my fight, he stepped forward and slashed at me five times with a strength I was unprepared for. His talons ripped through fur and flesh, subjecting me to a debilitating pain that even my wolf couldn’t overcome.

I closed my eyes, frozen in agony, afraid for the first time. It was a paralysis so overwhelming that I understood what I’d done in pursuing him, this elder wolf who’d put Duccio down.

I heard him advance but didn’t move, unable to provide the slightest resistance as I waited for it to be over. My eyes only opened when I heard the crash of bodies.

Through the flutter of my eyelid, I saw Duccio rip Lambruzco’s throat out with his teeth. He’d taken him by surprise and ripped the tender flesh away before Lambruzco could respond. His vicious removal of the arteries that carried life between the heart and brain ended any question of their battle. Blood poured from the gaping gash, and the cardinal reverted to his lycan form, crumbling like a ragdoll into Duccio’s grasp.

He lifted the shuddering body over his head, letting Lambruzco’s blood spill upon him as he screamed in angry triumph. Duccio cast the cardinal over the roof edge, letting it fall four stories to the church’s entry steps in the piazza below.

From his mind, I saw the lights approaching us. Dozens of wolves raced to our position. He howled at them in defiance, afraid of nothing as he stood atop the church for all to see. It was a cry of warning and outrage, a scream of victory.

He’d avenged his father against the evil-doer. He’d destroyed the essence of depravity and greed that had once conned Duccio into the ultimate act of betrayal. He’d fought like a demon to honor Sempronio and protect us.

At last, his was a cry of satisfaction. The centuries of yearning to live freely in the outside world resolved themselves with that final roar. Duccio had endured the mortal coil long enough to prove himself no longer subject to its grasp.