Wolf Omega: Lykanos Chronicles 2

Sempronio continued with his lecture on the fall of the Roman Empire. He walked around the room with his hands behind his back, observing one object after the next while he spoke. He was deep in thought, organizing the subject’s events so he could compose their sequence most insightfully. By this method, history seemed to flood through him as if he’d experienced it first hand only yesterday. Had I been paying attention, I might have seen the real face of Emperor Augustus from Sempronio’s mind.

“Where are you?” the master’s voice finally broke through my daydreaming.

Recognizing what I’d let happen, I became painfully embarrassed.

“Forgive me, master,” I answered, feeling my face burn.

“I forgive you,” he said without annoyance or hesitation. “Let’s end here and try again tomorrow when your mind is clear.”

I didn’t acknowledge his words, knowing that I mustn’t let myself be dismissed so. There was far too much on my mind, and I needed to speak with him.

“I killed my husband.”

Sempronio turned in astonishment.

“I see,” he acknowledged.

I let it all out as if drawing poison from a wound: Duccio’s choice; slitting Cecco’s throat; finding Apollonia there in his bed; hearing her unborn child’s distress and losing my taste for vengeance.

“Why did you decide to kill him?” Sempronio asked.

“I didn’t want him to ruin another woman’s life.”

He adjusted his head as if waiting for the rest of my answer.

“If Duccio hadn’t told me of Cecco’s engagement, I would never have left the carriage. In fact, as I approached Cecco to kill him, I knew that I’d forgiven him. I slit his throat as quickly as I could. He was asleep, and I never showed him my face. I wanted it to be painless.”

“And why didn’t you kill this woman who betrayed you?”

“Because... the child was innocent of her crimes,” I said. “Whatever she’d done to me, Cecco had done almost the same to her. She could never be his wife, but he used her for his own comfort, regardless. He knew a child meant she’d have no chance of being a respectable woman. Nor of finding love, nor of creating a family of her own—but he used her all the same.”

Sempronio remained fixed on me, silently demanding more.

“How could I still hate her,” I implored, “when I have so many here to watch over me? So many powerful men to keep me safe from harm?”

He rose his brow like he usually did when I was close to realizing something about myself. It was an endearing signal of his anticipation.

“I’ve decided to become her guardian,” I declared with resolve. “I took from Cecco his life and any chance he had to harm another woman. But I also robbed him of any chance to provide for Apollonia and his unborn son. So I will become the child’s silent guardian, just as I will be to his mother until neither needs my protection.”

Hearing myself say the words aloud, finding a sense of resolution in them, I felt the first sense of peace in days.

After another moment of silent observation, Sempronio approached my seat and reached for my hand. Pulling gently, I rose to fall into his embrace. Without a word, I felt his satisfaction just as I experienced my own.

When I’d indulged in his embrace long enough, he took me softly by my face and kissed my forehead.

“Indeed,” he whispered with pride, then left me alone in his office to compose myself.

A tremendous weight lifted from my shoulders. But I hadn’t told Sempronio the other conflict that seized my heart.

“Are you ready?”

I let Maximo into my room just after eleven o’clock. Kissing him deeply, enjoying the delicious warmth of his lips. The very sight of his gleaming blond hair made me want him. But I knew if I reached between his legs to tease him now, we’d never make it out of my room.

“Where shall we go tonight?” I smiled, pulling away from his urgency.

“I rely on your nose to guide us, but we could try Torno if you’re up for something out of the way.”

“That’s a bit of a trek, isn’t it?”

“I’m game if you are,” he smiled.

We were startled by a loud knock at the door, and I gasped at the unexpected intrusion. Looking to Maximo, I nodded that he should walk through to my bedchamber and hide. When he was out of sight, I opened my drawing-room door to the late caller.

Standing impatiently in the candlelight was Ambrosius.

“Duccio calls for you,” he said without a greeting.

“Now?” I asked with confusion.

Ambrosius didn’t respond but walked away from my door.

Looking back first at my bedchamber door, I reluctantly exited my room to follow.

The beta’s heavy footsteps echoed on the marble tile far ahead, and I hurried to catch up with him. When I arrived at the alpha’s door, Ambrosius was nowhere to be found. Instead, Duccio sat alone at his office desk.

“Don’t bother,” he rose when I entered. “We leave for Canzo now.”

“I’ll go fetch my coat—.”

“That’s unnecessary. We won’t stay dressed for long. Come.”

He passed by and led the way out of his office. Just outside the castle’s front doors, the cold of January met us, and I held my arms instinctively. Duccio continued for a few hundred steps until he had walked us to the edge of the eastern tree line, then stopped to help me undress.

Once my bodice was unfastened, he turned his attention to his shirt and breeches. Within seconds, he transformed and stood waiting in his magnificent werewolf form. When he sensed I was ready, Duccio took off into the night, and I followed his lead.

He led us up through the rolling hills at a challenging speed, and I wondered what the purpose of our flight was. Though it disappointed me to leave Maximo behind without warning, running through the frigid winter night behind my alpha positively thrilled me. So many unexpected challenges had marred my experience with Duccio on Christmas Eve that I never considered how exciting running with him could be. From behind, I took in his stunning physique, keeping up my pace to observe the tremendous power in his back and legs.

After we’d covered a dozen miles, he stopped and looked at me. He said nothing, but I could sense he was listening intently for something just beyond his hearing. I then understood that he was listening to me. He was scanning my mind, searching for something I didn’t understand. But just as quickly as he’d begun, Duccio stopped and resumed his run.

Is all well? I asked him silently as we again moved over the hills toward Canzo. He didn’t respond but led us toward the small town that beckoned with faint lights shining over a vast distance.

I wanted to ask Duccio what his plan was, but I knew any instruction would come only when necessary, so I held my tongue. When we were finally upon Canzo, he slowed to a calm trot.

Just head beyond Canzo’s perimeter wall, something glimmered in my mind, drawing my attention.

Duccio stopped again and stared at me. He could also hear the call, but only through me.

Follow it, he urged me.

By the time Duccio’s command reached me, I’d already turned toward the cry, consumed by the sound. It carried to me in silence over the night breeze that rose from the river Lambro in the valley below us. The sound was faint but unmistakable: a child was being harmed.

I leaped forward with a strength I gauged only after the night was through, flying down the hills toward it. When I soon reached the town’s perimeter walls, I flew up and over them as silently as a hawk. A handful of men patrolled the wall from small platforms every thousand feet, but they never detected our passing.

Within Canzo, I ran through the cobblestone streets, still lit at this hour by torches. I kept to the shadows where I could, but what pulled me forward would stop for nothing. The cry pulled me along with absolute clarity; it cut through the night like a furious, white-hot flame, guiding me to its source just a block ahead.

The light extinguished when I was just feet from the small home, and I stopped in my tracks. The light had come from the home’s basement—I was sure of it.

In moments, Duccio stood beside me, and I sensed his silent wondering about where I led us.

We must get inside that home, I said.

Without a moment’s consideration, he stepped forward to scan the interior. A minute later, the front door opened, and he entered as if the house had invited him inside.

I followed Duccio to find a portly man holding open the door, but he seemed to notice neither of us. Instead, he stood staring forward into the night as if in a trance. He seemed blind, just as Apollonia had been on Christmas Eve when Duccio removed her terrifying memories and installed a soothing landscape. After we both were inside, I quietly shut the door behind me.

What do we seek? Duccio asked after appraising the old stone house.

I stepped forward, looking for a door that would lead us down into the earth. Masons had solidly built the house in the old style, though many would consider its exposed stonework, haphazardly assembled into thick, uneven walls, to look unfashionable. The man had attempted to compensate for the sloppy style with modern sofas and lacquered tables. Framed canvasses hung on the walls, each large enough to lighten the space. They depicted playful scenes of youth: children laughing together beside a peaceful lake, boys running with their dog during the summer, and a pair of lovers surrounded by cherubs. I knew from study the last painting was of Apollo and Daphne.

A tall portrait of the crucified Jesus Christ hung at the end of a hallway. Unlike the other works, this painting came from the Spanish school, depicting the crucifixion at night. The artists had drenched the canvas in filthy shades of black to produce a hideous chiaroscuro effect. The Savior’s naked and bloodied body hung dead and alone, with only weeping cherubs by his side. The details were stunning, and in the unlit hallway, Christ’s image hung like a faint ghost emerging from the dark.

The painting’s horrifying beauty made me want to look away, but I then saw something hidden in plain sight. The canvas took up almost the entire surface of a door, painted black to mask the image’s actual edges. The trick was unmistakable, and I advanced past the dead savior to find what He hid.

Beyond, I found myself in a narrow space that led sharply underneath the house. Standing upon a set of roughly sawn steps, I looked down to see a shallow cellar lit only by a single candle flame. I descended the steps, challenged because of my size, but my feet soon touched the cold stone floor. I crouched with hesitation to keep my head from touching the low ceiling, but it took only a moment to find what I was searching for.