Lyra awoke to the whistle of thrushes outside of Kane’s window. The rain had stopped, but a breeze blew through the open window, causing the torn curtains to flap. She looked up at her man sleeping; he was different, his face was distorted, but to her it was beautiful. She ran her fingertips along his twisted mouth and rugged cheek and wished that she had gone to him sooner. Perhaps, she reasoned, he needed to have confidence in her obedience and faith in her ability. Kane breathed heavily in the depths of sleep. He had worn himself out feeding his lust over and over throughout the night. A soreness emanated from between her legs and served as a reminder of his prowess.
He had changed her so substantially or allowed her to realize her own potential and find the darkness within. As a predator, he was magnificent, ruthless and cruel, but this only served to excite Lyra’s lust and his own. The events of the previous night ran through Lyra’s mind; she had acted so brazenly and spoken so harshly to him. Her hurt had peaked, as had her desire. His roughness with her, the pain he caused her, all contributed to the pleasure that he had given her so abundantly. Harlon had conveniently left early and not returned until Kane needed him. She wondered if Kane had planned every move, hunting her for his own desire, and she wondered if he loved her as she loved him. He had never indicated any feeling, but when he touched her, she felt such a strong and powerful connection with him.
Lyra ran her hand along the crook of his lip and up his cheek to his drooped eye socket, stroking around the brow. Her lips brushed against his cheek and she kissed his lips.
‘I’m sorry if I hurt you,’ she whispered with genuine sentiment. Kane shifted without opening his eyes and wrapped his arms about her, holding her close. ‘I never really cared about anything or anyone before,’ Lyra continued quietly, whilst stroking his face. ‘I understood pain, spite, jealousy, and you were right, I can empathize, but I don’t care. I just wanted to leave that world behind.’ She slid her hand down his neck. ‘I thought I would always be alone, hiding from the darkness, but now I want to lie in the darkness with you forever.’ Her eyes stung with tears; he had taken her pain from her as promised and replaced it, between lovemaking, with the lash of his belt on her behind. The remnants of the previous night’s welts, though healing rapidly, still ached so enticingly. ‘I wish you understood,’ she ventured. ‘I wish you knew what love was.’ Her eyes closed and she fell back into a deep sleep, resting in his grip.
‘Missy, you wake up now,’ Harlon coaxed, wiping her brow. ‘Today’s your day, and the boy wants you to do it right.’ Lyra rubbed her eyes and sat up.
‘What time is it?’ she asked, noting the dusky hue setting in outside of the window.
‘Gone five in the evening, you been a sleepin’ all day, so Old Harlon guesses you and the boy had some catchin’ up to do. Now you gots to eat something. Old Harlon made you stew fresh, not frozen,’ Harlon chuckled, handing her the container and spoon. ‘And this is something for ya,’ he said, handing her a flask.
‘I don’t need whiskey,’ Lyra explained, pushing the silver flask away. Harlon laughed again.
‘Ain’t whiskey, Missy, it’s from the boy.’ Lyra unscrewed the cap and smelled the elixir; without a doubt, it was his aroma. She swallowed several mouthfuls and ate the stew before finishing Kane’s sweet blood.
‘You know how this works, Missy?’ Harlon asked without expecting an answer. ‘Your kill gets loosed in the wilderness and you hunt and end it, then feed from it.’
‘It?’ Lyra asked quizzically.
‘Best to think of it that way. That’s what Old Harlon does when he’s cutting them up and packin’ them in the freezers.’ Lyra grimaced at the thought of the old man dragging bodies along the tunnels between his and Kane’s cabin and cutting them up in his basement.
‘The boy told ya to plan, did he?’ Lyra nodded. ‘So, that’s what ya do. Use what ya can do best, maybe your arrows.’
‘I don’t think so,’ Lyra responded thoughtfully.
‘Missy, your aim is dead-on. It’ll be easy for ya.’
‘That’s the problem, I don’t think it should be easy.’
Harlon smiled.
‘Old Harlon thought you say that!’
‘Arrows distance me from the kill, so I won’t know if I can do it face to face.’ Harlon nodded wisely.
‘That’s why Old Harlon asked Nicolas to get you a special one.’
‘What do you mean, special?’ Lyra asked, raising a curious eyebrow.
‘Now, before I tell you, Missy, promise Old Harlon you won’t panic. The boy will be there watchin’ if anythin’ goes awry.’ Harlon scanned the woman’s face, but sensed no fear and continued, ‘This one’s an ex-destroyer. Trained, but left after a year or so. Went his own way.’
‘So, he can fight?’ Lyra asked.
‘He can fight, and he knows what he’s up against,’ Harlon replied, placing a hand on her shoulder. ‘Strong one too, Nicolas got him special for Old Harlon.’
‘How long since he was active?’ Lyra queried, trying to gauge her chances against him.
‘Two years, but don’t you let that fool ya. He trained most of his life for this.’
‘And Kane will be watching?’ Harlon nodded.
‘You won’t see him unless something goes bad, but the boy will be there!’ Lyra pursed her lips.
‘Is there a late store over in town?’ she asked. Harlon furrowed his brow.
‘Bit late to go shopping, ain’t it?’
‘What time will it begin?’ Lyra queried, fiddling with her blond locks.
‘Gets fully dark about eight tonight, but there’s a full moon for ya,’ Harlon noted. ‘Why?’
‘I want you to help me with something beforehand. Can you do that?’ she asked. Harlon turned his head slightly out of curiosity. ‘I want to make him proud!’
‘Guess this old bastard can help,’ Harlon smirked.
The dusk thickened and the moon rose as the sun dropped. A grey and pink hue fell across the lake. Harlon waited at the foot of his trail as a jeep rumbled towards him. A dark figure emerged, fully clad in black, his face covered with a balaclava. The figure nodded to Harlon and, without a word, opened the boot of the jeep and yanked out a wriggling sack bound with rope. Pulling a butcher’s knife from his belt, the figure sliced through the ropes and dragged the sack over to the old man. Kane stepped from the shadows and the figure threw a set of keys at him before climbing back into his jeep and reversing up the trail.
Kane dragged the sack across the beach and, with Harlon’s assistance, pulled a tall, well-built man from within. His head was shaved, and he bore a tattoo of the rune letter ‘M’ crossed across the arches on the back of his neck. His hands and feet were held in chains. Kane unlocked the chains on his feet using the key thrown to him by the dark deliverer. He then signalled to Harlon to leave before striking the back of the man’s head and unlocking his wrists.
‘M’ for man. That is what the ex-destroyer was; a representation of the evils of men. Kane had intentionally disorientated Man, but not rendered him unconscious. Man quickly recovered as Kane disappeared into his wilderness to watch Lyra’s first kill. Man stood. He knew exactly what the Immortalis were; he had been trained and prepared. Nicolas had made it clear to him that he was to be sacrificed to a youngling, and Man had scoffed at the notion.
Man looked around, expecting his nemesis to come directly for him there and then. He waited, but no one came. Man checked his area. Footsteps crunched from the forest; this youngling would easily be destroyed. The ability to use stealth was absent, and he presumed that all other training and skills would be defective. Man smiled to himself with a grunt and headed for the sound. The moon offered enough light to see, and Man checked his corners as he moved, avoiding the trunks of the trees for fear that an Immortalis would be hiding in the shadows.
Branches rustled, and another sound like cracking drew Man further in. Kane watched from the shadows, waiting patiently for his Lyra. He expected her to use her arrows and end the matter hastily. The sound ceased, and Man stopped in his tracks. His eyes scanned the forest, but there was no movement. Another rustle caught his attention; this one was much closer. Man tilted his neck to get a better view. The air shifted as an invisible breeze passed through the trees, and from the canopies above she fell.
A toned, yet curvy woman dropped down in front of him. Her blond hair was now jet-black and tied into a tight bun, her trousers replaced by a tight camouflage body suit covered with black straps that secured a crossbow to her back. A black scabbard held a machete by her left leg and her lips glowed a deep damson even in the dark. Her eyes sharpened and glinted like those of a cat and were accentuated by a deep black liner. Her body dropped, landing on a bent knee shrouded in black boots, her head bowed.
Man ran towards her. She sprang to her feet and turned twice, raising her leg high and kicking his head. Man stumbled but came back with a punch to her stomach. Lyra stepped back, avoiding the full impact, and threw a back fist to his head, then raised a knee to his stomach whilst clasping his neck to pull him onto the force. Man punched his adversary with a hook, and she fell backwards, quickly rising, clasped onto a rope hanging subtly under the canopies, and swept the machete across another rope tied to the bark. Clinging to the rope, she flew upwards and disappeared into the trees.
Man shook himself and studied the branches before climbing nimbly from one to the next. Lyra climbed from branch to branch and sheltered in the trunk of a taller oak. Man heard movement from the oak’s nooks and climbed across a thick branch. As he neared the end, a figure somersaulted over his head and landed where the branch connected to its mother tree. With one vicious hack, Lyra sliced the branch from the tree and watched as Man fell to the forest floor. She loosened the rope from her waist and dropped down several branches, then slid over to the oak.
Man thudded to the floor, and Lyra pulled the crossbow from her back, loaded it with speed and shot at his thigh. The arrow drove into the muscle. Lyra replaced the bow and swung underneath her branch, released and landed in front of him. Man pulled the dart from his leg and cried out with both the exertion and the pain. He stood and raised his fists. Lyra dodged the first hook, but Man quickly fired a cross punch which caught her cheek with full force. Lyra stumbled sideways, but regained her composure and, recalling her work with Harlon, rained a series of straight blows to Man’s face, the impact of which caused him to stagger backwards. Man finally ducked her punches and hooked her waist, blowing the air from her lungs. Lyra gulped against the lack of breath and Man took the advantage by back-fisting her face, knocking her to the floor.
Harlon stood at Kane’s side in the shadows. Kane took a step to advance on Man, but Harlon grabbed his arm and shook his head.
Lyra crawled backwards away from Man along the ground. Man hobbled forward, holding his injured leg.
‘You fucking bitch,’ he screamed as she edged away from him. ‘I’m gonna tear your throat out.’ Lyra bent a knee so that her foot grounded, and she rose up. ‘Did they tell you they can’t intervene?’ he asked snidely. ‘Bet they didn’t!’ Lyra stepped further back without showing any response. Man stepped forward again, and she sidestepped away from the trees. Man moved into her path and continued to drive her back. ‘I’m gonna break your neck and hold your fucking head under water so long you will wish you were dead.’ Lyra took another step back.
Kane snapped his head at Harlon angrily. The old man tightened the grip on his arm.
Let me go to her, Kane commanded. Harlon shook his head.
Lyra sidestepped again and turned as if attempting to run into the trees. Man rushed forwards with his arms out, ready to grab her. Instantly, Lyra drew her machete and chopped at the tree beside her. No rope fell or rose. The rope attached to the tree swished to the floor and a second rope tightened around Man’s ankle and hoisted him so that his head hung four feet from the forest floor.
Calmly, Lyra walked over to him, just out of arm’s length, dropped her crossbow and quiver, and lay down, shifting herself underneath Man as he flailed and shouted. She bent her right leg and tilted her head back, arching from the neck. With one swift twist and strike of the blade, she severed Man’s throat. The wound opened instantly due to his position, and Lyra opened her mouth, allowing the blood to pour in. She swallowed the life fluid urgently as he burbled his final, choked breaths. As the blood flow slowed, she reached for her bow and shot at the rope, shifting out of the body’s path. The body hit the floor. Lyra pulled her head back and plunged her teeth deep into the wound, taking every drop of fluid possible into her mouth with an inhuman greed.
