Prologue II: The Moon

Broken and stumbling underfoot, the moon stalks the underground, clawing her way through stone and secrets, her hands bloody and reaching for the sides of her solid prison. Everything so silent as she dreams, estranged from the hunter…the wolf who stalks her in turn…once toying with him and tempted by the gleam of stormy seas, so weathered by the gale and winds of a foreign land. Trapped in this warren below ground. They are one and the same, the lady, the hunted, and the hunter. The moon, the wolf, and the world.

All are forsaken.

...o...o...o...

1282 A.D

The vampire fell to the ground, sobbing and gripping the torn dress between her bloody fingers. Her breath haggard and twisted. Biting her tongue against the scream…fearful that she would cry out in the hush of the tomb. So cold…she must not cry out. Blood, let her not cry out. Clamping her teeth shut, she forced her hands to stillness and breathed. Unable to stop the wretched wheeze of stale air reaching down into her throat. The mold seeping into her nostrils and strangling her as the taste fell rank against her tongue. All lying in darkness before her…born in darkness, raised in darkness…a creature of darkness. She could not see…

…she could not breathe.

The air running out.

Again, she whispered to herself…desperation staining the quiet of her voice.

There are six hollows.

Trigger them all.

Not five. Six…

Still shivering, she raised herself from the ground, placing her palm firmly against the side of the narrow passageway. Turning to the start of the right wall and scrubbing her face with the heel of her other hand before the whimper fell from her lips. Too many hours had passed…but she must be strong. Breathing, she stepped forward. Wary of the closure…lost and feeling the spaces as she passed…

Soon, she believed.

Soon she would find the sixth hollow. She would use the key to trigger it…the door would open…and there would be a faint glow beyond the underpass. Ah, she would think… I know this place. I know of the strange flora once coveted by the old historians. An eerie sight to behold…not fire…but foxfire marked upon the walls. Only visible in darkness…

She passed the fifth hollow, stepping forward…reaching her fingers to the right side, clinging to the wall and drawing what knowledge she could from the palm of her hand. Moving to the left wall…the stone door…dragging her hands roughly against the rock and searching for the hundredth time…

…gone.

The sixth hollow was missing. Only five.

With a shriek, she slammed her fist into the wall, beating at the empty darkness. Sliding to the floor…

Fool.

Damned in the very cage which had once beckoned her freedom, the entrance and exit both shut and unyielding, fencing her in this hole of solid rock from ceiling to ground. The torch burnt out hours ago…bloods, she knew there were only five hollows. She had seen it. She had checked it over and over with the light. But what a fool not to have taken flint. Even a damned creature of darkness preferred light sometimes. Sniffing morosely, she wiped her face again. A fool to come here in the first place. Her lip starting to tremble. A fool. Tears running into her cloak, she buried her face, trying to scour her weakness away before it could realize its own existence. Damnation, it was cold. So cold…

…cold and trapped in the…

…no.

I am not a fool, she murmured suddenly, raising her face to the shadow…a dull flicker of chance…unsteady hope wavering in the back of her conscience. There is a way out. There is always a way out…

She got to her feet.

Even if she dared a second time, screaming would no more aid than digging a hole with her bare hands. She had to keep searching…find the hollow. Breathe shallow. Save the air.

As she searched, she dreamed.

Memories of what brought her to this place.

...o...o...o...

Three moons ago…

The underground hall lay deserted. The shelves empty of their parchment. The collapsed building desolate and unused. Abandoned far from the walls of their new stronghold. Forsaken long ago as a place once forbidden to all save the highest of the coven. Fires kept burning near the walls, the flickering glow keeping in mystery all those secret matters considered dark enough for the politics of the Vampiric Council…

…no fires burned in the hall now.

From the start, the creature held her hood close about her face…keeping her features hidden. Standing back from the light of stars. A tall woman. The face pale and strange from afar. Cruel and callous…the eyes glinting in an austere beauty, hard to track and harder still to kill, she promised. They had begun in Magyar, the language of the people. The Hungarian words swelling and clipped, relaxed in their perfection. Purposefully hiding her accent as easily as the cloth burying the creature's left flank. Folding it so loosely as to mask that which was not there. A trial to even see there was absence. The lower arm…perhaps the entire limb…

…yet she had no mind for such thoughts. Instead, her mind on the price…bartering for that which must be hers. The terms spoken for. The price bartered for.

The bargain finished.

At the final word, the creature dragged her forward suddenly, staring into her eyes. Dropping all pretence at hiding now that blood had passed between them. Her voice becoming colder…a harsh and broken thing, tainted as if the sounds had been ripped from her throat…

"Listen closely…" the creature said…and trapped by the pitiless gold of her eyes, she listened…

"Amongst the stories of old, there is one dedicated to those of a darker nature." At this, the creature laughed. A throaty thing, short and barking...the snap of a wild dog. "The Seekers. We were creatures lost, maimed, and slaughtered under the rule of your so-called Elders. We are forgotten and so should be. Yet what I seek is in our past, and so you will heed me, for all depends upon these words…" Pushing her back, the creature began to pace, restless in the shadows of a deserted coven. "Go to the chronicles and search out a wall of blackened stones," she said. "In the centre, you will find four runes… The wolf, the raven, the dog, and the lark, each laid by the mark of Amelia and surrounded by a myriad of runescript." The creature stalked nearer… "Again, I tell you, heed me in this…

…leave the rest, and look only to the wolf," she murmured softly. Crooning the words in shadow. "Look to the Wolf for the sake of the bargain. Do you hear?" Standing hardly a foot from her face, the creature suddenly darted forward. So quickly…reaching her hand out, even as she shied away, the finger touched her cheek. Caught, she stared at the creature before her, nailed to the spot…nailed by its touch. Unable to move out of fear…unable to move out of…

…shock.

The nails growing…

…twisting.

"How," she whispered.

Twisted yellow talons. Moonless the night was and the creature touched her with the hand of a wolf. She began to gasp for air, unable to find breath. Lycans cannot change without the moon, she told herself. The nails running the length of her face, grazing her…drawing the harsh nail across her cheek. Suddenly she felt creature's hand retreat from her face. Whole and unchanged…no longer the hand of a wolf. As if nothing had happened. Lycans cannot change without the moon. Her breath grew faster…colder. Panic starting to set upon her. What had she seen? The impossible…a trick of the light…impossible!…

Her scream cut off as the creature grabbed her by the throat, hissing …

"Track a line of fifteen runes from the Wolf. Memorize them…the order…the placement…the pattern. Reveal it to find your way to the tomb. Remember the rhyme I gave you. Use it to count the stones. Take no flame for the runescript will fade with light…

…and tell no one."

In terror, her neck wrapped in a hand made of hidden claws, she nodded, barely able to ask her final question. The bargain set in blood. Sealed with no way out. Her heart pounding under fear, she gulped… "How will I…" No, she suddenly realized. A fleeting thought. Be bold. Stagger your enemy for once the bargain is set, she cannot strike you…

Raising her sight from the ground, she dug her fingers round the creature's grip, trying to loosen its hold. A tiny squeak as the hand tightened…proof that it could cut off air and life. Proof that it could snap her neck in a margin No, she thought again. This creature cannot hurt me. The bargain is set. Her anger grew as she firmed her resolve…her hands dropping to her sides. Her mind filled with words of strategy taught to her by one who knew. Challenge the threat of those who cannot strike you…be bold as the hawk that soars through clouded skies. Shy not from any onus. Her eyes narrowed. She would not fail. She would complete this bargain.

For the one that grows within. For the child.

A life for a life.

"…tell me how to open the tomb," she grunted coldly, her throat still caught, forcing herself to look up, staring brashly into the eyes of this wild creature unbending to the laws of vampires. The iciness of her hatred setting in. She knew her eyes must be awash with blue fire, but she would not look away. She would be bold.

In answer, the wolfish creature only cocked her head slightly, her expression unchanged. Perhaps a small glimmer of intrigue at the sudden loss of fear in her prey…scrutinizing her…judging her. Vaguely interested in the bold challenge…the temerity of a lady calling out a wolf's bluff.

With a sharp laugh, the creature suddenly released her throat, turning away and crouching several paces back. Uncaring that she, the lady…the most recent of captives, now lay bent and gasping for air on the ground. Her gown covered in dirt. Feeling the urge to throw up, yet curbing it as she forced herself to her knees…still waiting for a definitive answer. Mesmerized by the eyes of the crouching creature. Such a strange and yellow-eyed thing, this exiled dog who aided her. Merciless and cold. Pale and sinewy with hair the colour of silver. One who had given no name.

Minutes passed in the silence…and then finally…

"To find your past, you must start at the beginning," the creature murmured oddly, stepping forward long enough to drop a circular key into her hand. " The sixth hollow." Without another word, the creature…the lycan…darted back among the rocks, loping and wary of danger even with the coming of the moon.

...o...o...o...

While she herself lay in the pit of darkness. Trapped by a bargain and caught in the tombs. Her mind forced to leave her dreaming and confront the situation.

The air was running out.

"I know who you are, creature," the lady hissed vindictively at the darkness and the dead, feeling along the wall as she placed the key in the hollows, one by one…using her sudden anger as fuel. Dreaming of what she would do the pale Seeker if ever she got her hands on her again. A fruitful dream, that one…

Drag her to the ground, beat her head senseless against the stone, rip out the silver hair, use it for weaving ropes and whips. Tie her up against the wall, do a spry little dance of pain along the bones of her spine. Coat the wall with entrails, use her talons for…

Thump!

The door behind her slid open suddenly, flooding the room with light and blinding her even as she covered her face…eyes…instinct drawing her to cower in the corner of the passageway. Exhaustion affecting her enough to mistake the source of light. Fear of the sun…the fear of daylight instilled in all vampire children. The terror…only to feel warmth on her skin…the light kissing her neck…the wasted seconds telling her that she would not die in the darkness…

…she would not burn in the sun…

Not yet.

She raised her head…shading her eyes and blinking into the light of flame. The torch casting shadows and throwing the stone around her into harsh existence. Slick water on the walls. Almost, she could see clearly…already smelling the air starting to seep towards her lungs. Not exactly fresh, but better than nothing. The scent of pitch…black oil…blood…and…

Oak…leather…

Leaping to her feet, she flung herself from the stone warren, clinging to the sturdy frame that stood before her as surely as she had clung to the walls. Breathing in his scent. Sage and wildness…she couldn't even see his eyes, but the warmth was enough. Still fighting the tears…wary that he might see her weakness. Blood, how did he find her…

"You are a fool," he growled quietly, keeping her well-wrapped within his arms. Draping his cloak about her person, holding the flame back from her face and watching the shadows. A dark-haired rogue, silent in his movements and clothed in the coarse garb of the lycan warriors. His voice gritted and rich, angry and armed to the teeth as a leader among slaves.

Even at the threat in his growl, she nestled further for a moment, breathing deeply, the calm and relief of his scent…the power of a storm brewing. His anger like blood, hot and sultry…trapped on the inside. Requiring a fine hand if it was to be handled without spilling a single drop…except…damnation, her face was wet.

Quickly, she snaked out of his grasp, slippery as an eel and six paces away, turning her back and wary of the liquid now trickling from her eyes…once again, facing darkness in the same warren she had so willingly fled only a few moments past. The light at her back. Decades she'd spent convincing him of her backbone. Teaching him that she had a spine…almost a century had passed and she wouldn't break now…not before him…and not in some hole in the ground.

"I am no more a fool than he who follows in my footsteps," she scoffed viciously, her voice strained and unnatural. The arrogance forced as she unwrapped the precious warmth from her back, scrunching the cloak into a bundle and flinging it behind her. Hoping the damned thing caught fire…

Unruffled, the rogue caught the brown cloth in mid-air, emitting a small grunt over having something thrown at him while holding a flaming torch. Folding the cloak squarely on the floor and attaching the torch to a sconce by the door, he now leaned comfortably against the stone wall and calmly stared at her, still keeping his foot on the stone catch holding the door open.

Barely.

"I track. I do not follow," he murmured simply…no doubt angry to the core at her cruel words, but maintaining his dignity in the face of a woman who could oftentimes have him in a roaring huff if she so pleased. Instead, he began examining the catch on the ground as if considering how insignificant it was…

…how it seemed so…small all of a sudden.

She frowned, squinting her eyes at the catch and then staring at him in outrage, gathering the hint even as he began shifting his foot along the edge, aware that he had his own methods of dealing with her tendency towards being a…spoiled brat, he'd called her once. She took a step towards him. Insufferable guardian… Another step… If he thinks to…

…but suddenly she stopped.

Staring at him.

Already, his hand was stretched out as if he wanted her to…take it…but she couldn't leave yet…not yet. The weight of her task bearing down upon her…the realization dawning on her…wasted time. Turning…stumbling upon a broken slab, she stepped back. Deeper into the warren, her back to the other end of the passage…

"I can't leave yet," she whispered at him…backing away from his hand…

…Blood, she was sorry. The circles under his eyes…exhausted. Tired. Arriving in time to aid her in this mishap, yet unknowingly, the harbinger of dire news that the hour drew near. The Northern armies of the coven would arrive with Lord Viktor himself riding at the head. Charged with navigating the way ahead, her guardian…her rogue lycan had abandoned his scouts for this. For her sake. Who had told him? The Seeker…no. The nurse. The nurse had told him. God help him if Viktor ever found he'd strayed for the sake of reaching the coven a day early.

No…

…there is more at stake here.

She continued backing along the opposite wall. Stumbling and frowning at the sudden lurch in the room…shielding her eyes again as she realized the darkness hadn't finished with her. As if it held possession of her…the shadows flickering…more disorienting…

…cold and trapped…

She began to speak…hardly knowing the words that came from her mouth. "Forgive me, I know you came for the sake of my…carelessness, but there is…" Again she hesitated… "…there is…" Unsure how to continue, she cut the sentence off… Bold…like a…but she had failed. No…not yet. There was time. "…there is a reason that I must be here." She finished uneasily, feeling the back of the stone wall as she slid to the ground. Running her fingers along the rock…confused as she began searching again for the sixth hollow. There was no time…no time for talking. How many hours left until morning? She had to think of their…

…child.

Blood, give her…

…strength.

He must not know…not yet. Her palms slick against the walls and her hands crushed into fists, she forced herself to stand again. Watching him uneasily from the corner. His body was so tense…standing by the door, making no movement to come towards her…to aid her. He would not even enter the warren. The room growing cold and the rocks…the hollows starting to slide into one another…she couldn't keep her eyes on…anything.

Leaning against the wall, she pointed her hand out to him and swallowed… "You know if we…" She paused, uncertain of the right wording…her thoughts coming slow. So slow... "…if we both search, it might go faster, except I've searched…everywhere. I can't seem to…"

Suddenly, she sniffed, scrubbing her face again. Everything around her was turning. Why was he still standing there? The look on his face. So…troubled. Was it the…

…tears trickling down her face. Bloods, she was crying... Wiping her face with the back of a hand, she gestured to the wall again. "Can't you…" Her voice…cracking. "…can't you help me? I c-can't leave the…"

"Héja, you can leave…" he murmured softly…still coming no closer. Keeping his place by the stone catch and holding the trap open. Putting his hand out again…safe…his palm inviting her to take his hand. Beckoning her closer…trying to draw her towards him like she truly was the hawk he loved to call her by. Héja…but she was no hawk. She had failed…and all would be lost because of it. "Héja…just give me your hand…"

She shook her head. She had to stay here…

"Sonja…just…" He was growing more unsettled. He only ever used her real name in earnest. So calm and serene, her stormy-eyed lycan. "…just look at your hand…"

She frowned at him…

…he made no sense…

She frowned…and looked…around her.

The colours…grey…black…yellow…

…and red.

So much red…

How many hours had she been clinging to these walls…stony and sharp…weathering against her skin. The blood slick and dripping from the cuts on her palm. Her arms…the blood on the walls…on her dress. She staggered slightly, losing contact with the wall…starting to wipe her hands on her dress. She had lost…so much…blood. How many hours since she'd eaten...she tried to back away from the…

Red.

Coating the walls.

She tried to back away…

Had to get out…needed to get out of this…

…cage!

Abruptly a torrent seized her from behind, wrenching her firmly to his grasp as she began to struggle. The flurry of talons and teeth quivering in his arms. Fighting him…scratching…biting. Her nails clawing towards his face, and still he wouldn't release her. His voice light against her neck…weaving her name along her skin…shielding her back from the bloody warren…

Sonja, he twisted…do not do this…

…please.

Seconds passed…minutes…

She was so tired. Nestled in his grasp even as she quieted, held tight to him who kept her in her stillness…drawing her gently from the passage a second time. The mantle that veiled her from flight. No longer fighting as hard…holding her by the waist. Keeping her back from a room coated with her own blood on the walls.

And for an eternity, they stood by the door…

The Lady wordless and alone in her hunt, watching the burning flame, shivering with the chill of the tomb, the tears that cut through the warmth of his touch. Her hand loosened from her grip on his shirt…the nails losing their point, the head starting to droop against his chest…so cold as the heat flowed from her body into the stones…she could barely feel the cloak wrapped around her. The light starting to flicker strangely…as she fell into…

…darkness.

...o...o...o...

The woman slumped in his arms, finally allowing Lucian to draw her back from the passageway, the door slamming shut behind them. The torch flickering with the draft. Holding her upright with his left arm, he slid the leather scrip from his back onto the floor, laying the lady carefully beside the wall and checking her veins. The rhythm slow… Already fishing through the bag, jerking the body of a live hare from the inside…digging the blade through its neck and letting the precious liquid stream, red on white along the pale skin…the dying creature brought to the lips of his charge. His lover. His wife...

…the Lady Sonja, daughter of Lord Viktor. His heart…wild bird of prey. Green-eyed hawk of the Eastern skies. Dark creature of blood…pale beauty of the moonless night.

Waken…he thought.

...o...o...o...

With a gasp, she came to.

Blood on her lips…dribbling down her chin. The taste of…dark forest. Wild game and…she wanted more…more. Starving. Lightheaded, she dropped the dead beast to the side and tried to sit up, only to find a wolf watching her as he readied another hapless creature. Glaring at her…cold…angry. Furious, except so much worry betrayed by his movements. Though he appeared composed, she knew him for what he truly was…a juxtaposition of restless nerves and a peaceful exterior…almost perfect for a crisis. He'd already trimmed the hair from the creature's neck, allowing for easy access to the veins. Waiting for her to wake and…stroking the back of the hare. Keeping it relaxed as he prepared it for death.

"Tell me there's a reason you're here…" His voice was like silk. Relaxed…soothing…much like the way he was treating the hare he was about to knife in the throat.

"I cannot…"

"You choose not," he murmured, biting tranquility across the face as he rose from the icy floor, offering the dying hare to her.

"There is no choice in the matter."

As if those words could spell the end of it…she thought, soothing the back of its neck and turning the spine of the hare so as to face the knife held in his hand. Raising her eyes to meet his and seeing the scratches along his face…she had drawn blood. The rifts already healing along the curve of his cheekbone. Concentrating on the metal gleam of the weapon he held…

…abruptly, the knife darted through the vein, cutting the hare. Blood flowing along the body as he wiped the blade on the fur and stalked back to the wall. Crossing his arms and folding in upon himself…ignoring her. Sulking.

Licking her lips, she secretly sighed and drank the blood, using the much-needed meal as an excuse to think. The red pulsating through her veins…her wits about her once more…

In truth, there was not enough time to open the tomb by herself. The sun surely risen already…the pathways bathed in light and flame. She needed him. And surely he would have to aid her…

…why else had she married him?

Oh yes…

Love.

Dropping the second lifeless body to the ground, she slowly got to her feet…moving nearer to the lycan. Kneeling by his feet and drawing closer to his face, eye to eye as she touched his skin, weathered and rough…smoothing the hair from his brow…gently pressing her palm to his cheek. "Ask me not why I do these things, Lucian…" Her voice against his side, trailing words of temptation into his ear. Running a finger along his jaw and leaning towards the curve of his mouth. "…but know that you must help me."

"Succubus," he growled, catching her hand in his own…gently running his thumb along her wrist. Examining the cuts…checking if they'd begun to heal. "She will ensnare you. Whatever you bargain for, she will keep it…temptress. Witch…" Bowing closer, mesmerizing her with his gaze, he suddenly curved around her neck, drawing a kiss upon her skin, his body stained by the red of her lifeblood. Twisting her even as he seduced her, tilting her closer to him and coming to a brutal standstill only a breath from her lips. His voice like iron. "…did you actually believe Urith would keep her word?"

She stopped breathing. Her eyes wide, staring in disbelief. Her mind racing. Nauseated. How much did he already know? How long had he known?

He tightened his grip as she tried to get away. "It was Urith…wasn't it?"

Inhaling, she swallowed…dropping her eyes and starting to slyly turn from the storm. Only to find him staring at her from the other side, his hands keeping her firmly in his grasp and facing him. The heat of his glower catching her by force…

"What did she give you …?"

He didn't know.

Relief coursing through her veins. She shook her head, trying to break free of him…he knew she hated to be bound. How many times he had caught her this morning. Thank the Elders, he still did not know yet. He could not know. Not yet.

Still, he held her by the chin. "Sonja, you made a bargain with her. Tell me what she gave you…"

"Nothing," she snapped suddenly, jerking free of his hand. Meeting his glare with the light of fury trapped in her eyes. "She gave me nothing! Only…" The words crumpling as she pushed him aside. Her back to him as she stared at the torch again…feeling the warmth on her face. The need she had for this light…

"Only what," he snarled…standing behind her. Apart. Unable to see…

Unable to see the flame…

…the kindling of life.

Softly, she raised a hand to the torch, watching the silhouette. Her strength returning with the blood of the wild hare. Her need for that which held her apart from him…still he could not see. He could not feel…he only had eyes for a single creature in his midst. Exhausted, he listened only for the words spoken…his concern for that which held his immediate interest…he could not hear the heart beating between them. But there was still time to draw him towards this task. Even if she wanted to, she could not do this alone. Not anymore.

She would not tell him of what she had bargained for…

…but she would use him to solve this trap.

"The seeker told me something," she whispered quietly, breaking the stubborn silence. Tilting her fingers one by one, speaking to the flame rather than her lover, making it easier to betray her confidence to him. "Something which I do not understand…but I believe the door to this trap hinges upon it. It was only in passing. Something she muttered at the end…something of past and beginnings." The words were as pointless now as they were three moons ago. Useless in her quest. Touching the tips of her fingers to her thumb, the lady stared through the small hole created by her hand. A circle of flame and light. The light is so beautiful…

"She said that to find my past, I would have to start at the beginning." Giving him no chance to speak, she shrugged wearily and turned from the flame, observing the room through the circle of her curled fingers. Pointing the circle to the floor…the satchel. Aiming it at the flame a second time as she again became entranced by the captured power of light. Her words spoken aimlessly as she wandered through the silence between them. "From the practical side, it makes no sense. I have tried everything…the key in the first hollow twice. The five and then the first a second time. The hollows in reverse. The hollows from the inside out, outside in...the key backwards, the key forwards…"

She trailed off.

Silence.

He had not spoken a single word. He was usually so good with logic... Perhaps thinking…perhaps watching her in veiled disdain. Immediately, her curled hand dropped to her side, her cheeks starting to blush as she realized the childishness of her movements…the amusement she'd taken from staring through the circle of her own hand. Ridiculous, of course. She turned, determined to gather his thoughts on the matter.

Except…

...except he wasn't paying the slightest attention to her.

Her eyes narrowed.

The man hadn't even noticed she was staring at him. Crouching with his back against the wall. Eyes closed and hands pressed to his temple, clutching his forehead as if he wanted to scratch out his own skull. There was…shock on his face. For once, blatant shock.

Had he even heard a single word she'd said?

"Lucian," she said forcefully.

Silence…

She stepped closer, her hand moving towards his cheek… "Lucian…?"

At her touch, he suddenly jerked back as if stung, dropping both hands from his face and staring up at her in his distress…not anger, but…lost for words. Something she'd said… Without speaking, he drew her down to the ground. Seating himself fully on the stone floor and enfolding her with him. Gazing vacantly at an unseen spot on the wall, his mind obviously deep in thought yet his eyes completely…vacant. As if she'd announced the end of the world with her words…

Again she spoke to him. "Lucian…"

"Mmph…?" For a second, he glanced at the hawk enfolded in his arms…suddenly unable to meet her gaze. Within seconds, his eyes once again trained on the nonexistent spot on the wall.

"What did I…"

His finger came to rest a touch from her lips. "Just a…just a moment…" he swallowed, resting his head against the wall. His tone one of gentle calm. "…I just have to…I have to think…"

She frowned, eyes turning to slits. He had to think? He may as well not have answered. Mechanical…merely going through the motions of attaching sound to his lips so he could think in peace on a matter far more important than their conversation.

"Well, what do you have to think on?"

He was licking his lips. "How exactly did she say it," he murmured in question. Probing her for the words she had spoken so easily in Latin, the common tongue of those who walked the coven's grounds.

"Which part?"

"Beginnings. Urith. Word for word…"

Bloods, he was chewing his lip like a five year old. Practically grunting…his elegant word-play and sentence craft reduced to the three-word capabilities of an idiot.

"To find your past, you must start at the beginning," she quoted uncaringly… "…except in Magyar…" Adopting the tone of the estranged seeker, she repeated the sentence. Lilting the words in the language of the people and the pack. The preferred language of the lycans. Magyar.

He exhaled gloomily.

Something was wrong here…

She grabbed him by the jaw, forcing him to look at her. Even then, shocked at the way he still managed to train his eyes a little to the left rather than meeting her gaze. What on earth had she said?

"Beginnings. Speak. Translate," she grunted, mimicking his recent moment of wordless abandonment.

At her mocking grunt, he suddenly smiled roughly in appreciation…momentarily distracted from his concern, but then his humour trailed into silence again, his gaze finally meeting her question. Starting to stroke her cheek with his thumb, he began slowly, trapping and swallowing her with eyes of grey, using the lilt of Magyar as he dipped into the tongue…

"There is a saying among the lycans," he said. "…Latin is the language of vampires, but Magyar belongs to us. It is ours…our language. Our people."

His voice deepened, tightening as he continued.

"We take pride in it…its place among our masses…yet some would have you believe we have no honour…no dignity to speak of in our wolfish race. They see us as crude and unseemly beasts of burden. Slaves." The last word was spoken without any anger, but as he continued his words began to grow even quieter. As if he were folding even further upon himself. "Héja, it is true there is a level of…madness…in our Change…but the masters having forgotten that lycans are as old as the first of the vampires. Centuries of blood laid between our people. Centuries of culture. Certain words…certain adages of rough wisdom spoken with respect from one lycan to another in a manner befitting the pride of the guardian race. Greetings, farewells, words of power and play, words of…hope."

At the last, he trailed off…

"Words of hope…" she repeated softly, knowing the lead of his speech before he spoke it. The pain in his eyes…the disquiet. Meeting his gaze, she dared him to speak their true meaning. Challenging him to see that which lay between them.

His eyes held pain. So much hurt.

The storm ended…

"To find your past, you must start at the beginning." The words soft on his tongue as the breath of trees. The hint of open skies. The thought of that which could not be trapped in the darkness. The feel of his palm tender upon her cheek. "An adage of expectation. Hope. Anticipation…the knowledge that all of our ancestors began with child."

Laid out.

Laid out bare before one who couldn't even look at her. The silence…again, the world paused in silence. The shadows darting about like an echo of the tension that lay between them now. The fear in her heart as she saw his aversion…the aversion he held for this abomination she had brought down upon them. A creature of wolves no longer able to meet the gaze of the moon, speaking against the side of her hair, nestling his words among the locks. Burying his face against hers. His voice was so uncertain… "Héja, I do not wish to upset you, but…"

"…but what?" The question hissed beneath her breath…water falling from her eyes and smearing with the stain of red upon her face…the tension working its way into her body. Her fingers moving towards stone as she shifted from his grasp.

Shocked, he looked up…the grey eyes widening, forehead creasing as he sensed another change of the tides…witnessed her growing rage. "Hold, Sonja…" he whispered suddenly, holding his hand out. "It is not that …"

"Hold no fear,"she laughed coldly back, drawing herself back from him. Turning her eyes proudly to the ground. Weathered stone. Ice. The cold feel of darkness offset by his warmth…the enticing light of flame. One which could not be touched. Held at arm's length. To touch was to fly too close to the sun. She backed further. "You are absolved of this, Lucian." Her eyes darkening to the dreaded azure of demons…nails bare as surely as the teeth drawn behind lips as pale as the moon. Arms still coated with the stains of blood…her body fed and steady in its course. Furious and determined to protect that which lay in her care… "Absolved. Leave if you wish." Her words filled with resentment. The hawk of the Eastern sky awash in all her glory of the night. "Go! I will bleed your carcass down to the mound, clawing your face with every step before feeding your skull to the dogs that reign below. Curse you, son of dogs," she hissed, suddenly pushing him aside completely and standing. Her small form already turning towards the warren, her bloody hand reaching to open the stone catch…

…and halting.

His hackles were raised as he loomed before her suddenly, blocking her from the warren. Bitter…glowering in the flickering light of this tunnel. His eyes covered in silver as his teeth grew sharp…the fangs of a wolf ready to tear into the heart of its prey. "You dare curse me in this manner…"

"I am entering…that…door," she hissed, instinct fighting against danger, pushing firmly against his chest… Challenge the threat…bold…as the hawk that soars through clouded skies…Her nails reaching to swipe across his face …

"You will enter nothing," he growled, roaring her into silence abruptly…biting her challenge as easily as the chaff of wheat, her wrist gripped firmly between talons that could crush. "You will go nowhere…" His voice was cruel…the soothing tones now caught in steel and corporeal brutality. His words angry, beating at her conscience. Cornering her against the wall in a storm of seas, wind, and fury. "Do you not think, Sonja? Your quarters were empty during the day. Missing since yesterday…your trail masked by blood and pitch and bones in the underground! Do the servants not have eyes? The guards?! Finding my way through this labyrinth of living tombs only to find you doing the bidding of a dead woman!"

"Urith is not…"

"Dead," he snapped, biting her retort into fragments before she could speak the word… "And what of your own blood? Waiting until the air ran out…until you starved? Caught and ready to die in this wolf's cage…for the sake of…of what? A child? One who will die after entering this world, hunted by both its people?"

"Coward," she spat, teeth drawn in blood across her lips. "I sought this bargain for better or worse! You…fearful of your blessed comfort. Secret lord of Viktor's own daughter with no thought of what should be mine!"

"Yours?" he hissed, backing her up against the wall. Slicing her words with daggers as he gripped her face in his hands. "Have you not thought past the third moon? The ill that could come of this…this so-called absolution of mine! Do you not know your own father? He slaughters my people, hunting his quarry as if it were game. Women. Children. How long before he finds out he has a grandchild begotten from a lycan? Tell me, wife, how long before he sees his own daughter among those he has...those he has buried." The words faltered suddenly. Her eyes widening as she saw him struggle for the first time in their life together, his voice caught upon fear. The storm lost upon the hawk, imploring her to stop in this madness...

...but the hope was gone from his words.

"Please," he whispered roughly. "Sonja, I have seen what he does to those who step from the line he so ruthlessly follows." He took her hand, drawing it closer, keeping her locked within his grasp. "Wedlock can be kept in secret, but…a child, we cannot hide this. Daughter or not, he might…" He struggled again… "Héja, I would not be able to…" The breath came faded and gaunt from his throat. The realization of that which lay beyond his power. "I…I could not…bird of prey…"

Spoken so softly. "...hawk of my spirit, I could not stop him."

Already, the light was fading from his eyes, his hands tangled in her hair. Her wolf. Her beloved. Fiercely, she caught his chin between her talons, drawing his face upwards and forcing him to look her in the eyes…she saw that which lay beneath the anger. His anger gone...replaced by sorrow. Fear. Fear on her account. Her wolf was afraid…so very afraid. Unable to cling to the moon which burned, unable to mask the weakness that came from loving that which he could not. His need for her outweighing his need for a child…

…but she wanted more.

Her hand caught in the locks of his mane, she gripped him closer to her. Tangling herself deeper into his grasp, the softness of his lips, willingly trapping herself in his arms. It had always been her vice. This hunger…this need for more. Always, she wanted more...all or none. She drank of his lips, feeling her hunger rise, keeping steady with the storm before her... Drawing herself back suddenly, forcing him to see the strength in her slighter form. The reminder that there was more spine to this icy brazen woman than had once met his eye. So long ago. Passion in her eyes...the tempest. She would have this child or she would have none of it.

All or none.

Meeting her gaze, he nodded without speaking…drained of his energy. Facing the loss of all that stood between them, his hand still drawing her back by the crook of her neck. Kissing her firmly…only for a moment, touching the bloodstained shift…before he released his grip.

He would do her bidding. Not for the child…nor for the seeker…

…only for her.

Swiftly, Lucian seized her fingers, palm against her cheek as he led her to the catch…removing two blades from his flank and pressing them into her hands. All trace of weakness gone. The silver in his eyes rising once more. His voice had gone cold… no longer her lover…nor even the rogue. He was in his element. Lycan master of the coven den and first guardian to the Lady Sonja.

"Keep a hold on this catch," he ordered firmly… "Your weapons to either side and your back to the fire." Spoken with assurance, the privilege of one versed in defense. "I cannot stress this enough times. Once the hollows are triggered, the door is set to close. The only thing keeping the door open is the catch. While I am in the warren…you stay by the catch. Under no circumstances should you enter the warren…do you understand?"

She nodded firmly, handing him the stone key and watching as he began picking through the bag at his feet. Two flints…one for her and one for him. Drawing a fourth knife from his belt as he readied a third, still stalking in the alarmingly fluid manner which never failed to mask the enormous blade strapped to his back. Sharp enough to carve through bone and sinew, he was never seen without it.

"Lucian, what of the sixth hollow?" she asked suddenly, feeling a tad helpless. She held the catch as if her life depended upon it, watching as he quickly loped into the passageway, grabbing the dead torch and relighting it from the one by the door. He was ignoring her again. Involved in the task before him, he walked straight past her, saying not a single word…staring at the line of hollows, his hand on his chin. Scratching the back of his neck before stalking to the first hollow, placing the key and turning it entirely to the right. He removed the key. Making his way down the line, he repeated the process on each of the hollows, making sure to turn the key so it ended facing towards the right.

She frowned, having gone through this method herself hundreds of times. "Lucian, I've already…"

"Patience," he muttered, running back to the third hollow and drawing his belt-knife. As if they had all the time in the world, he flipped the weapon along the back of his hand, caught it mid-air and pushed the blade sharply into one edge of the hollow. The sound of wheels. To her astonishment, a circular piece of stone popped out from the facing wall. Crumpling into dust on the ground and leaving behind a circular hole in the wall.

She gasped…

Six hollows. There were now six hollows

How many hours she had spent on this, and it took him…five minutes??

Flipping the knife into the air, Lucian leaned against the wall, catching the hilt and casually observing his wife with an extraordinarily self-satisfied expression on his face. She scowled at him. Oh, now, he was enjoying this. He'd never let her live it down. His next statement doing little to curb her irritation at the wasted hours. "It's not exactly by the book, Héja, but old runescript tends to use five columns rather than six. If there ever is a sixth one, it's in the centre on the back…"

He sniffed wryly, flipping the knife a second time along the back of his hand for added intrigue…

"…just for future reference."

"Thank you, 'Tanis'," she muttered darkly.

"You're welcome," he breathed, sheathing the small blade before drawing the sword from his back. Placing the key in the revealed sixth hollow…and turning it right with cold precision. The stone door rising slowly to the sound of chains…the draft of a chamber closed for almost three centuries. The place was bathed in darkness…

…and eerie light.

Foxfire...fading with the firelight.

She could see it from beyond, but could not move forward. After her long journey to this place, all she could do was watch. Holding the sword stone-still before him, Lucian stepped forward slowly, his teeth sharp and glinting. A warrior ready to cut down the first assailant that dared strike against him. His eyes perpetually watching for traps…

The room was almost empty. Dry…dirt, oil and stains making their marks upon the floor. In the centre, a wooden table stood, long since covered in dust and cloth from another century turned to rags.

Upon the table…

The doomed offender that Urith had told her to seek…a seeker sentenced, tried…and buried. A murderer of power held in the last embrace…still caught in the bloodless sleep of vampires, the body dry as the desert channels, empty of blood, soul or strength. A life for a life…the creature whose body was the price of the child she had coveted.

Not Aeduin the Wolf…

…but Gode the Lark.

The Wolf flees the stone.
The Dog loss of bone.
The Raven dead.
The Lark alone.

All are forsaken.

A/N: Currently working on prologue III. Please feel free to read and review.