“It cannot be,” Desiderius huffed, his body tensing as he too observed the wounded officer.“He is the lycanthrope?”
Catherine pressed closer to the makeshift window, her body tensing beside mine.“Lieutenant Dupont?How is this possible?”
As I watched Dupont pause before a weathered angelic statue, his fingers traced the stone wings with unexpected tenderness.Like puzzle pieces clicking into place, my mind connected what should have been obvious: how he glided noiselessly through the chapel, how his heart maintained its steady rhythm even surrounded by vampires, those veiled cautions about the Order.And now, most damning of all, that wound—positioned precisely where Desiderius’s attack had caught the silver wolf the night before.
“He saved us,” I whispered.“Twice.”
Desiderius retreated from the viewing hole, his face hardening with ancient hatred.“Werewolves are not saviors, Alice.They are ancient enemies, predators who have hunted our kind since the earliest nights of our existence.”
I watched Dupont’s uneven gait as he passed our viewing hole.“And yet,” I whispered, “when sunrise was imminent, he pointed us toward this graveyard where we found shelter.When Mercer turned against us, it was Dupont’s jaws that tore out his throat.”
Desiderius’s lips curled back, revealing the sharp points of his fangs.“The wolf has his own hunt,” he hissed.“Do not mistake coincidence for alliance.”
Outside, Dupont halted mid-step.His head swiveled toward our crypt, chin lifting slightly.His nostrils expanded and contracted twice, like a hunting dog catching a scent.He cocked his head at an impossible angle, his shoulders tensing beneath his uniform as he rotated precisely toward our hiding place—toward the exact location of our viewing hole, though it was barely visible from the outside.
Catherine sank deeper into the shadows.“He knows we’re here,” she breathed, barely audible.
Desiderius slid between us and the entrance, his body becoming a living barrier.His index finger pressed against his lips, commanding silence.
Yet instinct overrode caution—a gut feeling that contradicted Desiderius’s fears.I inched toward the sliver of daylight until I could feel its deadly warmth radiating against my face, my skin nearly close enough to blister.
“Lieutenant Dupont,” I called softly.
Desiderius spun toward me, his face contorted with disbelief.“Have you lost your mind?”he hissed.“We have nowhere to run!We will have no choice but to kill him if he attacks!”
I ignored him, watching as Dupont straightened, his posture instantly alert despite his obvious pain.He scanned the crypt’s exterior with careful attention before approaching.
“Sister Alice?”he called, his voice carrying the same formal politeness it always had.“Are you within?”
“Yes,” I answered before Desiderius could stop me.“We survived the night.”
Dupont reached the crypt door, his hand resting lightly against the stone.“It is difficult to converse through stone walls”
Desiderius moved to block the door, his body coiled with tension.“This is madness!”
I met his gaze steadily.“He could have killed us last night when we were defenseless.He saved us instead.He guided us to safety.”
Catherine placed a trembling hand on my arm.“What if Desiderius is right?What if this is a trap?”
Before I could answer, Dupont’s voice came again through the stone.“I understand your hesitation.I offer you my word—on the Bishop’s name—that I mean you no harm.But I must speak with you.We have little time.”
The mention of Bishop Harkins settled something within me.I nodded to Desiderius.“Let him enter.Quickly, to minimize the light.”
Desiderius hesitated, instinct warring with trust in my judgment.Finally, with obvious reluctance, he shifted the heavy door just enough to create an opening.Dupont slipped through, the momentary flood of sunlight forcing us deeper into shadow before darkness once again claimed the crypt as Desiderius sealed the entrance.
In the returned darkness, Dupont’s silhouette gradually resolved into detail as my eyes readjusted.His uniform, usually impeccable, hung in tatters across his wounded shoulder.Dried blood crusted along his collar, the bandage on his shoulder made from torn pierces of his uniform was soaked in fresh blood.
His blood, I noticed, stirred nothing within us—not even the faintest twinge of hunger.
I let the silence stretch between us, my eyes locked on his.“The silver shrapnel wound.The acute hearing.The way you always knew when we were near.You’re lycanthrope.”
Dupont inclined his head slightly, a gesture of acknowledgment that carried surprising dignity.“I am,” he admitted.“Just as you are the vampire.We are both more than what we appear to be.”
“Lycanthrope,” Desiderius spat the word.“Enemy of our kind.”
“Enemy, monsieur?”Dupont’s laugh held no humor.“Or a convenient narrative?While vampires fear the sun, we werewolves are bound to the lunar cycle.The full moon triggers our transformation, willing or not.Each of us has our curse, our burden.”
“Our kinds have been at war for centuries,” Desiderius insisted.
