As they walked back toward the settlement together, Sebastian was acutely aware of the distance the warriors maintained, the way their gazes tracked his every movement with renewed wariness. His blood-covered appearance had stripped away any comfort they might have developed with his presence, reminding them of the predator that existed beneath his increasingly human exterior.
The orcs would need everything he knew to survive when his father's forces finally arrived in full strength. He had made his choice. The blood on his skin made that choice clearer than words ever could.
The council awaited, and with it their questions and judgment. Sebastian stepped forward, ready to tell them exactly what they faced.
Chapter Thirteen
Six hours. They had argued for six hours, voices growing hoarse, tempers fraying as the council debated what to do about Sebastian and the new information he’d brought to them. Six hours since they'd sent him back to the eastern caves, his blood-soaked skin and severed trophy too unsettling to keep in the Heart Tree's sacred chamber during deliberations.
Boarstaff rubbed his temples, fatigue settling into his bones as he left the council chamber. Voices still echoed in his mind, Rockbreaker's thunderous demands that Sebastian be banished immediately, Doechaser's quiet concerns about a predator living so close to their children, Thornmaker's surprising neutrality as he weighed tactical advantage against evident danger.
"He protected us," Boarstaff had repeated, his defense growing weaker with each passing hour. "He eliminated a threat and brought warning of worse to come."
"By tearing off a head with his bare hands," Rockbreaker had countered, fist pounding the ancient table. "Carrying it back dripping blood like some trophy. Is that the protection we want? A killer who feels nothing when he kills?"
Even Moonsinger, usually the most measured voice on the council, had seemed troubled. "His methods reveal much about his nature, Warchief. One cannot live so long among wolves and be surprised when they bare their teeth."
Boarstaff had no easy answers for them. The sight of Sebastian blood-covered and wild-eyed had shaken him morethan he cared to admit. The casual way he had held that severed head, the lack of remorse or hesitation, those weren't traits that belonged in their settlement. Yet the information he'd brought was undeniably valuable. The warning about Zarek's search party would save lives.
The council had reached no final decision. They rarely did in a single session, particularly on matters of such weight. But the sentiment had been clear, Sebastian had crossed a line that many weren't prepared to accept.
Night had fallen while they deliberated, the village quieting as families retreated to their dwellings. Only the night guards remained active, their torches marking the perimeter wall in steady intervals. Boarstaff nodded to those he passed, their respectful acknowledgments unable to mask the uncertainty in their eyes. Word had spread quickly about Sebastian's bloody return.
He needed to speak with Sebastian. Needed to understand what had happened in the forest, beyond the tactical explanation Sebastian had provided earlier. Needed to determine whether the cold efficiency he'd witnessed was an aberration or the core of what Sebastian truly was.
The path to the eastern caves stretched before him, darker than usual with clouds obscuring the moons. Boarstaff carried no torch, his staff tapping lightly against the ground as he walked, the familiar weight comforting in his hand. His mind churned with potential solutions, stricter boundaries, perhaps, or a dwelling even further from the village. Some arrangement that would preserve Sebastian's tactical value without risking further incidents.
As he approached the halfway point between settlement and caves, an unusual silence had engulfed the forest. No night birds called. No small creatures rustled in the underbrush. Even theinsects had fallen quiet, as if the forest itself were holding its breath.
He slowed his pace, adjusting his grip on his staff. Years of battle had taught him to recognize the stillness that preceded ambush. He scanned the tree line, searching for movement in the shadows.
Nothing.
"Unusual evening for a walk, isn't it, Warchief?"
The voice came from behind him, mechanical modulation giving it an unnatural precision. Boarstaff turned slowly, already knowing what he would find.
Zarek stood ten paces away, his brass-modified form gleaming dully in the dim light. Unlike Sebastian, he had embraced his father's improvements completely, jaw entirely replaced with articulated metal, fingers tipped with razor-sharp brass, eyes whirring slightly as they adjusted to the darkness. His noble clothing remained immaculate despite the forest setting, not a speck of dirt marring the precise lines of his attire.
"Father will be pleased," Zarek continued, his mechanical smile revealing too many teeth. "The rebellious son and his orc pet, both delivered in one night. Quite efficient."
Movement to Boarstaff's left revealed a second figure emerging from the shadows. This one moved with unsettling grace, his skin threaded with copper circuitry that pulsed with faint light, Dominic, Sebastian's younger brother. His expression remained perfectly neutral, but dark stains marked his precisely tailored sleeves.
"Sebastian fought impressively," Dominic remarked, studying Boarstaff with clinical detachment. "He's grown stronger in some ways. Weaker in others. I wonder which category you fall into."
For the first time since the mission to rescue Sarah, fear coiled cold and heavy in Boarstaff's stomach. Not the tacticalawareness of danger that had guided him through countless battles, but genuine fear. The dark stains suddenly took on new meaning… Sebastian's blood. The warning about Zarek's search party had come too late.
Zarek's unnatural smile widened as he registered Boarstaff's fear.
"Let's not waste time with unpleasantries." The brass components in his jaw clicked as he spoke. "You have value to House de la Sang now. And we've come to collect."
Boarstaff didn't wait for them to make the first move. He lunged forward, staff whistling through the air as he aimed for Zarek's head. The weapon connected with nothing but empty space as Zarek sidestepped with impossible speed.
"Ah, resistance." Zarek's mechanical voice held no concern, only mild amusement. "How predictably organic."
Boarstaff pivoted, bringing his staff around in a sweeping arc that should have caught Dominic in the ribs. The younger vampire simply bent backward at an unnatural angle, the staff passing harmlessly above him.
"Quick," Dominic noted dispassionately as Boarstaff's staff whistled past him. "But not quick enough. Your movements are... predictable."
