Chapter: Desert's Howls

  Evanora’s POV

  The moon reigned, pouring molten silver over the sands—eerie, beautiful. Zagan had been occupied all day, leaving me to rest in the medical tent. Most wounds had healed among both the Devourix and the East-God pack. Kaden, meanwhile, had taken to Devourix medicine with unsettling enthusiasm.

  Draven Dracula—Arabella’s only son, endlessly praised after his birth—passed with his father, Xavier Dracula.

  Once, I would have called him out. Tested his power.

  Not today.

  Not now.

  A small smile touched my lips as his frightened, pretty eyes lingered on me for a moment too long.

  “You?” he snapped.

  Xavier kept walking.

  Draven stayed.

  “Yes?” I replied.

  His anger surfaced instantly—red veins crawling along his face, the mark of Devourix blood straining to look dangerous.

  “Work,” he said sharply. “No one sits idle here, drinking from our coven’s blood bank.”

  “Of course, my lord. I’m checking for illness.”

  “There is none.”

  I glanced around.

  The beds were empty.

  Too empty.

  His gaze flicked to the flickering lamp, the thinning herbal candles. He bared his fangs.

  A warning.

  Unnecessary.

  “We have a rotten history with vampires,” he said. ““If you crawl back to your realm alive,” he said, “remember this—one day, I will own it.”

  I raised a brow.

  Noted: do not mock him—directly.

  So I smiled and bowed. “You should.”

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  He scoffed. “That’s it? No loyalty to your king?”

  “Oh,” I said lightly. “He wears a crown forged from your ancestors’ bones. The Crown of Devourix Baak.”

  His anger doubled.

  Good.

  “You should break it,” I added. “The Crown of Baak.”

  For a heartbeat, something flickered across his face—thought, ambition, fantasy.

  Then it vanished.

  The old me would have dared him to try.

  He stared at me long and hard.

  “Draven.”

  Xavier’s voice cut through the tent like silk over steel.

  “I thought you were following me.”

  Draven inclined his head, then gifted me a glare sharp enough to bruise pride and nothing else.

  I almost wished he would see the crown.

  See the realm.

  The crown would decide.

  Was he worthy to add his kin’s bone?

  Would it be his—

  Or mine?

  “What was that about?” Zagan asked as he stepped into the tent.

  “A warning,” I said. “Very unnecessary.”

  “To whom?”

  My smile widened.

  “To the vampire kingdom.”

  Zagan frowned. “Is he serious?

  I gave him a flat look.

  “For my disappointment,” I said, “he is not.”

  ********

  The journey began beneath the veil of night.

  We rode in the main vehicle with Kaden and Rudy, the rest of the pack trailing behind us as we headed toward the Dracula coven.

  We were halfway through when the air shifted.

  The sand stirred—not from wind, but intent.

  A spiral rose, too sharp, too deliberate—

  Then eruption.

  Thorn Hunters burst from the ground like curses given flesh. Barbed, alive, eyes glowing with possession. These weren’t wild creatures.

  They were sent.

  Howls split the night.

  “Stay inside. We’ll handle them,” Kaden growled.

  He stripped without hesitation, shifting mid-step. His brown wolf tore free from the vehicle with a feral roar. Rudy followed, silver form flashing, teeth already bared.

  The remaining East-God warriors charged in. Devourix surged beside them-claws meeting bone, fangs tearing through cursed flesh. Snarls. Thuds. Screams swallowed by sand.

  But something about these felt wrong.

  They didn’t stalk like beasts.

  They advanced like soldiers.

  They rose from the sand the way I had once risen from the Deadly Sea—deliberate.

  “Not random,” I murmured Zagan.

  “Save the others!” Rudy’s command cut through the chaos.

  Zagan and I stayed inside the vehicle, watching the wolves strain against the numbers. Brave—but exhausted. The Thorn Hunters fought with discipline. With instruction.

  I saw bodies fall—many killed by the barbed tails alone.

  “They’re outmatched,” I said quietly.

  Zagan didn’t answer.

  “I’m not at my best,” I added, arching a brow.

  Still silence.

  A Thorn Hunter slammed into the vehicle, claws shrieking against glass.

  Zagan moved.

  In one clean motion, he seized a sword from the rack.

  “Help when you can,” he said, smirking faintly. “You are my leader.”

  I smiled. “Only if you ask nicely.”

  He muttered something about sand, wolves, and terrible travel arrangements—and then vanished into the storm.

  —

  Later, I felt it.

  A Hunter tearing toward the vehicle, madness given momentum.

  Kaden lunged to intercept—but the beast collapsed mid-stride, a shadow cutting it down first.

  Zagan slammed the door behind him, blood-soaked and breathing steady.

  “We need a plan,” he said calmly. “Work on it.”

  He turned his face away from Kaden.

  A plan.

  Good. I could work with that.

  I hated being still while others bled for a battle I could end.

  My fingers tapped the seat. Zagan glanced at me.

  “I know that look,” he muttered.

  “I can’t stay inside,” I said. “Not when I know how this ends.”

  He didn’t argue. Just opened the door.

  The night hit me like a warning.

  Blood-soaked sand swallowed my boots as I stepped out. Fury burned the air. Something inside me clicked—like a blade remembering war.

  Kaden’s wolf streaked past, leaving ruin behind. Rudy shouted orders, barely holding the line.

  They were strong.

  But strength alone wouldn’t win this.

  I didn’t need power.

  I needed direction.

  “Zagan!” I called.

  He appeared instantly.

  “Pull them toward the ridge.”

  His eyes lit. “Draw attention. Scatter leaders. Funnel the rest.”

  “Exactly.”

  I turned to a nearby scout in half-shifted form.

  “Flare gun. Now.”

  He hesitated.

  Kaden’s snarl ended the debate.

  Seconds later, the flare tore into the sky—fire screaming bright.

  Every Hunter turned.

  “Push them west!” I shouted. “Make them chase us!”

  The pack obeyed. Movements sharpened. This wasn’t fighting anymore.

  This was herding.

  Zagan vanished into motion, quiet as a curse.

  A Hunter lunged for me—too close.

  I didn’t flinch.

  A black dagger took it through the eye mid-leap.

  Slowly, the battlefield bent.

  Hunters surged—wild, blind—toward the ridge.

  Closer.

  Closer.

  “Now!” I shouted.

  Kaden led the final strike.

  Thorn Hunters tumbled into the trap—disoriented, screaming, breaking.

  Zagan reappeared beside me. “You’re bleeding.”

  I glanced at the shallow cut. “Doesn’t matter.”

  He tilted his head. “Sounds like my leader.”

  “Really?”

  He smirked. “A softer version.”

  “We move,” I said, nudging him forward as I covered the rear.

  Then pain exploded up my right leg.

  Something had bitten deep.

  Thorns.

  More Hunters—crawling back from the sand.

  My vision blurred.

  Zagan caught me before I fell—solid, warm, unyielding.