Page 41 of King of Moon and Claws

She conveyed horrifying images to the opposing side of a mammoth-sized wolf. She used the sight of the shaman as inspiration, concocting the most grisly, gothic likeness her imagination could paint. What showed up was a Frankenstein-style fiend, a hideous sown-together thing with features of an ogre, a demon, and a wolf.

She showed them, like strapping a film reel to their eye sockets, how the beast stomped through the forest and approached their location. It drooled with the blood and guts of its enemies, crooning some infernal whimper that shook the ground beneath their feet.

And much to Elora, Serife’s, and Bastian’s delight, the vampires took notice. Terrified by the sight, they began to flee with Vasilis reappearing and ordering his mob to return to their land. Because of Bastian’s instruction, the wolves did not chase after them.

Once everyone was disengaged and separated enough, Elora dropped the illusion like it was a bag of dirt. Rain still pummeled the field full of severed limbs and pools of glossy blood.

Bastian returned, speaking to wolves and vampires alike. Elora prepared to join him.

My brothers, the war is over! Both of us have been fooled by the shaman. He wanted us all to die. That was his scheme. Hear me now.

Elora projected Iagan’s confession into the minds of both vampires and wolves like a clip from a movie. They all stood their ground, dumbfounded by the manipulation.

Elora grinned, watching the scrying bowl as a familiar vampire took center stage. He popped back into existence from his bat form and walked through lines upon lines of corpses and living beings.

Bastian had arrived as well, still in his wolf form, heroic and captivating. Elora’s heart raged in her chest as Vasilis went to him, eyes no longer glowing with hunger for death. She helped them communicate, acting as a vessel for both paranormal telepathy.

My King, Vasilis spoke, rightfully ashamed. I beg of you for my forgiveness. Our kind has been tricked. I have been tricked. Please take my blood now, as a token of my atonement.

The vampire bent the knee to the Wolf King, who sat proudly, staring with a regal stance that gave Elora goose bumps. Then, much to her surprise, Vasilis unsheathed a blade from his boot.

But he did not try to assassinate the king.

He brought the prick of it to the base of his gauzy neck, waiting for the king’s permission to sacrifice himself for the sake of his people. But Bastian did nothing of the sort.

Remove your blade, Vasilis. I am feeling very merciful today. We were both used by the shaman to commit awful deeds. Your apology is owed to Elora, my mate, whom you tortured.

Elora was taken aback. Vasilis remained on one knee and shoved the blade back into its holder. A sea of the surviving vampires then followed suit, falling to one knee and bowing to the Wolf King.

Elora took a deep breath, one of a thousand that same day. She was no war witch, and she also was not a vengeful one.

I forgive you, Vasilis.

Elora felt her heart grow like a blooming flower, and all of the fear of turning into a war witch disappeared. She gazed through the scrying bowl while a tear streamed down her cheek. It was a moving sight, watching Bastian stand there, gazing over his victory.

That was the man she was willing to leave. That incredible, brave man.

The king looked up to the sky as if searching for her. At the same time, the clouds finally started to part. Stars began to glitter above the drenched wolves and vampires, all exhausted from the fight that was contrived by a menacing ploy.

He gave the sky a nod. Elora smiled.

TWENTY-FOUR

BASTIAN

Seeing so many before him on bent knees sent a rush of emotions through Bastian that even he had a hard time controlling. The battlefield was littered with dead bodies from both sides.

And now, with so many dead, it mattered little who fought for whom, as long as those who lived proclaimed their fealty to Bastian.

The dead lay strewn about them, cold eyes staring into the unreachable blue sky. They were reminders of a brutal war fought for power and land that now belonged to Bastian. But he did not wish to be a ruler who won through fear or force.

"We will remember those who have fallen," he vowed, his voice echoing across the battlefield. "And we should strive to ensure that their sacrifice was not in vain." He let his gaze sweep over the sea of faces turned toward him.

Echoes of agreement ran through the crowd at Bastian’s words. As grim as it was, the carnage around them served as a stark reminder that this victory had come at a cost. Lives had been lost, families broken.

“For their lives weren’t in vain. Our people are safe," Bastian continued. His voice was earnest, his words heavy with the responsibility he now bore. "We have reclaimed our land but let us not forget the price we paid."

Silence filled the air as the reality of his words sank in. They had won, yes, but they had also lost so much. The victory felt like a hollow echo in the void left by those who were gone.

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