Zane suppressed an annoyed snort and just grumbled quietly to himself.
As much as he disliked it, he knew Myra was right. Since the stone guards had come to life, it had become almost impossible for them to escape from the palace unseen. The auction and opera houses were too big, and the grounds too well guarded, especially after the riot.
Nevertheless, he felt anything but comfortable at the thought of putting his life in the filthy clutches of the vampire scion. It stank to high heaven that he was offering them his help. The strong jaws ground into the angular features.
"I don't trust that snake..." Zane rumbled quietly.
"Neither do I," his more or less imposing companion replied quietly as they turned a corner and followed the winding corridors further into the depths. "But Casimir is ... unhealthily ambitious. The prospect of proving himself to the master is exactly what he wants."
Zane grunted, more or less in agreement. He had experienced this ambition firsthand and was still suffering the consequences. Every step was agonizing. The pain radiated from his foot and lower leg all the way up to his hip. Sweat from the fever and the exertion was already dripping from his chin. It wouldn't be long before he could no longer support the weight of his own body because his muscles were failing. He was also finding it increasingly difficult to breathe.
"Besides, he has what we both want so badly - the dagger," Myra reminded him.
Yes, the damn dagger. The tool that had taken the one life they both mourned. The only bond between them, as absurd as it may have seemed.
The only weapon that shouldn't be in the hands of humans. In the first cycle, when the war raged and the Vaesen came to this world, they destroyed everything that could be dangerous to them as a first measure. The trolls attacked church bells, vampires tore out hawthorn and blackthorn bushes, or burnt down holy sites. Even now, it was still a mystery to him how the dagger had ended up in the hands of the traitors. That should never have happened.
A crunch before him drew his attention away from his thoughts back to their guide in the darkness. Casimir had sunk to his knees in the middle of the corridor and felt the lower part of the wall to their right with his bony fingers.
His brow furrowed; Zane watched the blond for a few heartbeats before turning his head and peering cautiously into the corridors behind them. It was almost too quiet, and he liked it less and less.
The whole thing seemed far too... light.
As he opened his mouth to express his distrust to Myra, he was interrupted by a stone scraping. A tile slid back in the stonework, and a dark slab in front of their feet lifted a few centimeters. Casimir grabbed the lifting edge and pushed the heavy slab aside as if it weighed no more than a sheet of paper.
"You want me to go in there?" Zane growled softly, stepping closer and peering into the hole, the bottom of which he couldn't see in the darkness. His eyes glanced suspiciously back and forth between Myreille and Casimir.
"What's the problem? Are you scared? Either get down there or face death here, puss," Casimir grinned cheekily into his face, and the Cait-Sith felt his lips lift before the growl escaped his throat.
"How about I send you ahead with broken bones first?" he snapped back irritably, and Zane showed his sharp fangs in an open threat. The claws on his hand were extended, already twitching with greed to squeeze the life from the undead body.
"Stop it, both of you! We don't have time for such nonsense," Myra intervened, giving him and Casimir a warning look before approaching the hole herself. "I'll go first," she intervened as if she sensed that Zane wouldn't set foot in this darkness, which he suspected was more of an ambush than a refuge.
Before he could speak, Myra disappeared into the darkness with a single movement.
The two who remained behind briefly exchanged hostile glances. Then Zane followed so that Casimir could close the escape tunnel again. Once at the bottom, the two vampires took the lead.
It was so dark in the corridor that Zane could barely make out the figures before him. Instead, the tips of his boots repeatedly bumped against small stones, which rattled and shattered the silence for a brief moment.
The air was stuffy and musty. Not a breath of air strayed into the dark corridors. Instead, every step they took was reflected by the walls. There was an eerie silence down here. His every breath seemed unnaturally loud.
Under his fingers, the Cait-Sith felt damp earth and the occasional rough wooden beams that supported the tunnel. The two vampires in front of him advanced further and further as he fell back.
His steps became increasingly unsteady. Again and again, his injured leg buckled under him and caused him to stumble. His face contorted; he repeatedly had to lean on the old walls to keep from falling to the ground. The only ray of hope was the bright glimmer that blinked at him from a distance, accompanied by a light breeze.
"Zane?"
He flinched, startled when he suddenly felt a cold hand on his arm. Tingling sparks flew from the touch, sending his body a cozy warmth. He felt the gaze of the silver-white eyes glide over him. Appraising, with a spark of ... Concern?
"Let me help you."
Even as the strigoi spoke, he felt her lift his arm. Just a little, then pulled him onto her shoulders. Something inside him whispered that he should lean, but...
"Don't touch me!" he hissed threateningly instead. Although she only meant well, he yanked her arm away before pushing himself off and continuing down the corridor, growling quietly to himself towards the night's glow.
Part of him knew it was stupid and ungrateful to refuse her help. But another part was stronger: his instinct and the martial teachings that had been instilled in him over the years, his rejection of her kind, his pride, and his stubbornness.
He pushed past Myra and straightened his shoulders to preserve the last of his dignity before taking his steps stiffly but quickly in the direction of the light breeze blowing through the corridor.
Escaping the narrow, cold tunnel beneath the earth spurred him on.
A soft, hollow sound broke the silence as he bumped his foot against what he initially thought was a stone. He bent down for the small, light-colored thing; his strong fingers gripped a soft, smooth object and lifted it. He turned it in his hand and looked into two empty sockets. A skull - that of a human - lay in his hand, and two empty, black eye sockets stared back at him. Casimir had told the truth that this tunnel was meant for war refugees. Snorting, he carelessly threw the bone away like a piece of wood before continuing on his way.
Finally, an arched hole formed the end of their escape route. Even the plain night seemed dazzlingly bright after they had wandered through the darkness for so long. The silver-white moonlight greeted them like spotlights on the leading actors in a theatre play.
He sucked the night air deeply into his lungs and was tempted to close his eyes in relief as the wind tugged at the heavy fabric around his shoulders. But instead, he stopped abruptly, and his eyes widened in astonishment and interest.
In front of them was a small green space on which the long stalks of an overgrown park danced gently in the wind. It was a strange sight that almost reminded him of his home in the Otherworld. At least if, it hadn't been for the out-of-place looking wreck with the broken wings and shattered window panes protruding from the wild greenery.
Bowing his head, he carefully stepped back and stood beside Myra, who seemed to be waiting for him. He knew what it was. Although the war had been two cycles ago, he could still remember the beginnings. Back then, when those things still flew across the sky and, the terrible roar of the engines rang in his ears. People called them airplanes. He had never seen one of these things up close before and was torn about whether he should approach or jump away, hissing.
A decision that was taken from him.
The wind carried a new scent towards him. A scent he knew well, as it had led him through the catacombs for a long time: People.
He almost thought it was the remains of this overgrown battlefield. But he quickly realized that these smells were too fresh, too vivid.
Growling, Zane showed his sharp teeth as his eyes narrowed. Now, he recognized the outlines in the darkness. With every heartbeat, the figures became more numerous. It seemed they were coming from the cover of the destroyed airplane.
It wasn't fear of the enemy that made him growl louder and louder. Humans were nothing against the Vaesen. Even in his weakened state, they were little more than sacrificial lambs to be led to the slaughter. But the moonlight refracted sporadically on silver threads - and he recognized this emblem, the wheel with the strange lines on it.
Suddenly, he felt like he had returned to the sewers and heard his brother screaming. The sight of it made his blood boil.
"Traitors!" he growled through the peaceful silence. The rising adrenaline pushed the pain into the last corner of his consciousness. Beneath the wide coat, his body shook like an earthquake. "Filthy, murderous pack!"
His mind frayed like a carpet being pulled by its holding thread.
"I'll tear you all to pieces!"